Ice, yes; snow, yes; ice and snow, No! #phenology

Today is the Daughter Person's natal celebration day. We wish her many, many, many happy and healthy returns of the day. She's a native Minnesotan, conceived, born and raised here. Some day soon (as Judy Collins sings) we'll have to ask her what she thinks of the recent coverage on Eric Dayton and "North." Personally, we like the concept more than the reality of Minnesota Winters but things do look more "normal" with some snow cover at this time of year.

early December, early ice

Photo by J. Harrington

In addition to the large pools in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area, there are several small ponds in the neighborhood that, as the ice redevelops, remind us of days of our youth in a New England suburb and the joys of skating on fresh, clean (safe) ice. As we recall, Letters fromSide Lake, or another one of Peter Leschak's books, has one or two delightful pieces about skating in the North Country. Thinking about this comparison, between skating in Massachusetts and in Minnesota, makes us wonder if we are becoming acclimated or naturalized.

tracks in snow on ice

Photo by J. Harrington

One difference we've noted though is that Massachusetts, as we recall, did a better job of producing "clean" ice, without snow or slush messing a smooth surface. More often than not in Minnesota, it seems that, just about the time ice has set up, we get a rain/snow mix that freezes into a trashy surface for skating. Maybe that's just as well for our sake. We doubt our aging bones and muscles would take well to the rigors of skating (and falling) on pond ice and we would undoubtedly be tempted to recapture some elements of our youth and what passed for early adulthood on skates, with a stick shaped sort of like an "L" in our hands. On the other hand, it's usually more action than ice fishing. Last, and certainly not least, snow-covered ice provides a great surface for reading critter tracks.

We're going to be traveling over the next week or so and don't know what we'll have for internet access. We'll post as we can and catch up late next week if need be. Leave a light on for us, if you would. Thanks.

                     North

By Seamus Heaney

I returned to a long strand,

the hammered curve of a bay,   

and found only the secular

powers of the Atlantic thundering.

I faced the unmagical

invitations of Iceland,

the pathetic colonies

of Greenland, and suddenly

those fabulous raiders,

those lying in Orkney and Dublin   

measured against

their long swords rusting,

those in the solid

belly of stone ships,

those hacked and glinting

in the gravel of thawed streams

were ocean-deafened voices

warning me, lifted again

in violence and epiphany.

The longship’s swimming tongue

was buoyant with hindsight—

it said Thor’s hammer swung

to geography and trade,

thick-witted couplings and revenges,

the hatreds and behind-backs

of the althing, lies and women,   

exhaustions nominated peace,   

memory incubating the spilled blood.

It said, ‘Lie down

in the word-hoard, burrow   

the coil and gleam

of your furrowed brain.

Compose in darkness.   

Expect aurora borealis   

in the long foray

but no cascade of light.

Keep your eye clear

as the bleb of the icicle,

trust the feel of what nubbed treasure   

your hands have known.’

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