Winter's last grasp?

Today is the Ides of March. Tuesday will be St. Patrick's Day. Friday is the Vernal Equinox, at 9:46 am locally. As I'm writing this, we have about half a foot of fresh snow on the ground and several more hours of continuing snowfall ahead of us. Will this storm reach the depth of the March 22, 2024 "Spring blizzard?" We'll see. Often, what's left of Winter grasps us by the proverbial short hairs. I consider "Winter's last gasp" a misnomer, in part because, here in the North Country, it's been known to snow every month except July. But after 9:46 am Friday, until Summer Solstice, precipitation will officially be known as "Spring showers."

almost 9 inches, March 22, 2024

Photo by J. Harrington

According to the ORDER OF BARDS, OVATES & DRUIDS:

"Winter sometimes seems so long, that we could be forgiven for wondering whether Spring will ever return. But the Goddess of Spring is merely sleeping through the darkness of Winter, and while she stirs at Imbolc, she is truly awake by the time of the Spring Equinox.

"The forces of light are equally balanced with the forces of darkness at this time, but light is on the increase – and will reach its apogee at the Summer Solstice three months later.

"The symbolic plant of the Equinox in Druidry is the trefoil or shamrock, which is also customarily worn on St. Patrick’s Day, 17th March – almost at the time of the Spring Equinox. The usual explanation for the use of the shamrock is that St Patrick once used its three-leaved shape to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity, but in fact shamrock is probably the national emblem of Ireland because of its earlier Druidic associations, and it is seen by some authorities as a survival of the trignetra, a Christianised wheel or sun symbol."

Wouldn't it be wonderful if, once again, the forces of light truly became dominant in and for US and the rest of the world, starting with this week? Our world is not a monoculture. Our moon is closer to that, and closer to being lifeless. The more we learn about Earth, the more she appears comprised of interdependent relationships rather than a collection of objects. Truth, much like beauty, is often found in the eye of the beholder. Don't just take my word for that, ask a quantum physicist.

Meanwhile, we'll keep our fingers crossed that waterfowl, sandhill cranes, and other migrators that arrived last week can hang in there through a couple of cold days after this storm so that they don't give up on the North Country as a good place for nesting and raising families. Now, it's time to assess how we're going to make the driveway drivable and walkable. C'mon Spring!!!

 Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón

1976 –

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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Approaching a New Year (and better days?)

I missed my usual posting yesterday. I became entranced watching the continuous, continuing, snow falling most of the day. It became hypnotically mesmerizing and I lost track of time, space and place. So this week's posting is a day late and is being written before I snow blow the mess in the driveway or bake the cranberry-sourdough bread that's been rising overnight.

Christmas cookies: much better than real snowflakes

Photo by J. Harrington

The dogs, especially the 13-inch beagle, were dismayed this morning to discover they'd gone from slipping on an icy driveway yesterday to floundering in multiple inches of snow this morning. I'm sure both Harry the beagle and SiSi the lab will appreciate my snow blowing activities so they don't freeze sensitive parts as they take care of business. This is the second time this season we've had enough snowfall to require blowing. The first was back near the beginning of the month. According to the 2026 Minnesota WeatherGuide Santa left in my stocking. our average daytime high gets above freezing on or about February 26. I may start a countdown if the crazy weather we've had so far continues. It''s hard to slow down and curl up with a good story when snow needs blowing and dogs need walking on slickery surfaces.

Many decades ago I made a New Year's resolution to give up making such resolutions. It's one of the few I've kept. In an effort to go from disgruntled to gruntled (yes, that's a word) I'm considering adopting new guidelines for next year because there's constantly something or other stupid or evil, or both, in the news. Not reading the news seems like irresponsible escapism. I'm open to suggestions on other approaches. Any thoughts about living in and enjoying "the moment" when that moment is anything but pleasant would be particularly helpful. Here's one approach:

For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet 

Joy Harjo     1951 –

Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give it back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.

Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.

Don’t worry.

The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark. 

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

Pondering the imponderable

When Mother Nature tries to squeeze a winter’s worth of weather into one week, some folks feel claustrophobic after the first few days of that week. Meanwhile, during our morning walk today, the dogs agreed that this weather isn’t fit for man nor beast, but wondered who’s the beast and does bff mean beast friends forever? I think snow storms four out of five days are affecting everyone. Remember the old joke about pounding one’s head against a brick wall because it feels so good when you stop?

