Chilly front creeps in

November 16, 2016

This November seems to be colder than other years. That at least is how it feels like to me – since I live deep in the plantation – the temperature at night plummets to as low as 23 degrees. During day time under the shade it’s a very comfortable 25 degrees.

Natural and free air con.

This time of the year the North East monsoon funnels cold air all the way from the Gobi desert to this region.

The Gobi is a very peculiar land mass unlike others – it has always been a desert characterized by climatic extremes. The temperature has been known to shift 60 degrees Fahrenheit in as little as 24 hours. It can get down to minus-40 degrees in the winter, and as hot as 122 degrees in the summer.

This year it’s unusually cold due to high rainfall and the strong Siberian winds blowing in across the Russian steepes – it’s maybe -40 at night – that I imagine is why November this year is so unusually cold.

All this cold weather may be very comfortable conditions to work in, but it’s no bloody good for oil palm – it makes them sluggish and all they seem to want to do is switch to standby mode and hibernate.

I need to find a way to wake them all up!

Maybe I will start by dancing around and making as much noise as I can.

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‘When the cold descends on a plantation – it’s not like anything you have ever seen before – it doesn’t just creep up on you coyly….silently…unseen like in the city.

The cold front when it arrives in a plantation is usually a noisy affair – days before she descends from the mountain ranges to the North East – birds and all the animals would be restless – birds fly around frantically and cackle their tiny lungs out, dogs bark incessantly during the day and night – when she finally arrives after her long journey across the Pacific – she rolls down the mountains in sheets of mist – they look like invading horsemen all dressed in ghostly armor galloping at full speed down the mountains like cascading waterfalls. Soon this mysterious mist from the mountains wraps itself around bare trees and curls around branches and leafs like vaporous tendrils. It curls around my feet and I can feel it’s cold metallic chill touching me right down to the marrow of my bones – then it falls dead silent and suddenly I am assaulted by the shame of waking up at night and standing in the wild naked – I am in the cold embrace of this strange fog, where it’s so dark it’s deep inky blue and bluer still around the edges lit by the full moon. I am like a sapphire set in snow.’

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