A love letter to my favorite branch of the government.

Editor’s note: I tried to send this email to NOAA directly when I heard that their email address had leaked and was getting hate mail (NSFW content) Unfortunately, by the time I got done setting up a separate email address to send my message from (because I didn’t really want 13,000 bounce responses if it failed spectacularly going to my main email) they had patched the mail server to not accept email from people like me. Took ’em long enough.

If you know someone at NOAA, please pass this along to them.


I hope this email finds you.

I check your weather site every day. The forecast discussions in the Mt. Airy office help me both understand how weather works and help me understand why all of your jobs are so very difficult.

You do really hard jobs, and you do them very well and I want to say thank you.

Your predecessors kept my dad safe when he was in the Coast Guard in the 1960s, a lightship sailor in the North Seas. Your weather forecasts keep all of our service members safe every day. They keep all of us safe every day. I get a little arrogant when my friends are quoting crazy snow totals at me and I pull up the forecast discussion and go “well yeah but here are the models the feds are looking at and here’s what’s not evening out yet, so they’re calling for less and here’s why” and they’re more consistently correct than anything any other app puts out. Also, the communications that I found on your Facebook channel which shows what the chances are for different snow amounts made some of my family go “wow!”.  Thank you.

You research and react to climate research changes, which helps every one of us figure out what to plant and where, from the apartment balcony garden to full-sized farms both here in the US and all over the world. Your educational resources are fantastic and your climate stripes have inspired a lot of knitters I know, even if it does mean they get really mad at how much red yarn they end up using. Your planning and commitment to the real science of the climate keeps us both safe and fed. Thank you.

The work you do around the oceans and coasts mean that cities like Virginia Beach are prepared for storms and the surges they bring. My trips there every summer to relax allow me to recharge and do better at all the work — family and paid — that I do throughout the year. Without your hard work the hotels and tourism industries couldn’t do what they do, and I couldn’t get a chance to watch the dolphins chasing the paddlers at sunrise. Thank you.

We all laughed when the Evergreen got stuck in the Suez Canal, because we definitely needed a laugh when that happened. But if it weren’t for the hard work you do in charting and maps, not only would we have boats stuck all the time, the Coast Guard would be working who knows how much longer to save ships sunk by unknown underwater rocks. You keep us safe. Thank you.

Every time we have a hurricane and we watch the intense graphics and rapid updates, it’s because your scientists are in airplanes flying through those hurricanes. That’s hard dangerous work, and it takes a huge team of scientists and others to produce that data, keep the ones in the planes safe, and communicate the findings out to the rest of the world. Thank you. And thank you to the amazing folks who are putting satellites in space and then telling us the story of our Earth, with pictures of storms and methane emissions and all kinds of other facts we would have no access to without the satellites.

A few years ago someone told me that the overfishing of the oceans and waterways was so bad that the only things really flourishing were jellyfish, so I’d better figure out how I like my jellyfish cooked. (I’m guessing as jellyfish chips since once the water’s out of one there’s not much left.) But the folks working in the Fisheries division are helping to make sure that we don’t get to that point. I like having well-stocked waterways both because hey, fish are tasty, and because the natural ecosystem of the ocean requires, you know, the ecosystem to be alive. I watched an awesome video on SciShow the other day about reducing bycatch and I’m 100% sure that even if your studies weren’t the ones being performed, “reducing bycatch” is something that we wouldn’t be able to research without the baseline of knowledge that you provide. Thank you. And thank you to everyone working with and around the marine sanctuaries to ensure that we have places that are as protected as possible from all the chaos humans inevitably create.

I don’t even know how to begin to talk about your communications teams. The websites, the alerts, the education libraries, the videos, the photos, they’re all amazing. I love you all for every thing that you produce, even when I don’t know it’s coming from you.

You all — every one of you — work really hard jobs that pay dividends in science, health, education, infrastructure, and so many other ways.

You keep us safe. Thank you.

thank you,
anne gibson

Chance, an epilogue

It is a statement about terriers, and especially my terriers, that when I tell my friends, “I’m worried that Chance might have gotten rejected from heaven, and that if he did get in, he’s misbehaving. Do you think he’s ok?” the unanimous vote is that of course he’s misbehaving. He’s Chance.

I don’t know how many of heaven’s sofas have been peed on so far but I have a good idea of what purgatory will look like. It looks a lot like an infinite bottle of Nature’s Miracle and an unending roll of paper towels.

Chance Gibson (2008-2023)

In 2008 our dog Jessie died of cancer. A few months later, on July 1, 2008, we brought Chance Benedict Gibson home from the breeder.

A very small brown and white puppy on a light green comforter on the floor. He's chewing a pink stuffed bunny.

Many adventures ensued.

On Sunday September 3, 2003, Chance died of a sudden and catastrophic health collapse.

A brown and white jack russel with a grey muzzle sleeping in a dog bed with his head perched up on the bed's bolsters.

Fifteen years is a hell of a run.

At some point, I’ll have the ability to talk more about my boy, but right now my heart is too full.

Sleep well, Bug. Don’t fight with JessieDog. I’ll see you later.

Update: the cards just arrived…

…so I’m chalking the memory of already receiving them up to “total hallucination” and planning to buy stamps.

Because of course I hadn’t bought stamps.

Anyway, cards will be coming… eventually… but probably before February ?

Merry Christmas, a bit early, and probably a bit late

Two weeks ago I was off — between jobs, so it was the most relaxing kind of vacation for a tech worker because nobody could ping me on Slack about anything work related.

(Yes, yes, I know, I should shut off notifications on work chat boards but it’s not as easy as it sounds.)

I used the time to take pictures of the dogs in their Christmas finest and then make a card over on Shutterfly. I also ordered my brother a Christmas present.

At the end of my time off, a package from Shutterfly arrived and, assuming it was my gift for my brother, I put it away somewhere safe. And I thought, wow, Christmas cards really are running late this year as the days ticked over.

Yesterday my brother’s Christmas present arrived.

Which means somewhere in this house I have safely stored 200 pre-addressed customized Christmas cards. They’re so safely stored I have no idea where I put them. I tore parts of the house apart yesterday looking and, well, no luck.

So, working off the assumption that the cards will surface sometime around February, please enjoy these pictures of the terror trio and accept our warm wishes for the holidays.

View from the floor of Kaylee in a red cape, Chance in a collar and tie, and Myka in a shiny hat all looking up to a point off-camera (where my husband is holding a treat)

Photo from above, looking down on Kaylee in a red cape that's hanging sideways, Chance in his collar and tie (barely visible) and Myka in her shiny new year's hat looking up hoping for a treat. At the top of the photo my hand holding a treat