I acknowledge that, until recently, a relatively mild and snowless winter had me less than enthusiastic about spring’s arrival. It would have been largely same old, same old... Not any more! I am so looking forward to the thaw/melt and greening because it will be such a radical change! No doubt it will take awhile, but flowers and butterflies will eventually arrive, followed by dragonflies. By then we will be somewhere around the end of May and beginning of June and I may have even completed a couple of fishing trips.

old apple tree with a single apple

Photo by J. Harrington

In the interim, I plan to read some poetry, reread Linda Hogan’s Dwellings, bake some bread, and listen for the sounds of flowing waters. I’m also debating forgoing news and social media until the majority of the human race shows signs of sanity. But if I don't check news and social media, how will I know sanity may have begun to prevail?

Gather

Rose McLarney

Some springs, apples bloom too soon.
The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick
to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,
pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty
and quiet. No reason for the bees to come.

Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples
glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,
the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit.

You could say, I have been foolish. You could say, I have been fooled.
You could say, Some years, there are apples.

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A secret spring? A spring secret?

Today is the first day of the last week of March, 2024. The full moon (Ojibwe: Snow Crust Moon; Lakota: Snow Blindness Moon) occurred at 2:00 am this morning. In our neighborhood, it was well hidden by snow clouds. Tonight the aurora may be visible well south of the Arctic Circle, but rain clouds are expected to obscure it/them. As this is typed. heavy, very wet, melting snow covers almost everything outside. More snow is expected tomorrow, after tonight’s rain. By Easter Sunday, the snow may be gone and life returned to local flora. My anticipated wander to look for, or at, emerging skunk cabbage is rescheduled for much later this week or, maybe, Easter Monday.

emerging skunk cabbage

Photo by J. Harrington

An updated drought map should be issued later this week. It’ll be interesting to see if there’s any significant change. At the moment, most of Minnesota is rated as low fire danger and much of the state doesn’t require burning permits. Where we are, everything is too wet to burn, although we have several brush piles to be reduced to ashes. Maybe next month.

Meanwhile, there’s been an unusually large number of blue jays around today. I saw more than half a dozen along the driveway after I’d cleared the snow. They’ve been flitting amongst the trees and one even arrived at the bird feeder, which is quite rare in my experience, unless it’s a tray feeder, which ours isn’t. As more and more unusual events occur, I wonder if we’re well past time to redefine “normal.”

Winter: My Secret

By Christina Rossetti

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;

Perhaps some day, who knows?

But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,

And you’re too curious: fie!

You want to hear it? well:

Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:

Suppose there is no secret after all,

But only just my fun.

Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;

In which one wants a shawl,

A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:

I cannot ope to everyone who taps,

And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;

Come bounding and surrounding me,

Come buffeting, astounding me,

Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.

I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows

His nose to Russian snows

To be pecked at by every wind that blows?

You would not peck? I thank you for good will,

Believe, but leave the truth untested still.

Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust

March with its peck of dust,

Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,

Nor even May, whose flowers

One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.

Perhaps some languid summer day,

When drowsy birds sing less and less,

And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,

And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

Perhaps my secret I may say,

Or you may guess.

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End of season weather

It’s been snowing since mid-morning. Tomorrow we may get to see what six+ inches of snow looks like when it gets rained on. I’m pondering whether we might get away with the “Mother Nature left it, let her clean it up!” approach. By mid-week we should be back to daytime high temperatures in the forties and yesterdays sunshine melted much of the snow from Thursday night.

waterfowl arrived just before the storms

Photo by J. Harrington

End of season snow storms present more complex challenges than those we get in December, January and February when, most years, we can expect to get more snow before spring thaw arrives and, if we hope to get out of the garage, we need to clear the driveway. If the snow is likely to mostly disappear over the next day or two, and it’s already officially spring, why bother with snow blowing in the middle of a rain storm? Tune in tomorrow or Tuesday to learn what we decided and how Mother Nature responded.

