The brilliant author and journalist who died just last month, aged 55, is nominated in this year's An Post Irish Book Awards.
THE PROVERB is maith an scéalaí an aimsir ('weather is a good storyteller') is true on so many levels.
Weather is a continuous story generator, offering insights, anecdotes and fresh narratives for us to celebrate, bemoan, connect with and commiserate over on a daily, and even hourly, basis.
There are other ways too in which weather is a scéalaí ('storyteller'), such as how references to storms, floods and droughts in the old mythological tales and historical accounts give us insights into life long ago.
The words used to describe the weather conditions can be especially helpful in bridging the gap between us and our forebears.
This little book is a celebration of these words and an exploration of how those who came before us were able to observe and describe the specific characteristics of every form of meteorological experience, from hoar frost to heat haze.
It's an attempt to reach back in time to connect with them and to reflect not only on the climatic conditions they endured and enjoyed but also on how their experiences impact us today, in an era of climate change.
Some words and phrases offer an almost choreographic description of our reaction to weather, such as that for a cold morning, maidin le bheith ag pógadh na gcopán (literally, 'a morning to be kissing the kneecaps', summoning an image of staying underneath the covers with your knees tucked up underneath your chin), or gaoth a bhainfeadh an craiceann d'fhíogach ('wind that would skin a dogfish', in reference to a harsh east wind).
Others manage to capture the uniquely unpredictable and capricious quality of Irish weather, such as lá na seacht síon, le gaoth mhór, báisteach, sioc agus sneachta, tintreach, tóirneach agus lonrú gréine ('a day of seven weathers, with high wind, rain, frost and snow, thunder, lightning and sunshine').
A surprising number of days in Ireland can be described in these terms.
Each of the rain words gathered here likely arose from countless sodden, shivery experiences on this Atlantic-swept island of ours. Reading them offers a visceral sense of what the generations that preceded us endured in a world without Gore-Tex or central heating. The writer Frank McCourt is sometimes lampooned for his fixation on the wetness of his Limerick childhood in the memoir Angela's Ashes, and yet the multitude of terms our people amassed suggests he may actually have downplayed the ubiquitousness of báisteach fadó ('rain long ago').
Researching and collating this litany of weather words has left me with a compassion for, and a closeness to, those who coined the terms. Without their fortitude and their ability to endure the downpours, it's possible that we wouldn't be here today.
Some of the terms were likely created by the weather specialists of their era: the néaladóirí (cloud-watchers), réadóirí (stargazers) and fiachairí (those who observe ravens for signs of weather change). The closeness with which they observed every advancing cloud and pressure front is evident from the sheer richness and variety of terms they amassed.
There may not have been the sophisticated technology of today, but our forebears were skilled at reading the signs of birds, trees, animals, insects and fish, as well as markers on land and sea. Birds were particularly good forecasters: swallows flying low foretold rain, as did hens roosting early, curlews calling, ducks loudly quacking and seagulls seen far inland. The heron's behaviour offered many hints: Aimsir chrua thirim nuair a bhíonn an corr éisc suas in aghaidh srutha chun na sléibhte ('When the heron flies upstream to the mountains, the weather will be dry but rough') and Fearthainn nuair a thagann sí an abhainn anuas ('When she goes downstream, it will rain').
Robins too could offer insights, depending on where they were and how good you were at observing their behaviour. Má bhíonn an spideog faoi thor ar maidin, beidh sé ina lá fliuch ('If a robin hides beneath a bush in the morning, rain is on the way'). If you see them high in the trees, it means something else: Dea-shíon an spideog ar bharr na gcrann ('Good weather when the robin is high on the branches').
Plants also offered signs, for those who knew how to look: clover leaves closing up meant impending rain, while a heavy crop of haws meant a harsh winter, as did leaves withering too quickly in autumn.
