It’s snowing again, which is both shocking and not shocking, like finding out your mayor has been awarding snow removal contracts to his Uncle Don.
Every time it rains or snows someone says, “We needed this.” I understand that. I try to see that every cloud has its silver lining (the old fashioned silver lining, not the scientific man-made silver lining) And sometimes, yes, we do need moisture. But, there is a big difference between Mother Nature deciding our weather versus people who wear suits deciding what we need.
Turns out these “new” silver linings aren’t so new though, they are vintage!
The first newspaper report of weather modification was On November 13, 1946, up over Mount Greylock, Massachusetts. Dr. Vincent J. Schaefer of General Electric decided that if Mother Nature wasn’t going to cooperate, he’d just give her a little nudge. Armed with a plane, a bucket of dry ice, and the kind of confidence usually reserved for teenagers and rap artists, he climbed to 14,000 feet and dumped the stuff into a cloud. Within minutes, voilà!, snowflakes began to form. Local newspapers went wild, declaring that man had finally learned to “make it rain,” which sounded more like a carnival act than a science experiment. GE, never one to walk away from a profitable miracle, quickly launched Project Cirrus with the Army, Navy, and Air Force in tow. And just like that, mankind took its first documented stab at telling the weather what to do. Somewhere, Mother Nature sighed, gave the suits the middle finger, and reached for a Gin and Tonic. Hold the tonic.
By the 1950s, states out West jumped in with the enthusiasm of squirrels discovering a freshly planted garden.
Somewhere between drought and deluge, nine states decided Mother Nature could use a little “help,” so they hired men in windbreakers and mirrored sunglasses to shoot magic dust (chemicals) into the clouds like confetti.
California (1948) – The pioneers. Pacific Gas & Electric let loose the first silver iodide flares over the Sierra Nevada. California, of course, calls it a “climate enhancement initiative” and will probably bill you for premium raindrops.
Utah (early 1950s) – Never one to miss a good snow opportunity, Utah began boosting winter storms before Elvis even had a record deal!
Colorado (1950s; formal program 1972) – Started seeding the Rockies when ski resorts realized artificial snow was cheaper than disappointing tourists.
North Dakota (1951) – Figured if it could seed wheat, it could seed clouds. The state practically turned weather modification into an extracurricular subject.
Texas (1957) – It was inevitable: if you can rope a steer, you can lasso a cumulonimbus.
New Mexico (circa 1958) – Joined hands with Texas to trade clouds like baseball cards.
Idaho (1960s) – Idaho Power decided if they wanted more hydroelectric power, they’d better make sure the sky paid its utility bill.
Nevada (late 1960s; DRI takes over 1975) – Because nothing says “desert innovation” like trying to make it rain in a place that doesn’t like to.
Wyoming (1971, expanded 2000s) – Came a little late to the party, but now runs one of the most methodical programs in the country. Leave it to Wyoming to make even precipitation orderly.
So by the dawn of disco, about nine states had decided to turn Mother Nature into a cooperative project, proving once again that the attraction of Control and Power is alive and well: if it moves, regulate it; if it doesn’t, seed it.
But here’s the rub: the yin always drags the yang behind it like toilet paper on the heel of a boot. You flood one area with “extra” moisture, and some poor farmer two states over is left staring at a sky drier than a politician’s sense of humor. The scientists call it “atmospheric redistribution.” Because of course they do, it sounds smart! In the end, maybe Mother Nature doesn’t need tech support or a gin and tonic (hold the tonic), she just needs us to stop playing meteorologist with a can of aerosol and crossed fingers.
When I was growing up (yes, not only did we have cars when I was young, but we also had built in ashtrays in our cars!) weather was something that happened on television. You turned on Channel 6, saw a happy man in a blazer gesturing toward a cartoon sun, and went back to worrying about your hair. Now we have apps that predict how many raindrops will fall on your left shoulder between 3:02 p.m. and 3:06 p.m. Progress, apparently, means we can be anxious about things before they even happen and deplete the grocery stores of everything a week prior to the storm.
Private weather modification firms with names like Weather Modification Inc., Western Weather Consultants, North American Weather Consultants, and Rainmaker Technology Corporation, trade in something called “hydrometeor enhancement,” which sounds suspiciously like it could be marketing for a hair conditioner OR electrolyte replacement crystals.
They’re running weather modification projects which are legally reported to NOAA but rarely read by anyone (NOAA Weather Modification Project Reports). The GAO (the U.S. Government Accountability Office) confirmed it in an unblinking 2024 report: “Nine states are actively using cloud seeding; oversight minimal” (GAO 25 107328). Translation: Yes, it’s happening. No, there’s no hall monitor. Target and Costco will check your receipt as you leave, but no one is checking the receipts of what’s happening in the skies.
The technique is old magic: silver iodide or calcium chloride flares tossed into receptive clouds to nudge rain. At best, the extra precipitation helps farmers. At worst, somebody else gets unplanned hail. Science calls it “stochastic,” which is Greek for “your results may vary.”
Officially, we’re told it’s to “stabilize the water cycle.” Which is adorable, considering the government couldn’t stabilize their spending habits. The GAO report politely adds that “reliable information is lacking” on effectiveness. Translation: it might work, it might not, but everyone gets paid either way. And what do these storms cause? Death, destruction, damage. Which equals people need more help. And guess who’s always promising to help you (hint, they never actually do…). The irony, of course, is that these same operations might be stealing rain from elsewhere — Utah’s miracle snowpack one week, Arizona’s drought the next.
It’s so utterly on brand for government. They can’t fix potholes but think they can fix the weather.
Maybe what bothers me isn’t the manipulation itself: it’s the silence around it. The way it’s treated as impolite conversation, like asking someone how much money they make or why they are still single (or still married?). Maybe we don’t want to know where the rain really comes from, because then we’d have to admit that even our storms are bureaucratic and having any control is simply an illusion.
So here’s my forecast: scattered anxiety with a heavy chance of absurdity. Carry a shovel for the possibility of snow and 100% chance of government bullshit. And remember, it’s not nice to fool Mother Nature. Or the people.
