Imbolc? Maybe in eight to twelve weeks around here! #phenology

Today's average high temperature in Dublin, Ireland is 47℉. In Minneapolis, the average high is 25℉. (Today's wind chills are running around minus 20 degrees.) In our neck of the woods, we reach an average high of 47℉ around March 27. This probably explains a lot about why Imbolc,  the beginning of Spring or lambing time, isn't widely celebrated in Minnesota at the start of February. (The Southwestern US is a different story.)

red osier dogwood starts to brighten

Photo by J. Harrington

Even in Boston, with its humid continental climate, we recall marching in St. Patrick's Day parades in mid-March being dicey, with skies spitting sleet or snow as often as not. Here in Minnesota, we think the analog to Imbolc may not come until the end of April, with Walpurgis Eve, but even with our climate and Scandanavian demographics, it's not widely celebrated. It may be that the real Minnesota festival celebrating Spring is walleye fishing opener, one to two weeks later in May, around Mother's Day, most years. Even ten, fishing opener is often anxiety-ridden about whether the ice will be out "Up North."

listen for the "Fee Bee" calls

Photo by J. Harrington

This year February has no full moon. Last night's full moon was the Sucker Fish Moon, which, most years, occurs in February. The next full moon will occur on March 1. Even without a full moon, this is the month we can look for chipmunks to once again become active. Local woodpeckers will start hammering on trees to announce their territories. Although Winter still has a firm grip on the countryside, signs of returning life really begin to grow this month. Even though it'll be awhile before local lambs can safely emerge, Spring has begun to get restless under Winter's covers.

Horoscope

Maureen N. McLane

Again the white blanket    
icicles pierce.
The fierce teeth
of steel-framed snowshoes
bite the trail open.
Where the hardwoods stand
and rarely bend
the wind blows hard
an explosion of snow
like flour dusting
the baker in a shop
long since shuttered.
In this our post-shame century
we will reclaim
the old nouns
unembarrassed. 
If it rains 
we’ll say oh
there’s rain.
If she falls
out of love
with you you’ll carry
your love on a gold plate
to the forest and bury it
in the Indian graveyard.
Pioneers do not
only despoil.
The sweet knees
of oxen have pressed
a path for me.
A lone chickadee
undaunted thing
sings in the snow.    
Flakes appear
as if out of air
but surely they come
from somewhere
bearing what news
from the troposphere.
The sky’s shifted
and Capricorns abandon
themselves to a Sagittarian
line. I like
this weird axis.
In 23,000 years
it will become again
the same sky
the Babylonians scanned.

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