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.
winter
On the wing
The days are shorter. The nights are colder. The first snow of the season has fallen. And our lakes are starting to ice over as we begin to slide into winter. Along with all these changes there is an increase in the activity of the ducks and geese. One of my favorites sights and sounds is a flock of Canada geese flying overhead — the beat of their wings and their honking is music to my ears. Since I live between Lake Como and the agricultural fields of the University of Minnesota I am on the path of the geese flying from the water at the lake to the food at the agricultural crops at the U. So many times I am stopped in my tracks to look up and appreciate their flight overhead. I know that soon enough the majority of geese and ducks will have migrated south to warmer climes and we will return to the hush and quiet of the snow and the cold of winter. In this week of Thanksgiving, the geese and their winged flight are one of the many things I appreciate and am thankful for.
The quiet of a Sunday morning
There’s a special stillness and quiet of a Sunday morning that doesn’t exist on other days. Perhaps most people are slowly easing into the day. The sound of commuter traffic is not to be heard, the air is still as the wind hasn’t picked up yet, and the landscape becomes peaceful and meditative. I headed over to Como Park early this morning. After a light snowfall yesterday and another dusting during the night, the snow was once again white and clean. The footsteps of walkers and the tracks of snowshoes had been covered. There was a bird that had awakened on the other side of the park, and his call was soft but not disturbing, as if he too had only just awakened. This bench had been decorated with the fresh snow, and it seemed to invite anyone who was willing to climb up and over the piles of snow by the side of the road to come sit for a while and enjoy the quiet and the beauty of this early morning time.
Brief winter’s thaw at Lake Como
The past week offered up a short respite from winter with a brief thaw. Some of our snow piles diminished and we were able to see open water on some of the lakes. I headed over to Lake Como on Thursday night and was treated to a vibrant sunset that was reflected in the pooling water standing in areas of the lake. It was all looking so much like the beginning of the end of our winter. I was even treated to a small flock of geese that flew overhead, honking as they made their way from one end of the lake to the other. But this was all a tease by Mother Nature. Even after photographing this image, the wind picked up and the temperature began to drop. And today we’ve had snow falling for over 12 hours, accompanied by strong winds creating white-out conditions and drifting. Winter is not done with us yet, as our landscape is now covered with close to a foot of fresh white snow, and any water is now frozen once again.
In the middle of the lake
The past week was all about winter here in the Twin Cities. It was the St. Paul Winter Carnival with its ice and snow sculptures along with all the outdoor activities associated with the event. I was fortunate to have a dear friend from the Seattle area here visiting (yes, people really do come to Minnesota for vacations!). I wanted to show her something that’s unique to our area in the winter time besides all the piles of snow that are gracing our urban landscape. So we headed north to the second largest lake in the state, Mille Lacs. We got our road pass for the day and drove four plus miles out into the lake on the ice road. How bizarre to look at my GPS and see the car symbol surrounded by blue water! Just a reminder that there really is a lake underneath this layer of ice. The lake is filled with fish houses now, as far as the eye can see. Some are sitting out all by themselves, and others are close together forming their own little villages. Although we didn’t see any large piles of fish sitting nearby, I’m sure the fishing must have been good on this blue-sky day.
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