July 29, 2026 • Feura Bush, New York
It started raining yesterday.
By this afternoon, my backyard weather station had recorded 6.10 inches of rain in 48 hours. Almost all of it—6.08 inches—fell within 24 hours, including 4.37 inches during the most recent 12 hours.
That seemed like a lot of rain. So I started poking around in the records from my weather station.
That is when things became more interesting.
So far this month, we have received 8.88 inches. During the past 30 days, 9.60 inches. And since January 1, we have received 25.56 inches, about 19.6% more precipitation than the 30-year normal for this point in the year.
But look at the cumulative precipitation graph.
For much of 2026, our precipitation wasn’t particularly remarkable. The blue line wandered above and below the 30-year-normal line.
Then look at what happens at the end.
Almost straight up.
One rain event suddenly accounts for nearly one-quarter of all the precipitation we’ve received this year.
That made me ponder something.
When we talk about changes in rainfall, we commonly ask whether a place is becoming wetter or drier. But perhaps that isn’t the only—or even the most useful—question.
Suppose two years each receive 40 inches of precipitation.
In one year, that water arrives fairly evenly through numerous rain and snow events.
In the other, long dry periods are interrupted by enormous downpours.
The annual precipitation total could be exactly the same.
But would those really be the same environmental conditions?
Probably not to a stream.
Or a wetland.
Or a farmer.
Or someone’s basement.
Or a community’s stormwater system.
Which leads me to another question:
Is our rain changing even if our rainfall isn’t?
My little backyard weather station can’t answer that question yet. But it can help establish a record.
And perhaps that’s one reason ordinary people should pay attention to ordinary places.
Today’s observation may not seem particularly important.
Twenty years from now, it might be a baseline.
Notice. Ponder. Document. Remember.