It wasn’t until the introduction of the telegraph in the 1800s that people could share real-time weather conditions across the country. This helped to identify approaching weather patterns and led to more accurate forecasts. Before then, weather forecasting was mostly looking up at the sky. People relied on the wind direction, their knowledge of how seasons progressed, and the historical weather data collected in the Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Newspapers began printing daily forecasts in the mid-1800s. The first radio weather broadcast was in 1931, and regular television weather broadcasts began after World War II. For many decades these television weather broadcasts were core to our existence. You’d tune in to the news during dinner and leave it on in the background, ignoring and talking through all the stories of murder, mayhem, and political intrigue until someone shouted, “The weather’s on!” and then everyone went silent.   

For an immediate forecast, you’d ask, “What’s the weather outside?” Or open a door to check yourself. 

I learned other ways to make predictions too. Animals are helpful. Cows eat more before an approaching cold front, the number and frequency of cricket chirps gauge temperature, frogs croak louder before a storm, ladybugs swarm ahead of warmer weather, and sheep huddle together when there’s rain on the way. And, of course, there’s the most famous animal weather prognosticator of them all, Punxsutawney’s groundhog, Phil. And there are creaky joints, like my grandmother’s shoulder. Grandma claimed the ability to predict different weather patterns based on how her shoulder felt. A little stiff, some rain. A sharp pain, break out the snow shovels. A local news station promoted the accuracy of their meteorologist, Joe DeNardo, in ads proclaiming, “Joe said it would.” Grandma mimicked it and announced her bursitis’s success by exclaiming, “The shoulder said it would.” 

The widespread availability of cable television, followed by Clinton vice-president Al Gore's invention of the internet, made accessing weather forecasts much easier. The Weather Channel was with us twenty-four hours a day, and save for the early days of dial-up modems and web page load times you could measure in hours; we had real-time access to forecasts and meteorological data around the country and the world. 

Now, in our pockets, we have immediate access to detailed data, radar, forecasts, and alerts to potentially dangerous weather patterns. But like all good things, there's a downside.   For weather apps, it’s the creation of self-proclaimed weather experts. 

While watching a baseball game at a local establishment recently, someone who didn't want to remove a hand from their beer or a chicken wing to check for themselves, asked what the next day’s weather would be. One of these homegrown meteorologists regaled us for an entire inning about national trends, approaching weather patterns, and how the tallest building in town creates its own weather. He eventually gave us the next day’s forecast, but only after a lecture on how climate change impacts his tomatoes. 

My morning reverie about the weather was shattered by someone cranking up a lawn mower and my Great Pyrenes barking to alert me a butterfly had entered our backyard air space. I decided to move inside and stood up from the chair. My rise was slowed a bit by a twinge in my arthritic right knee. 

I made a mental note to close the windows before I left the house. Regardless of what the weather app said, there was some rain coming.

Joe’s knee said it would.