Written March 31, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Welcome to storm season—where the clouds throw tantrums, the wind gets dramatic, and Nashville becomes the reluctant stage for nature’s thunderous Broadway.
Just last night, we got hit with a storm that clearly wanted to be noticed. The temperature, which had been gently warming up like a pleasant prelude, suddenly dropped like a diva exiting the stage mid-performance. And the sounds! Not your usual thunderclaps—oh no. My wife described it perfectly: it was like some giant beast dragging something massive across the earth. Less “boom,” more “is-the-ground-supposed-to-feel-like-this?”
Naturally, I couldn’t let the mystery go. Why do we always seem to get these dramatic sky shows around this time of year? So I did what any mildly obsessed weather-curious person would do—I fell down a rabbit hole of meteorological research.
Turns out, spring storms are the result of a moody mix of atmospheric drama. Think of the air way up high playing tug-of-war, stretching apart like cotton candy at a fair. That pulling action is called divergence—and when it happens, it creates a kind of empty space up there. But nature? She hates a vacuum. So air from lower down rushes upward to fill that void.
As that air rises, it lowers the pressure near the ground—hello, low-pressure system. And the more dramatic that divergence up high? The stronger the low-pressure system below. These powerful systems are basically the engines that power our stormy rollercoaster rides. Two of the most notorious culprits: the Colorado low and the Texas low. When these guys hit the road, they bring a stormy buffet—rain, thunder, snow, and maybe even a tornado if the mood strikes.
And wouldn’t you know it—Nashville has been playing temperature ping-pong all week. One day, it’s practically summer, the next, I’m wondering where I put my thermal running tights.
Speaking of which, that last storm forced me to haul out my cold-weather gear for a morning run. Not glove-worthy (yet), but brisk enough to make me reconsider my life choices. The yard is still soggy, but at least it’s warming up again—just enough to avoid jacket regret while mowing the lawn.
So, yes, my curiosity led me to a surprising lesson in storm science. Who says bad weather can’t be educational?