Meanwhile, I’m picturing a number of waterfowl pairs, especially Canada geese and mallard ducks, where the hen is quacking or honking “I told you it was to early to head North. There’s no way I’m going to build a nest in this stuff. Egg laying will just have to wait until this melts.” At least the prospects for the Easter Bunny hiding eggs in the grass instead of snowbanks look good.

Audubon Warblers

By Kevin L. Cole

The Audubon warblers keep the time of their coming,

Arriving on stillness of a storm,

Their breast and backs as dark as low bruised banks of cloud,

Rumps and throats as yellow as blooms of buckwheat.

 

They throng this evening in the newly-leaved

Tender-tipped canopies nervously weaving

Through the catkins like frantic prophets

Bearing some divine prophecy of the coming spring.

 

I wait, hoping for nothing too grave:

News of ruinous lands, of cutting and swarming locusts,

Of withering vines and empty granaries,

Of fasting, weeping, and rending of garments.

 

No, I wait for lighter fare:

Perhaps a promise that the green heron will nest

On the west end of the slough and that the ironweed

And wood lily will once again together bloom.

 

This would be an ample prophecy for another year—

This and a promise to keep the time of their coming.

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A between storms lull

More signs of spring, better than spring blizzards, are appearing in the lull between storms. The Sunrise River pools were hosting several bunches of mallards, fresh from southern grounds. A tom turkey was displaying for his harem of more than a dozen hens along a nearby county road. Birdsong persists in the morning despite the fresh snow cover. If only the forecast weren’t for an additional six to twelve inches tomorrow, on top of the nine inches we got Friday, I might feel almost springy myself. Ah well, all the more to look forward to!

tom turkey: fan-tailed mating display

Photo by J. Harrington

Between a basically snowless winter and an early Easter (next weekend), my sense of spring as an emergence has been thoroughly disrupted this year. Once the latest round of snow melts, I’m promising myself a wander into the nearby wetlands to look for skunk cabbage. Marsh marigolds should show up some time late next month and trilliums after that. In the midst of tomorrow and Monday’s storm, reading about fly fishing and turkey hunting will serve as a comfortable substitute for the real things. Until Palm Sunday..., unless I get worn out clearing snow.

For the Bird Singing before Dawn

Kim Stafford

Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.

In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,
a song—and in a little while, behold:

the first glimmer comes, then a glow
filters through the misty trees,
then the bold sun rises, then
everyone starts bustling about.

And that first crazy optimist, can we
forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn,
“Hey, I made that happen!
And oh, life is so fine.”

“Winter’s” last g(r)asp?

I know. It seems as though I keep going on about the weather, but let me provide a clear context. Winter season is officially over. It is now spring. All winter of 2023-24, our official snow total was 14.3 inches The forecast is we’ll get more than that amount over the next week or so, mixed with rain. Three months of winter exceeded by one week of spring! Gimme a break!

the back yard a year ago

Photo by J. Harrington

Fuel tanks on tractor (diesel) and snow blower (gas) have been topped off. Each has been started. Now we wait and see what comes, hoping most of the precipitation falls as rain. Most of the state is droughty and, until we get wet and green, the fire danger is moderate to high. Early this morning a bird song from a tree in front of the house could have been a territorial defense or a warning to “Get out while you can!” For that matter, the latter, if heeded, is a way of achieving the former. Clever bird.

The dogs, after an essentially snowless winter, are going to be quite disconcerted at having to cope with white stuff all over the ground as they go to take care of business, especially the short-legged beagle, if we actually get the 9 ± inches forecast for Sunday.

Since you’ve stayed with me this long, this confession may come as no surprise at all. By this time of year, almost every year, I’m like a little kid stuck in the back seat for a too long journey. No matter how wonderful the destination, in fact the more wonderful, the more frequent the whiny question: “Are we there yet? When will we get there? I’m tired!!!!” 

Spring Snow

By Linda Gregerson

A kind of counter- 

blossoming, diversionary, 

doomed, and like 

the needle with its drop 

of blood a little 

too transparently in 

love with doom, takes 

issue with the season: Not 

(the serviceberry bright 

with explanation) not 

(the redbud unspooling 

its silks) I know I've read 

the book but not (the lilac, 

the larch) quite yet, I still 

have one more card to 

play. Behold 

a six-hour wonder: six 

new inches bedecking the 

railing, the bench, the top 

of the circular table like 

a risen cake. The saplings 

made (who little thought 

what beauty weighs) to bow 

before their elders. 

