nature

Snow soldiers in a new year

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The new year of 2023 has followed in the footsteps of 2022 with more snow. Yes, it’s winter. Yes, it’s the north. And yes, it’s expected. But it’s been unusual for us to have a parade of snow storms dumping feet of snow, and beautiful snow at that. In some areas the trees have suffered. Young pines have bent over with the weight of heavy snow on their branches. The tops of the oak trees, with their brown leaves still clinging to the branches, have collected the snow. They too have arced downward to the ground. In the suburban areas we are running out of places to put the snow. So instead it just gets added to the already large piles, growing taller and taller with each snowfall.

But in a nearby red pine forest the trees have stood tall, covered on one side with a stripe of snow. They stand at attention to the winds that blow, and their tall trunks cast long shadows over the white snow on the ground. I see it as a testament to their longevity and their sturdiness. And their example of surviving a continuing winter.

Change to winter in the landscape

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We’ve just returned from a trip south to Missouri for a lovely family wedding. When we left our home in Minnesota the snow was flying and the plows were out clearing the roads. As we drove south the snow depth seemed to diminish with the miles and the sun would peek through the clouds as they were blown across the sky. A few miles later and we’d be surrounded again in a snow squall.

We crossed the border into Iowa and the scenario continued (actually, it continued the following day too!). I am always amazed to see the cleared fields outlined in snow. The geometry of the land becomes accentuated and so much more noticeable. In this instance, all those field lines are in a direct contrast to the roundness of the clouds. It’s a beautiful time to be out on the road and observe how the seasonal changes affect our view of the landscape.

Waiting for the fog to lift

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It was early morning when I launched my kayak into the lake. The smell of fireworks from the previous night’s celebrations hung heavy in the air. There was no wind, no movement; the fog had developed overnight and was now suspended low over the lake.

This is my favorite time of day – the after dawn quiet when the world slowly awakens, before the rush and hurry of another 24 hours. I paddled as quietly as I could, rustling up some ducks that were gliding through the lily pads. Someone had recently been sitting on this dock, throwing their fishing line into the lake, and hoping for a bite. The rod was left leaning against the bench but at the ready for the return of the angler. Perhaps that person was waiting for the fog to lift.

Lovely lupine

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Our spring is here, and it is lovely! The forsythia bloomed, the red bud trees blossomed out, the lilacs filled the air with their delightful scent, and now the lupine are blooming. I was driving down the road, turned a corner, and there was an embankment filled with lupine. The breeze would catch their upright blooms and they would dance, swaying back and forth. It was as if they too were welcoming the warmth of the sun and the joy of spring.

The beckoning of a spring day

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The morning started with clouds and the promise of a spring day. Our brown landscape was showing shades of green, the trees were starting to bud, and the rush of spring birds were beginning to migrate through the area. The lake was calling me, and by the time I hauled my kayak to the shoreline the clouds were parting a bit to allow the sun to streak through. It was going to be a glorious morning – a perfect time to be on the lake.

Quietly I paddled the perimeter, and with each stroke I was reminded of the muscles that I hadn’t used since last fall. I observed the docks and boats that had been put into the lake, flushed a group of wood ducks further down the shoreline, and reveled in the crisp morning air. It was a delightful half hour to absorb spring with all my senses. As I approached the end of my journey I was greeted by the resident loon pair swimming in front of the beach, as if they were welcoming me back to their lake.