Weather lore was an area of focus of the Irish Folklore Commission, established in the 1930s to collect the traditional knowledge of communities throughout the 26 counties of the Irish Free State. Between 1937 and 1939, fifty thousand schoolchildren from five thousand schools gathered folklore from their elders in a project known as the Schools' Collection (Bailiúchán na Scol). Among the myriad topics covered were signs of good or bad weather, predictions based on the appearance of the sky, moon-related weather lore, animal behaviour as weather indicators, plant-related weather signs and traditional methods of weather forecasting.
On the Aran Islands, for example, the schoolchildren recorded that good weather was expected nuair a thagann an rón i ngar don talamh ('when the seal approaches the land'), nuair a bhíonn torann mór ag an bhfarraige ('when there's a loud noise from the sea') and nuair a bhíonn dath nádúrtha ar an bhfarraige ('when the sea has a natural hue to it').
Auguries of rain included dath gorm a bheith ar an bhfarraige ('the sea appearing blue'), an rón ag dul i bhfad amach ins an bhfarraige ('the seal going far out to sea'), an trá a bheith bog ('the strand being soft') and an talamh ó thuaidh a bheith i ngar ('the land to the north appearing near').
There were so many different signs that could predict weather recorded throughout the country that it's hard to do them justice here. A cat, for example, could reveal impending rain if it lay with its back to the fire, while its scratching the leg of a table or chair signalled a storm. If it washed its face before the fire, good weather could be expected, but crossing its paws meant a flood within three days.
Dogs too were said to be forecasters: if they ate grass, it was a sign of fine weather; but if they drank water from a spring, bad weather was due.
In fact, most animals were thought to be able to reveal some aspect of impending weather.
Pigs were believed to be able to see the wind, and so a pig staring closely ahead indicated a storm brewing. The same conclusion could be drawn from sheep gathering into valleys or huddling by fences. Yet when sheep, goats or cows were seen grazing on the hilltops, it meant fine weather.
Even insects could predict the future. A spider retreating to the edges of its web was a sign of clement weather, while pond skaters out in great numbers meant rain. Children would keep 'water flies' in a jar as a type of barometer.
Since the presence of midges and flies were also predictors of rain, it's no wonder that the sight of fish jumping for them was too.
The elements of weather lore that come closest to modern meteorology are those to do with the sun and moon. In the folklore of every county it's recorded that rain is due if a ring is seen around a pale moon. This is still widely mentioned in my home community in County Westmeath. The wider the ring, the nearer the rain.
The idea is contained within the expression súil circe ré ('the moon of the hen's eye') and in the proverb Garraí na gealaí, báisteach ('A garden around the moon means rain').
It's also expressed as Tá lios ar an ngealach ('There's a fairy fort on the moon'). This belief aligns with the fact that cirrus clouds, which can create halos, often precede low-pressure systems, bringing rain.
The clarity of the visual phenomenon known as the Man in the Moon (created by the moon's volcanic plains contrasting with the brighter, cratered highlands) was also a sign of impending rain. The other reference to the moon that I hear frequently among neighbours is that if the moon appears to be lying on its back, bad weather will follow.
As in most cultures in the world, the sun was portrayed as a god of the heavens in Ireland before the arrival of St Patrick, and it was thought to lie down to sleep in the evening. Its rays were thought to be its legs, which accounts for the expression Togha na haimsire chughainn - cosa na gréine suas ar maidin agus síos trathnóna ('The best of weather is coming - the sun's legs are up in the morning and down in the evening').
If the sun appeared yellow and dull, with heavy clouds near the earth, it meant wet weather. The same was true of a sun that rose cloudy and later appeared gleaming in the presence of a south-westerly wind. A long spell of fine weather could be predicted from a bright sun that appeared to be near the earth, especially if it was combined with a deep blue sky that seemed very far away.