The moment bears more 

than the usual signs of its own 

demise, but isn't that 

the bravery? Built 

on nothing but the self- 

same knots of air 

and ice. Already 

the lip of it riddled 

with flaws, a sort 

of vascular lesion that 

betokens—what? betokens 

the gathering return 

to elementals. (She 

was frightened 

for a minute, who had 

planned to be so calm.) 

A dripline scoring 

the edge of the walk. 

The cotton batting blown 

against the screen begun 

to pill and molt. (Who 

clothed them out of 

mercy in the skins 

of beasts.) And even 

as the last of the 

lightness continues 

to fall, the seepage 

underneath has gained 

momentum. (So that 

there must have been a 

death before 

the death we call the 

first or what became 

of them, the ones 

whose skins were taken.) 

Now the more- 

of-casting-backward-than-of- 

forward part, which must 

have happened while I wasn't 

looking or was looking 

at the skinning knives. I think 

I'll call this mercy too.

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Welcome, Spring?

Locally, Spring begins at 10:06 pm today. I’m pretending that doesn’t really count because it’s such a small percentage of the day so late in the day. Tomorrow is my first real day of spring, but not the first real spring day. That was some weeks ago. Got it?

Here’s the Weather Underground forecast for the beginning of Spring(?)!

10 day weather forecast

Snow on Thursday, Friday, maybe Saturday, 9.6 inches on Sunday, another 6 on Monday and 2.4 Tuesday. If ever I’ve hoped a forecast was wrong..! Just this morning the Better Half pointed out the green leaves emerging in the front garden and yard. I can easily envision them shaking off a three or four inch spring snowfall, but something approaching a foot and a half isn’t going to melt overnight or in a day or two. We are looking at (but not forward to) validation of a Minnesotan assessment of our almost snowless winter: “We’ll pay for this!”

I started the tractor yesterday, just to be sure the back blade is available. Tomorrow we’ll check on the snow blower and the diesel and gas supply. Maybe if enough of us show we’re prepared, Mother Nature will decide it’s not worth the trouble to harass us.

I don’t know about you, but each day I wish more and more the world would start making sense again. Then, again, maybe it rarely has:

If—

By Rudyard Kipling

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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Welcome, April!?

The bad news is that I spent much of the morning clearing six inches of heavy, wet, snow from the driveway. The good news is that Mother Nature promises to make July and August excessively hot to compensate for the cold, snowy spring she’s been delivering. How’s that for a deal?

The East end of the driveway gets lots of morning sun and this morning, despite temperatures below freezing, turned to mud as I was scraping snow with the tractor. The West end is more shaded and was still ice covered under the heavy, wet, snow. The combination made for some interesting attempts to clear snow with either the tractor or the snow blower. I think we can get the vehicles out of the garage and onto the road so what’s left on the drive gets to stay there until it melts.

mid-April, 2014: 15 inches of snow

Photo by J. Harrington

What really made me wonder about why we’re still living here is the picture above, from April 2014. That snow is fifteen inches deep. Maybe it didn’t seem as bad as this morning because it fell on bare ground? Maybe it was so bad that I’ve deeply repressed the memories of that cleanup? In any event, it’s photographic proof that last night’s storm was far from unique.

Turning to a more pleasant topic, today is the first day of National Poetry Month in the United States.

As a special offering this April, U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón has selected twenty new poems by contemporary poets to be featured in the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day series as part of a collaboration with the Library of Congress. Thanks in part to our National Poetry Month partners and sponsors, each April the Academy is able to offer activities, initiatives, and resources so that anyone can join the celebration:

• Order (for free) and display the official National Poetry Month poster 
• Learn how to celebrate at home
• Learn how to celebrate in the classroom
• Join the Academy of American Poets for its virtual Poetry & the Creative Mind gala 
• Find poetry readings and events on our Poetry Near You calendar, and add your own
• Encourage students in grades five through twelve to participate in the Dear Poet Project
• Sign up for Poem-a-Day and enjoy a free daily poem in your inbox curated this April by U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón
• Follow the thousands of celebrations taking place on social media with the official hashtag #NationalPoetryMonth and follow the Academy of American Poets on Twitter and Instagram @POETSorg
• Share a #PocketPoem on Poem in Your Pocket Day 
• Make a gift to the Academy of American Poets
• Add the official National Poetry Month logo to your events:

May to April

Philip Freneau - 1752-1832

Without your showers, I breed no flowers,
    Each field a barren waste appears;
If you don't weep, my blossoms sleep,
    They take such pleasures in your tears.

