A couple of days with temperatures in the 30s and 40s makes Minnesotans think of spring. I was at Como Lake last night and the evidence was everywhere – people walking, running, biking the perimeter path; cars driving by and splashing all the snow melt water that was standing in the road; and an outdoor event at the Pavilion across the lake – complete with music and cheering. The temperature was 42, but it was easy to imagine a warm(er) spring day. There is open water on the lake, and what ice remains is becoming thinner and slushier. Ducks and geese were flying overhead, coming into the lake, swimming, and then taking flight again. The sunset lit up the clouds in the western sky, and the thin ice allowed the sky’s reflection and beauty to be repeated below. Eventually spring will come, and stay, but it’s a bit too early just yet.
change of seasons
Moving to winter
Thanksgiving morning we awoke to steel-gray skies and bare grass – on the late end of autumn. As the morning progressed, the first snow began to fall. In sheets of white, it settled on the grass and the trees, the shrubs and the plants. It’s coating was magical and beautiful, as if saying that autumn was past, and winter was moving in. I realized that I was looking forward to winter’s first snowfall, and I felt like a child — I marveled at the whiteness and how it seemed to make everything clean. As I headed out with my camera, the world seemed new to me. The lines between open water and ice were forming. The outline of trees became more noticeable as they were coated in white and stood stark in the landscape. The geese were high overhead, winging their way to open water, fields for food, or further south. And the gray skies overhead kept the sky close in — the time of winter and quiet, the time to reflect and recharge.
Morning hoarfrost
I’ve just returned from a weekend with a collection of girlfriends – time spent relaxing, sharing, and getting caught up. We were outside of Alexandria, Minnesota in the central part of the state. The seasons are changing quickly and while we have no snow in the Twin Cities, there is snow on the landscape in Alexandria where the temperatures have remained below freezing. Gravel roads that once gave up dust are becoming hard and frozen. Lakes are forming ice from the shorelines inward, and the progress is noticeable from day-to-day. I awoke early this morning to photograph, and stepped out into a wonderland of hoarfrost. The trees and vegetation were covered with frost – all outlined in white, and the colors of the sunrise shone on the eastern horizon as day was breaking. A boat had been hauled out of the lake and was in its winter’s resting place, far from the shoreline. In the distance I could hear geese as they were headed south in search of open waters. The change of seasons was clearly noticeable this morning as we are moving closer to the heart of winter.
Fall colors in the Ordway Japanese Garden
There are so many lovely “hidden gems” in the Twin Cities, and one just happens to be in my neighborhood. Como Park, which includes a conservatory, zoo, carousel, golf course, lake, swimming pool, picnic areas, and many trails, also holds a lovely Japanese garden tucked away down a winding path. In the early morning hours with the colors of autumn on display, I found myself humbled and amazed at the quiet and the beauty in the garden. The fallen leaves seemed to have a purpose in their random display, as if saying that all is right in this changing landscape. The colors spoke to me, begging to be remembered as they will be quickly replaced with the white of snow. This year’s change of seasons has been hurried, yet here in the Japanese garden there was a stillness and quiet reminding me that each season holds its own purpose and to trust in the changes of fall prior to the long nights of winter.
Early spring daybreak
Spring has been fickle here in Minnesota. From cold to snow to rain to warm – we’ve had a bit of everything this week. I’ve already heard the welcome return of the red-winged blackbirds singing, and the lake ice has started to diminish. I was at Lake Johanna yesterday before sunrise. The winter air was crisp and cold at 19 degrees when it hit my face and hands as I got out of the car, but my ears could hear the geese and the ducks that were splashing in the open water near the shoreline, and in the distance a woodpecker’s repetitive hammering was contributing to the song. With all this cacophony the sun was illuminating the eastern sky in pinks and orange. It seems that everything is in anxious anticipation of the season of spring.
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