I could go on listing lore about weather signs connected with seals, trees, crops, crickets and the pains in old men's corns, and more of these weather signs and proverbs are listed at the end of this book. I hope that someone will gather all these nuggets and begin the process of researching which of them have most scientific merit. But, for me, what is most precious is the sense of keen observation they reveal. In an era and in a society without access to precise scientific equipment, they reveal how our forebears used heightened observations that are the basis of the scientific method today. They may not have had access to hygrometers or have developed concepts such as isobars, but within the limitations of what was available they were equally intent on analysing and categorising our notoriously complex and unpredictable atmospheric conditions.
And they somehow managed to get a surprising amount right. The lore about how salt melting is a sign of rain is a case in point: it's true that the increased humidity that comes with the low pressure that often precedes rain does cause salt crystals to draw water vapour from the air and to become moist or dissolve. Likewise, a phrase such as smúr rabharta, meaning 'the dull weather that accompanies the spring tide', captures a great deal, in that it's an accurate observation of a phenomenon that occurs when the gravitational forces of the moon and the sun align to bring about the highest high tides and the lowest low tides. While this alignment doesn't directly affect cloud cover, when a spring tide coincides with bad weather, severe flooding can occur, making these spring tides more memorable than those that happen in times of fine weather.
In an era before weather apps and specialist equipment, sky-watching was more nuanced than it is now. We've all heard the phrase 'A red sky at night is a shepherd's delight', but the gradations used to be more subtle, according to the scholar Dáithí Ó hÓgáin. He writes in his masterful encyclopedia Myth, Legend & Romance that a red sky in the east in winter was thought to presage frost or even snow; a red sky to the west meant sunshine; redness in the north predicted rain; and redness in the south meant rain and strong wind.
In springtime a red southern sky foretold pleasant moist weather, which would help the crops to grow.
We shouldn't assume that our ancestors relied solely on nature observation for their forecasts.
Phil Cronin of the Crossmolina Historical and Folklore Society has related that his mother had a jam jar two-thirds full of water in which she immersed a small Powers whiskey bottle, neck down. 'In fine weather the water moved up a little in the neck of the bottle, and when rain was near it dropped again.' It was a homemade barometer - and an accurate one, too, according to Cronin.
Finally, before we set out on our exploration, let me just touch upon the centrality of weather in our mythological tales, some of which stretch back thousands of years. Storms, floods and sunshine are frequently invoked as elements that precipitate dramatic events in the narratives of the old tales. The Tuatha Dé Danann, a mythical race of semi-divine beings who occupied Ireland before the arrival of our ancestors, were said to have summoned a storm to ward off the first humans to attempt to arrive, and they had themselves arrived by emerging through a dense bank of Otherworldly mist - like a band at a heavy metal concert. This type of mist could allow passage in both directions: in the narrative Imram Brain ('The Voyage of Bran'), Bran and his companions set sail across the Atlantic on an internal and external voyage of discovery and were led to the Otherworld through a veil of heavy mist.
Certain characters are also strongly associated with their ability to influence the weather. The land sovereignty deity An Chailleach ('crone', 'wise woman', 'veiled one') was believed to bring forth the tumultuous storms of early winter as well as the freezing temperatures of midwinter.
Manannán mac Lir, a deity associated with the ocean, was known to command mist and sea winds to influence events and impose his will. The god Lugh helped create the conditions for a bountiful harvest, if one was in right relationship to him.
In the account of the death of the mythic warrior Cú Chulainn, storms and unnatural darkness are said to have enveloped the land - a sign that the weather was in sympathy with the people.
Fairies were also involved with the creation of weather phenomena. An eerie calm at sea, or a sudden gust of wind, was thought to be caused by the presence of the daoine maithe or sióga ('good people' or fairies) passing nearby.
There's much more to be said about the role of weather in folklore, and you'll find a few more insights in the weather signs and proverbs in the appendix, but for now let's do a deep dive into the weather words themselves.
* Ninety-nine words for rain (and one for sun) by Manchán Magan, and illustrated by Megan Luddy, is nominated for Best Irish-Published Book, a category sponsored by The Journal in the An Post Irish Book Awards 2025.
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