As your decay made room for May,
    So I must part with all that’s mine:
My balmy breeze, my blooming trees
    To torrid suns their sweets resign!

O’er April dead, my shades I spread:
    To her I owe my dress so gay—
Of daughters three, it falls on me
    To close our triumphs on one day:

Thus, to repose, all Nature goes;
    Month after month must find its doom:
Time on the wing, May ends the Spring,
    And Summer dances on her tomb!

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Oh, deer! It’s snowing again!

 Late yesterday, we noticed a whitetail browsing on the lower branches of some conifers at the back edge of our property. This morning, after it began snowing again, we saw a couple of deer feeding on short conifers at wood’s edge along the northern side of the  yard. As the snow continued, six or eight deer walked (one scampered) through the yard right behind the house. All of them, plus a few others, ended up browsing along the field edge south of the house. This was more deer than we’ve seen all winter in total until today. It’s a tough time of year since there’s still deep snow cover, much of the easy browse has been consumed, and winter doesn’t want to acknowledge defeat. Plus, humans feeding deer isn’t acceptable due to chronic wasting disease. 

at the northern wood’s edge

Photo by J. Harrington

right behind the house

Photo by J. Harrington

south of the house, field edge

Photo by J. Harrington

If you live in or around the North Country, cross your fingers and say a prayer or two for the wildlife that has to make it through the next two to four weeks before things begin to improve. Remember, many of the does are carrying fawns from last autumn’s mating season.

Three Deer in Oquossoc

By Sonja Johanson

East will take me back. I drive

west. I wend between snowbanks,

until the road delivers me

to a sleeping boat launch.

 

They stand on the frozen ramp;

watch me with coats that are

better than mine. Ice houses

and snowmobiles edge the distance.

 

I have to turn around, I say

to them, I went the wrong

way. They stamp and chuff.

No, they tell me, this is the way.

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Is it Winter enough for ya?

I tried to surrender this morning, but no one could see my white flag through the falling, blowing, and drifting snow. Since my surrender wasn’t accepted, I returned to the garage and started the snow blower. For the second time in as many days, the entire driveway needed to be cleared of several inches of snow, plus the leavings of the township plow at the end of the drive next to the road. Another inch or so of fresh flakes have accumulated since I quit blowing. I’ll scrape with  the back blade later today or tomorrow morning.

Twin Cities Snow and Cold Index, year-to-date

This spring I will watch with glee as the snow melts and thaws take their toll on the driveway ice cover. I suspect that someone needs to adjust the elements in the index because the snow and cold don’t capture the pain and aggravation caused by winter rainfall followed by below freezing temperatures. I’m disconcerted to see that our winter so far only ranks as moderate (green). It’s certainly felt more like severe, but maybe that’s my age showing, or the missing rain plus freezing.

In the hope and belief that spring will actually arrive sometime within the next four to six weeks, my plan is to restart my morning exercises, deferred while recovering from a tooth extraction, plus relax, drink coffee, and read in the house until spring thaw is underway. Then we’ll get out and enjoy the sights and sounds of flowing water and returning migrants at the feeders and around the Sunrise River pools. If the Arctic and Antarctic are melting, Minnesota can’t be too far behind.

Late February

By Ted Kooser

The first warm day,

and by mid-afternoon

the snow is no more

than a washing

strewn over the yards,

the bedding rolled in knots

and leaking water,

the white shirts lying

under the evergreens.

Through the heaviest drifts

rise autumn’s fallen

bicycles, small carnivals

of paint and chrome,

the Octopus

and Tilt-A-Whirl

beginning to turn

in the sun. Now children,

stiffened by winter

and dressed, somehow,

like old men, mutter

and bend to the work

of building dams.

