Letter from Horace Sumner Lyman on the country's weather and wind patterns, poetry, and Mary's education

*First page margin* the [cake?] came all night. Mingled feelings of reprehension and approbation possess me.

Oberlin Jan 3rd 1881

’81, ha!

Dear Folks,

There has been little happened since last I wrote, save that the weather has moderated. It has been sunshiny and comparatively warm this morning. Yesterday the ther.[mometer] rose as high as 31° in the shade, and in the sun the snow melted quite freely. It bids Jan to be warmer today. This seems to be held as a colder winter than ordinary. The papers are all discussing the cold. Last year is reported to have been mild and muddy here. It is to be hoped that the remainder of the winter will be free from repetition of this [?]. Yet in about a month I look forward to another spell of the same kind. In the last of October we had a series of frosts with a little snow. In the latter half of November, the same thing occurred again, only much more [?]. In the last of December, this cold spell came again. I think I have the key to the weather here. The heavy [winds?] and cold all come from the west, even S.W. Now the heavy South winds of Oregon which become the Chinook winds caused by the breaking off of the trade winds of the Atlantic being sucked up into the gulf of Mexico and broken off by the mountain chains of Mexico, C. America and the isthmus of P. become the initial point of these heavy S.W. winds. The Chinook winds impinge on the Western slope of the Rockies and [slips?] up North. This causes a plenum of air in those high regions. This pressure is relieved by a vast body of air slipping South along the Eastern slopes of the Rockies. But meeting with the already full atmosphere of the lower latitudes, as Wyoming and Colorado, it is bent Eastward across Iowa, Missouri, or Minnesota, as it happens, and [?] across the Miss.[ouri] basin. But by the time it gets to Illinois and Ohio, it meets with the moist, full air of the Gulf and Atlantic. It is [thus?] bent again N.E. and spends itself in the Alleghenies and goes off at last into the Atlantic. In Montana where it comes fresh from the great [?], the Peace river and Athabascan regions, it is very dry, hence there is little snow there. Across Minn.[esota] and Iowa, and [?], it hits the moister air and hence precipitates heavy snows there. When it meets the gulf and Atlantic currents, it again meets moist air, in Ill.[inois], etc, it makes more snow. Minn. And Iowa are the great race tracks of the winds. Further North, in the Saskatchewan and Red River of the North, [countries?], the leavings of the Chinook winds, considerably chilled and dried, but not so intense by cold, are greatly dispersed. Hence that country has a milder and less stormy climate than Min. On the West slopes, chiefly, of the Rockies, the moisture of the Chinook winds are precipitated; up along the headwater of the Columbia. Hence the heavy snows in the Rockies of British Columbia. I do not think that the “blizzards” of the Dakotas and Min. are the same air as the Chinook Winds. It is the air that the Chinook winds displace. Whether this is the accepted theory I do not know. It is unquestionably the true one. Of course there are many minor irregularities, occasioned by the face of the country, and the moisture in the air, which fluctuating in amount causes fluctuations in the wind. Yet you can see that this is a fair theory and the facts so far as known seem to lie all along in line. There is one peculiarity, and that is that the Chinook winds, and the Blizzards all go in sharp mad, spurts, as if the air accumulated and was piled up, and then exploded, and waited awhile again to repeat the same process, whereas the trade winds blow steadily and mildly. Whether this can be accounted for on the shape of the continent, the barrier of the coast ad Cascade Mts, which holds the air back until it gets so compressed that it will not stand it any longer and makes a wild plunge, sucking along with it a good deal of [slack?], that blows back again on the tempest passes by, making the N.E. winds; I do not know but suspect it can. In the winter the pressure of the S. W. wind up the coast is quite regular. The sea wind, being warm, would naturally want to rise and let the cold air of the land wash out. But the pressure of the plenum in the tropics forbids that, and so across Oregon, where these two opposites struggle, there would of course be more or less irregularity. The reason why the S. wind [?] in the summer on the Pacific slope is manifest, namely, this. In the summer the trade winds of the Atlantic blow from the N.E., as in the winter. Hence the plenum of the tropics of the Pacific, [?] vent out toward the S.W. instead of towards the N.W. this gives a chance for the naturally cool air of the N.W. part of the Pacific to make regular diurnal blows—the sea breezes that we get of a warm July afternoon. This of course stops the Chinook winds. That stops the blizzards, and hence the Miss. Basin gets its supply of air from the warm regions of the Gulf in summer. Mark the consequent summer climate. The Pacific slope gets its air from the North. This air, being cooler and going to a warmer region, expands, gets greater power by holding moisture, hence gives that region a dry climate. The air from the Gulf, going north to a cooler region, contracts, losing its power of holding moisture, and [?] precipitates it in the Miss. valley.

