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.
winter
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.
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 return to a liquid landscape
We have turned the corner here in the Twin Cities — back to a liquid landscape. Our snow has melted (mostly) and we’ve even had some rain. It’s been music to our ears to hear the sounds of dripping snow and ice, and to once again see and hear rain falling. However, it does mean that we have quite a bit of standing water as well as flood threats on a substantial number of rivers. With sunshine and blue skies above, I set out on a long walk to the library yesterday. Now that the snow is mostly gone there is evidence remaining of what a harsh and early winter we had. Our lawn is filled with leaves that were unraked before our first snow – that first snow that never melted and was followed by another 80+ inches throughout the winter. Many trees are showing damage because of the excess weight of the snow. I’m sure some will recover, but it appears that others may not. Yet there’s a lightness in the air and the hope of spring. Just like me, there are people finding excuses to be outside and enjoying the warm sunshine. The birds are busy chirping and singing, and many of the migratory birds are coming back into the area. I was especially thrilled to hear the honking of a small flock of Canada geese as they flew over our house. They too know that spring has returned to Minnesota.
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.
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