But such a spring is brief;

by five o’clock

the chill of sundown,

darkness, the blue TVs

flashing like storms

in the picture windows,

the yards gone gray,

the wet dogs barking

at nothing. Far off

across the cornfields

staked for streets and sewers,

the body of a farmer

missing since fall

will show up

in his garden tomorrow,

as unexpected

as a tulip.

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Happy National Love Your Pet Day!

Of course, we love our pets every day, if not every minute of the day. SiSi and Harry believe we don’t love them enough because we aren’t willing to feed them 24 X 7 X 365, whenever they’re awake. They also have some doubts about Mother Nature this week since the fresh snow on the ice-covered driveway is very slippery even if you have claws on your toes. Plus, when the snow melts and things get damp, like awhile ago, everything smells better, or at least has more smells.

SiSi (left) and Harry (right)

Photo by J. Harrington

Our two dogs help a lot at keeping me at least minimally grounded and honest, but in minus 20 wind chills and/or blowing snow, I have no tolerance for sniffing expeditions and dawdling, checking for who’s been here. We continue to have discussions about terms and conditions for dog walking. No matter how curmudgeonly I’ve been about not getting frostbite while they sniff around, all is forgiven when I fill the food dishes.

With the ice on the driveway, I’ve been dutifully wearing yaktrax on my stormtrackers. Today’s fresh snow over the existing ice promptly clogged the yaktrax and made the ice even more slippery. We, the dogs and I, barely made it back to the house in one piece (actually, in three pieces) and we’ve several more days of snowfall coming this week. All, or at least most, of us in my household are looking forward to spring when we can enjoy being out with our pets on bare ground and going for longer, more pleasant walks, at least until the deer flies arrive.

[Full disclosure: the Better Half has a couple of goldfish in a tank, but I’m not convinced they qualify as pets.]

April Is a Dog's Dream

By Marilyn Singer

april is a dog's dream

the soft grass is growing

the sweet breeze is blowing

the air all full of singing feels just right

so no excuses now

we're going to the park

to chase and charge and chew

and I will make you see

what spring is all about

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Seeing through the flakes

Flakes are everywhere, not just in the House Republican caucus, but the scenery outside our windows is full of the super whiteness of another snow job. Basic clearing of the driveway is accomplished. My new battery-powered gloves worked well, but, fortunately, it’s not really cold enough to test them. If they simply prevent us from experiencing below zero temperatures, they’ll serve their purpose. The last bit of snow cleanup from the  latest storm will be accomplished by a thaw, or early spring, or the next time I get overwhelmed by ambition combined with a desire to play on the tractor. It’s most likely to be the latter if the extended forecast is on target. No above freezing temperatures scheduled for our neighborhood.

The township plow has made one pass, throwing a bunch of roadway snow into our drive and, on the  return trip, knocking our mailbox off of its post. [It doesn’t seem right that property owners are prohibited from depositing snow on the road, but the local government can deposit lots of snow into or onto a private drive.] The mailbox has been reinstalled but, come spring, I think I’ll install a tether so I don’t have to stumble through snowbanks as much next winter. There was no mail delivered yesterday, nor had the road been plowed before we went to bed.

January’s full moon

Photo by J. Harrington

The day after tomorrow is January’s full moon. That’s the Ojibwe Great Spirit Moon and the Lakota Hard Times Moon, per the Minnesota WeatherGuide Calendar. If the skies are clear and the trees still snow covered, the view around 5 pm and later could be spectacular. It’s also the day we’ll start to take down the Christmas decorations. Then, mostly peace and quiet until Valentines? I could do with some of that.

I’ve started to refresh my sourdough starter so “baking season” will soon be underway, again. Although I wouldn’t want to say it out loud, even snowblowing this morning felt mostly good to be up and active. I really must work on getting longer walks into my schedule, typed the guy who can barely manage to remember to do his morning exercises two days in a row. We are now less than a month from winter’s astronomical midpoint on February 3. Maybe by then the House of Representatives will have elected a speaker.

River Snow

Mark Van Doren - 1894-1972

The flakes are a little thinner where I look,
For I can see a circle of grey shore,
And greyer water, motionless beyond.
But the other shore is gone, and right and left
Earth and sky desert me. Still I stand
And look at the dark circle that is there—
As if I were a man blinded with whiteness,
And one grey spot remained. The flakes descend,
Softly, without a sound that I can tell—
When out of the further white a gull appears,
Crosses the hollow place, and goes again…
There was no flap of wing; no feather fell.
But now I hear him crying, far away,
And think he may be wanting to return…
The flakes descend… And shall I see the bird?
Not one path is open through the snow.

