The Year With No Summer

When I was a child I read a novel that mentioned a year in the 1800s when there was no summer. I read a book a day at that time and they all blend together, so don’t expect me to remember a title. What I’ve never forgotten, however, is that there really was a year without summer.

I imagined a year with snow cover all year round, when people ice skated on frozen lakes in July. It wasn’t quite like that, but 1816 was an unusual weather year. There was a snowstorm that dumped 4 inches of snow in New England in the middle of June, and there was frost overnight for several days in a row in both July and August. In between those extraordinary occurrences, there was normal summer weather, but the frosts caused crop failure in the northeastern US and eastern Canada.

In Europe, there was nearly constant cold and wet, with crop failures there, too. In Ireland, it rained for 142 days in the summer, causing a famine. There was no grape harvest in France and no grain harvest in Germany. 

Historians blame the eruption of the Tambora volcano in Indonesia the year before,  the biggest eruption in recorded history. All those ash particles in the atmosphere of the northern hemisphere were bound to cause significant changes in the weather.

Not every result bad. There were brilliantly colourful sunrises and sunsets, which some say inspired the intense glowing depictions of the sun on the horizon in the paintings of the British impressionist painter J. M. W. Turner. You see an example in Turner’s painting of Flint Castle above, and another in one of his nautical paintings, The Fighting Téméraire tugged to her last Berth to be broken up.

According to oral tradition, we had a year with no summer here in the Yukon, too, and people starved. In the 1970s, Yukon elder Rachel Dawson reported that it occurred over one hundred years before her time. Here’s how she decribes it.

Two winters joined together. No snow, but there was ice all over, and the winters were joined together. 

There are variations to the story, and it’s impossible to pin down exactly when it was. Perhaps it was 1816, when the Tambora volcano wreaked widespread havoc, or maybe it was either 1845, 1849, or 1850, when tree ring measurement shows very little growth.

But it all goes to show that in the weather realm, strange things can happen anywhere any time.

What I’m waiting for is the year with no winter. Of course, we’d chalk that up to global warming/climate change.

What particular use is there of the moral law to unregenerate men?

The moral law is of use to unregenerate men, to awaken their consciences to flee from wrath to come,[1] and to drive them to Christ;[2] or, upon their continuance in the estate and way of sin, to leave them inexcusable,[3] and under the curse thereof.[4]

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CD Review: Indelible Grace V

Wake Thy Slumbering Children

The church has a glorious heritage in the hymns of those saint who went before us, and I’d hate for all that that richness to be lost as generations pass and music styles change. That’s why I appreciate the work of Indelible Grace Music, known for putting old hymns to new music in order

to rekindle a love of hymns and to invite many who would never associate rich passion with hymns to actually read the words.

The most recently released CD from Indelible Grace is Indelible Grace V: Wake Thy Slumbering Children. It’s a collection that reminds me, oddly enough, of a gray-haired lady who sings and accompanies herself on her guitar at my dad’s country church. I suppose that’s because the songs are not too polished, a little down-home bluesy, and genuine. What you get here, most of all, is truth and sincerity, and that’s a really fine thing.

My favorite songs?

• Go to Dark Gethsemane, Sandra McCracken. This hymn by James Montgomery has poetic words that beg to be revived, and the simple gentleness of this rendition seems exactly right for them.
• In the Hours, Emily DeLoach. Bluesy, with a little black gospel sound, and more quality poetry, this time by Helen L. Parmlee.
  
• Beneath the Cross of Jesus, Derek Webb and Sandra McCracken. A perfect example of how a familiar hymn with familiar words can takes on fresh meaning with new music.

My nitpicks, which are small, but I’ll mention them anyway.

• Face to Face is set to music in a minor key. Minor keys are perfect for words of lament, but when we behold Jesus face to face, it will be a glorious time, a time of rejoicing, and this music seems like a poor fit.
  
• Slow can be good, but there are a couple of pieces that do seem go overboard in the slow department.
• I’d like to throw in a few changing dynamics, too, so there is more variation throughout the multiple verses of a few songs.