Our winter landscape is brown this year because of our snow drought. And from a photographer’s viewpoint (at least this photographer), brown is not the most photogenic of landscape colors, especially in winter. But my attention was caught this morning when I looked out our front window. A few years back we planted a small magnolia by the window. Because it’s early February there’s nothing special about this magnolia — it’s way too early for it to bloom, and it’s only sticks and tips of branches right now. But I saw it much differently this morning when I looked out the window. The sun was backlighting the magnolia and the branches seemed to be dancing in the light — they were thin and random and their tips were haloed with the sunlight. Even the reflection of the side window frames seemed to add an ethereal quality to the setting before me. The entire scene and dance was playing out for me right outside my window — it only asked that I be aware and notice it. A little bit of extra attention to those things we see and take for granted everyday can sometimes reward us with exceptional sights, moments, and in this case photographs.
landscapes
Winter sunrise
This past week has been filled with beautiful crisp and clear mornings. There’s something about the air in winter, especially in the morning, that is fresh and invigorating. In order to enjoy all that a winter morning has to offer we headed out before dawn this morning. As we left the house there was a nearly full moon hanging low in the western sky and although we don’t have snow cover the moonlight was bright and beckoned us on our early outing. We journeyed west of the Twin Cities to Wright County, an area that’s made up of farmland, rivers and lakes. As the eastern sky was just beginning to brighten, we arrived at the shoreline of Fountain Lake. The temperature was about 18 degrees with no wind, but in the quiet just before dawn we could hear a rumbling sound echoing across the lake. As the ice was contracting and expanding there was a moaning and groaning that shattered the early morning stillness. Once I was accustomed to this sound and understood what it was, we enjoyed the change of colors in the eastern sky and followed the sun as it lit up the tracks on the ice. With this cold start to the morning there was a thin layer of frost on many of the grasses and trees and the sun caused the landscape to sparkle and shine as it moved higher in the sky. After a delicious and filling breakfast in a local cafe we headed out to explore other areas of the county, taking advantage of our unseasonably warm temperatures.
Semifrozen Minnehaha Falls
Our weather in the Twin Cities has been cold this past week — the coldest temperatures since last March. With that many of our lakes have frozen over, and I even made a first sighting this winter of a person ice fishing on a nearby lake. We were in Minneapolis today having a delightful brunch with family, and afterwords stopped by Minnehaha Park. It was the perfect opportunity to see the falls in a semifrozen state, surrounded by large icicles. Minnehaha Park includes the area where Minnehaha Creek empties into the Mississippi River. The park dates back to the late 1800’s and the name Minnehaha is from the Dakota language meaning waterfall. Minnehaha Falls is a 53 foot waterfall drop surrounded by limestone bluffs. After heavy rains in early summer the falls flow full, and in times of drought they’ve even been known to stop. But today there was one stream of water flowing over the bluff above into a small pool of open water. I was at the falls in late morning and the sun was beginning to reach against the northern side of the bluffs. As it heated and melted some of the icicles, they would come crashing down with the sound echoing throughout the ravine.
The sounds of winter’s arrival
Just when we were resigning ourselves to the prospect of a brown Christmas, the snow moved into the Twin Cities yesterday afternoon. It snowed throughout the evening and into the early morning hours, and when I awoke today our scenery was coated with four inches of white and fluffy snow. I grabbed my camera and headed over to Como Park early. There were few people on the streets but even the sound of the three or four cars was muffled by the snow. After about 15 minutes of walking I could hear a snow shovel scraping the pavement. When I arrived at the park I could see, and eventually hear, the sound of the trail groomer as she laid down the cross-country ski track; we exchanged waves as she drove past. Another five minutes passed before I heard the whish of a skier coming up behind me. And shortly after that the sound of geese flying south filled the air. It was one skein of geese after another, no longer content to be in an area of frozen lakes and ponds and headed to warmer climes. I watched and wondered how far south they would fly today. Another ten minutes passed and I could hear children’s laughter and squeals as they were sledding with abandon down a nearby hill. The time passed quickly and as I headed back home the city had awakened. Traffic was moving carefully on the snow-covered streets and people were either shoveling their walks and drives or using snow blowers to clear the paths. The sounds of winter have arrived once again.
Mother Nature’s gift
This past week I headed south to the Kansas City area to spend Thanksgiving with my family. I left the Twin Cities with two inches of snow on the ground and a temperature of about 24 degrees. After an hour or so the sun broke through the clouds and I found myself looking repeatedly at the landscape and trying to understand what I was seeing. With the low angle of the sun and some of the distant dark clouds the trees seem to take on a white appearance. I knew it wasn’t snow and yet it seemed that it was too late in the day for frost. After about 30 minutes of craning my neck from side to side I pulled off the interstate to look more closely. As I got out of my car I realized there was a thick layer of hoarfrost coating the trees and other plants. It was beautiful the way the sun was glistening off the frost. I was in the farmlands of southern Minnesota and the browns of the fields and the golden grasses all made a wonderful contrast to the sparkling frost. Within about 30 minutes the sun disappeared, the winds picked up, and the beauty that I had stopped to appreciate was gone. This was my start to a week of thankfulness: for nature’s moments that are given if we only stop to notice, for health that we too often take for granted, for family and for friends, both near and far.
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