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“Do or do not..."

 The scene in the back yard looks about like the picture below. I’ve crossed my fingers that the total accumulation will be at the lower end of the forecast range, currently at 4 to 8 inches locally. We won’t know ’til it’s over, will we?

today’s snow has begun

Photo by J. Harrington

A few minutes ago we had 3 male and two female cardinals at the feeders. I’d guess there may be  a third female sitting in a nearby tree. That’s a pleasant surprise for the new year, since we usually see only one pair at a time. The cardinals have been accompanied by the usual crew of chickadees, woodpeckers, nuthatches, etc. No purple or house finches have been observed so far this winter.

Christmas cookies are almost all gone. Christmas candy supplies are shrinking rapidly. Soon the holiday season will have passed for another year and I haven’t yet sat myself down to fantasize about some goals and objectives for 2023. I suppose one simple solution would be to start with those from last year on which I failed to make much or any progress.. That would include:

• go fishing more often
• practice and improve my fly casting
• improve my sourdough bread baking process
• write more poems

As I look at that short list, it becomes obvious that sitting on my duff reading about stuff is insufficient. I only practiced once or twice; we didn’t go fishing any more often than we had the prior year; I failed to maintain an adequate, accurate baking journal [the same would be true of a fishing journal if we had gone fishing more]; no poems emerged from my pen, pencil or keyboard. Are you beginning to see a pattern here? I am. It’s a classic all talk and no action scenario. So, perhaps my solution is to add Yoda’s dictum: “Do or do not. There is no try.” to my list and call it done.

Red Bird Explains Himself

“Yes, I was the brilliance floating over the snow
and I was the song in the summer leaves, but this was
only the first trick
I had hold of among my other mythologies,
for I also knew obedience: bringing sticks to the nest,
food to the young, kisses to my bride.

But don’t stop there, stay with me: listen.

If I was the song that entered your heart
then I was the music of your heart, that you wanted and needed,
and thus wilderness bloomed there, with all its
followers: gardeners, lovers, people who weep
for the death of rivers.

And this was my true task, to be the
music of the body.  Do you understand?  for truly the body needs
a song, a spirit, a soul.  And no less, to make this work,
the soul has need of a body,
and I am both of the earth and I am of the inexplicable
beauty of heaven
where I fly so easily, so welcome, yes,
and this is why I have been sent, to teach this to your heart.”

from Red Bird, Mary Oliver, Beacon Press, © 2008 by Mary Oliver

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Let’s hope!

 The first post on the first day of a new year--no pressure, right? Well, not much since this will be our 3,691 daily posting, but who’s counting? In a little while we’ll be watching the “border battle” between the Minnesota Vikings and the Green Bay Packers. If the Vikings win, it will be a pleasant surprise.

Meanwhile, the Weather Underground web site is currently forecasting 7.4 inches of snow on Tuesday. They’ve been regularly revising the forecast over the past few days. The National Weather Service appears to be firmly committed to “A winter storm is still on track to impact the area Monday evening through Tuesday. Heavy snow, freezing rain, and rain are all possible at times - depending on how far north or south the storm tracks.” I have an appointment Wednesday morning and I can’t yet sort out whether I should reschedule because the roads won’t yet be cleared. That may be tomorrow’s challenge. Remember Harvey Cox has taught us that “Not to decide is to decide.” One piece of missing information is what options are available for rescheduling from Wednesday.

a burst of hope

Photo by J. Harrington

The snow may be welcomed by the Granddaughter person. Her grandmother recently got a kick-sleigh and, until today, the Granddaughter wanted no part of sitting down for a sleigh ride. Somehow, her parents convinced her otherwise and today we saw a brief video of a seated two-year-old enjoying a ride propelled by dad. I’m choosing to interpret this as an indication I need to have more faith in the future. Peter Leschak, a local author, offers a similar perspective in today’s Opinion Section of the Star Tribune.