I would say that probably the pressure of air northward in [winter?] is probably not wholly due to the Atlantic trades. The Pacific trades help to keep the tropics full of air in that season.

If pressed for an answer as to why the South winds along the Pacific coast break across this continent at Oregon and Wash.[ington] I would reply that the displaced air of the [Isthmian?] tropics moving up the Mexican and Californian Coasts has to edge its way, to to [?], between the continent and the vast bulk of air on the North Pacific Ocean. At length the body of air that is further ahead of it becomes so dense that it must bend off to a [?] body of air. The S.E. wind of the Mex. and Cal. coasts, is therefore deflected. That it would turn to the right so as to snap in loud [?] toward the sea, is probably due to the winds that sweep up the Asiatic coast of the Pacific. The Pacific narrowing rapidly toward its northern bounds would tend to throw the winds out to sea from the Japanese coast and thus make a plenum of air over the N. Pacific. That would help determine the direction of the Mex. And Cal. And Ogn [Oregon], South winds. Oh beautiful science of meteorology! It is snowing again, a fine soft white snow
I took a walk the other day
Between two and three o’clock.
Wandering around every which way
Through many a street, [?] many a [?].
At length I found myself behind
The most [?] human form.
I could not see the face divine.
‘Twas in a hood, so red and warm,
Then to my [soul?] I softly said
“I should like to see the head.
Enwrapped in the hood of red”
Then I began to walk faster
So that I might go past her.
And steal a glance in doing so
But to my poignant grief
She took me for a thief
And fled for quick relief
Into a neighboring store.
[?] turned her face around,
With eyes upon the ground,
I kept saying o’er and o’er,
“I shall never see the head
Wrapped up in the hood of red.
I wish that I was dead!!”
The biting wind began to blow
And dashed my face with [?] snow
And chilled me to the bone,
But still I wandered to and fro
Not caring whither I might go,
But stumbled cold and lone.
The frost it bit my ears
The frost it froze my tears
That drizzled on my cheek,
O’er come by woe and fears
Half dead with cold and cares
I stumbled in the snow. So weak!
On earth I died in pain,
In heaven I wake again—
In a heaven of a house.
In a warm and lighted room,
Not much like a clay-made tomb,
As sweet as some sweet [?],
The most [?] human form
Still in a hood so red and warm,
—me
—we
—he.
—said,
“——head”
“——wed?”
—guess
——Yes.”

I will let you fill out the blanks in whatever way you think fit.

I fear you will think I am becoming silly in my old age, so I will say in defence that I had not the least idea how my little poem was coming out when I commenced it. I got some delayed letters today, from W. and M. that was the most vile letter, thou squint-eyed addled egg, that I ever read. Nonetheless, it made me laugh a power.

I am almost sorry that I made the suggestions about Mary’s coming here. I know the vast nobility of your heart Will, and how unselfishly you will try to help her along. I know too how little a river of gold you have to float peoples on. I was the more urgent because it seemed a pretty good chance for her. I would not be unwilling to have her help herself by doing kitchen work. That is as good as any kind. A great many help themselves in that way. Boys, juniors, seniors, and theologues, for that matter, as well as girls. Of course I should not wish her to do too much. It is not considered any disgrace, as it would not be though it were so considered. Yet being in a somewhat pinch and struggling to get on a firmer financial basis, it may only worry and distract you to be trying to have some new plan on foot. Let it rest easy for a while. If by economy and good management there be any [overplus?] of cash, then let that be devoted to Mary’s musical education. If we could only work one hand free so as to give her a chance now, of course she could more than repay us by what she could earn as the result of her study here. We would both of us prefer to give her her education therein free of any labor on her part, as is meet for the stronger to the weaker. But as it is as it is—[?] there fore in [?] as the cube of the co-tangent.

Sarah girl, sweet child, dear garden flower, thou with whom I have many times ridden and walked, I do earnestly desire to be with you hear your voice and grasp your hand. Good times will come bye and bye. It will be summer time. I am afraid that my letter do not interest you Father, you do not write. I miss your good letters. I wish that you and S., S. and you, would write more.

But this is too long now by all odds. Good bye.