
Before the satellites, the plains read the coming seasons in the signs of nature and the pages of the almanac, and some of that old weather-lore lingers still.
Long before satellites and computer models, the plains had to forecast the weather by other means, and the almanac was chief among them, offering long-range predictions and a wealth of weather-lore to a people whose survival hung on the sky. Farmers read the coming seasons in the signs of nature — the thickness of a muskrat's coat, the height of a hornet's nest, the behavior of the geese.
Reading the Signs of the Season
Much of the old folklore was hopeful guesswork, but not all of it was foolish. Generations of close observation distilled real patterns into rhymes and rules of thumb — the ring around the moon that foretold a storm, the red sky that warned the shepherd, the aching joint that felt the falling pressure. The almanac gathered this lore and set it in print for a farming people to consult.
From the almanac's reckoning:
- Before modern forecasting, the almanac offered long-range predictions.
- Weather-lore distilled generations of observation into rules of thumb.
- Signs like a ring around the moon carried real predictive value.
Modern science has far outrun the old signs for the short-range forecast, yet the almanac's charm endures, and a plains grower may still glance at both the satellite and the geese. The almanac keeps the old weather-lore alive — not as gospel, but as the memory of how a people once read the sky.
Elsewhere in the Almanac

The Harvest Sky and the Weather That Brings the Crop In
The success of a whole year can turn on the weather of a few autumn weeks, when the plains grower prays for the dry, breezy days that let the combines run.

The January Thaw and the Midwinter Reprieve
Deep in the heart of winter, the plains often enjoy a brief and welcome softening, a spell of milder days that the old-timers have long marked on the calendar.

Hoarfrost and the Morning the World Turns to Crystal
On still, cold mornings the plains wake transformed, every twig and grass blade and fence wire furred in white hoarfrost, the countryside briefly made of crystal.