In fact, by coincidence, the first book I finished reading this year, a Christmas present from the Better Half, is a short collection of Emily Dickinson poems entitled Hope Is the Thing. May our year be fulll of well-founded hopes and our needs be met so we can keep the faith.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

By Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

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This week... winter; next week... ?

The driveway is passable. The tractor starts but the diesel engine won’t keep running in -9℉ with a windchill of -28℉ so we used the gas snowblower. At the moment, we’re hoping that the increasing wind doesn’t drift in the drive or take out the electricity and that the tractor will start and run once the weather warms up next week. I find it incredible, but real, that a week from today the weather forecast includes rain. Climate breakdown and/or weirding has become the new normal I fear.

we think we have it tough?

Photo by J. Harrington

This afternoon we’re going to pretend we’re a couple of Santa’s elves and deliver a bunch of presents to the home of the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law and Granddaughter. Christmas is going to involve some juggling so we want as much flexibility as possible. Hence, early delivery unless we encounter roads the Jeep can’t handle due to snow cover. (One winter storm in Massachusetts, many years ago, the snow was deep enough to bring my F-150 4X4 to a halt by wedging under my front tires.)

There’s an old cowboy saying to the effect that there was “never a horse that couldn’t be rode, never a rider that couldn’t be throwed.” I’ve come to believe the same about vehicles and road conditions. Yesterday’s tv news had video of school buses tipped on their side after they slid off the road. I’m going to do my best to avoid doing that to and in the Jeep. Tomorrow’s winds may well drift closed a couple of roads we usually take to the kids’ house so today’s trip may be the better part of valor and we'll cross our fingers that all roads are drivable by Sunday.

We’re presently operating on the premise that we must survive in order to thrive. We’re also taking it one day at a time.

The Snow Man

By Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

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Chilling out on solstice eve

We know that Sunday is Christmas and, if the forecast is correct, Mother Nature is giving the North Country a Christmas present. The day after Christmas, temperatures should again exceed single digits and even get above freezing next week. I wonder how Santa avoids frostbite. Is there a windscreen on the sleigh? Our windchills during the next few days are expected to be in the minus 30℉ to minus 40℉ range. I’m debating the pros and cons of clearing a couple of inches of fresh snow off the driveway this afternoon versus waiting until tomorrow’s snowfall of five inches or so ends on Thursday and clearing it all at once. I have my doubts that I come out ahead either way.

I think most, maybe all, of the family’s shopping is done. The big question now is if weather will present obstacles to driving on Christmas / the Son’s birthday. Time for fingers crossed, prayers and Christmas wishes all combined.

yes, it’s as cold as it looks

Photo by J. Harrington

Last Thursday I had an early morning Zoom meeting that got rescheduled to this Thursday. Last Thursday we lost power twice, for most of the morning. At least it wasn’t as cold then as it is now. If we lose power again this Thursday, I may need to resign from the group that’s sponsoring the meetings. Something else we need to keep our fingers crossed about.

I know I’ve been posting a lot about weather the past week or so. Minnesota’s recent weather has been colder and stormier than usual and even usual is barely tolerable to my taste. No doubt I got spoiled growing up along the Atlantic Ocean, where the moderating influence of a large body of salt water meant that really cold temperatures and wind chills were a rarity. The only time I’ve found fowl weather tolerable is when I’ve been duck hunting and then I looked for the ducks to be on the move when we experienced this sequence:

Fust it rained
and then it blew
and then it friz
and then it snew!

I remember one late season trip in Minnesota where we used the runabout to make waves to break up the skim ice forming around the decoys. By the time I got home, the dekes and their anchors were frozen to the bottom of the boat until spring thaw. That was all lots more fund than blowing or plowing snow in a minus 20℉ wind chill. Does it make sense to wish for an early spring as a big Christmas present? I think I’ll leave a note on Santa's cookie plate.

To One Coming North

By Claude McKay

At first you'll joy to see the playful snow, 

  Like white moths trembling on the tropic air, 

Or waters of the hills that softly flow 

  Gracefully falling down a shining stair.

 

And when the fields and streets are covered white 

  And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw, 

Or underneath a spell of heat and light 

  The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,

 

Like me you'll long for home, where birds' glad song 

  Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry, 

And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong, 

  Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.

 

But oh! more than the changeless southern isles, 

  When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm, 

You'll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles 

  By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm.

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