Posts Tagged ‘Winter’
Weekend Begins
The 2024 version of a Hays relations gathering up at Hayward in the winter is underway! No time to write, conversations are non-stop and I don’t wanna miss anything.
We are already having a wonderful time.
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Snowless Sadness
Being a snow lover during a snowless winter is a daunting burden for a sagging spirit. Seeking solace where I knew I could easily find it, I meandered my way through some of my photos from different winters now past. Ahh, those were the days…
They just don’t make ‘em like they used to.
There is always a chance we might experience a blast of snow between now and May. I will appreciate that when and if it happens, but I’m afraid anything yet to come will be too little, too late. For the people who try to earn a living wage by plowing snow for people, selling snow-related recreational equipment, or housing and feeding vacationers who engage in winter sports, the lack of snow is a complete disaster.
I’m just finding it deeply saddening in a multitude of ways.
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Unusual Winter
Once again, our hero finds himself writing about the weather. I’m sorry, I can’t help myself. Most people on the planet are, by this time, well aware the climate is in transition, so it’s probably not big news that January 29, 2024, was so uncharacteristically warm where I live. However, for me to open the door and hear songbirds singing, see flying insects swarming, and feel the lack of cold air hitting our faces, it makes my head spin. Truly. It’s disorienting.
This is how it looked outside yesterday afternoon:
In January! No snowshoes required. There is a snowmobile club that grooms a trail along the edge of our property. In the fall they drive the trail on ATVs and pound in signs to mark the way. That trail got marked but we never received enough snow to groom and not a single sled has passed by.
The extremity of our warm winter doesn’t grab attention like out-of-control wildfires or destructive flooding that has ravaged other parts of the world but it feels rather alarming to me. Not that being alarmed will have much impact on the rate at which people of the world continue to pump greenhouse gasses into our atmosphere.
I wish I could avoid ever flying in a conventional commercial jet or driving a gas-burning car anymore but that’s not likely to happen. I wish I never bought anything plastic ever again. My lifestyle has yet to shift to perfect environmental stewardship and I don’t foresee a strong enough change in my behavior to solve the dilemma any time soon. I just add a little more personal guilt each time I start the car and roll out of our driveway.
Around these parts, there are a lot of folks who plan on winter income from plowing snow for businesses and homeowners. Store owners sell snow-clearing machines and tools. Companies sell snowmobiles, skis, snowboards, sleds, and skates. Experts will likely tally the numbers and report on the financial hardships faced by all the people who make their living from the winter activities that used to be ubiquitous in the region. My heart goes out to them.
On the flip side of that situation, I will offer no complaints about the lower expense of keeping our house warm, the minimal amount of shoveling and plowing I’ve needed to do thus far, and how easy the conditions have been for the horses.
There remain a few oak trees I was planning to trim but I’m wondering if the thaw makes doing so ill-advised. That’s usually one of my January/February projects. This year, nothing’s usual about our winter.
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Just Enough
We got just enough snow overnight to justify using the Grizzly to plow. It’s hard to tell how much snow fell out of the sky because it was/is windy and some areas are blown free of snow (like the deck railing which is usually a good gauge) and some drifted deeper than what truly fell.
Horses have blankets on in advance of the polar plunge as temperatures are predicted to plummet for the next few days.
This feels a little more like winter for our region. Almost the middle of January and the first driveway plowing of the season. Can’t complain about not being ready, I guess.
Bring on the NFL playoff games and a warm fire in the fireplace. (Glad I’m not playing football outside tonight in these conditions.)
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Degrees
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light
from the low angle
of the winter sun
creates colors
of a different hue
making the cold feel
colder
engendering exhilaration
with a resigned tightness
flexing involuntarily
against air
that lacks degrees
single digits
for the first time
in months
announce the arrival
of an icy stare
relentless in its grip
but helpless
against the glow
of warm colors radiating
through the glass doors
of a fireplace
fully aflame
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Obvious Evidence
Based on all the mice caught in our traps throughout the winter, it should come as no surprise that they navigate the harsh elements as well as long-legged wildlife, but I am always intrigued by the obvious evidence rodents are burrowing beneath the snow.
Despite the frigid overnight temperatures greeting me bitterly at each morning feeding the last few days, it appears one little critter was busy making tracks.
There is also obvious evidence of the increasing angle of sunshine and its growing influence by way of melting that is occurring despite the chilly air temperatures. That will prove to be a benefit when it comes to the threat of spring flooding. There is a deeper snowpack now than we’ve had in many years and if it were to melt all at once, flooding would likely occur.
There is an additional aspect that could dramatically influence whether we have any troublesome flooding this spring or not and that is the amount of rain that will fall in spring storms. Based on a recent video released by our county’s historical society, flooding from heavy rain can happen at any time of year. In 1942 there was a flooding rain that happened in September.
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When I saw this video the first time, I realized I would quickly blame the extent of warming of our planet if this kind of flooding rain happened today. In my lifetime, I’ve never seen rain of the intensity described by Dr. James Vedder happen in the fall. But it did happen back in 1942.
Flooding rain fell in July of 1879 and washed away a mill and flooded my great-great-grandfather’s house a little over ten miles south of where we live now.
To me, this is obvious evidence that the steep ravines and many rivers of the “driftless region,” of which our county is included, are susceptible to flooding from heavy rain.
I wonder how many mice survive that kind of extreme weather.
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Accurate Forecast
The winter storm proved to be just like the weather service predicted, dumping snow in two waves and totaling somewhere in the range of 15-20 inches at our place. It’s hard to measure with the wind creating a variety of depths across our land. I took a walk with my yardstick and found a drift of over 20 inches in one spot.
I make a habit of cleaning off the lid of our food compost bin every time I walk past it so I can use it as a reference of how much new snow falls since the last time I cleaned it. Yesterday morning, there were spots where the dark cover had no snow on it at all yet the ground beside it was covered by 16 inches of powder.
I found a spot in the yard with only 3 inches but the driveway, which I plowed in the middle of the pause between the two waves, had gained 9 inches of new snow overnight.
Based on the frame of our roof rake, I was wrestling to bring down over 18 inches of new snow on the roof of our house. Much of that ended up hitting me in the face as I worked.
The snow was over knee-deep as I made my way toward the barn to feed horses first thing in the morning.
Mia had a new cut on one of her hind legs. It looked like one of the other horses probably kicked her. Cyndie rallied to gingerly make her way down to tend to the wound while I held Mia in place. I took a picture of Mia that ended up looking like she was standing on two legs.
That’s a weird view, isn’t it? If you don’t think about it, she looks normal but once you let your mind see it as only two legs, it gets hard to unsee.
I also took a picture of a rare moment when all four horses decided it was okay to stand together under one side of the overhang. Most often one or more of the horses will demand a wider bubble of personal space and chase others away.
Today we plan to drive up to Hayward to spend the weekend with friends at the cabin and take in the excitement of the American Birkebeiner ski race. I’m hoping the weather will be as perfect over the next two days as the meteorologists are predicting. Before we head out, I just need to finish a little more plowing and shoveling.
After that, I’m actually looking forward to just sitting in a car for two and a half hours. My muscles deserve a rest.
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Winter Lull
We are enjoying a pause in the harsh, cold winter temperatures this week. It truly is a welcome relief for those of us who have to do things outdoors every day no matter what the weather is like. Hanging out with our horses, cleaning up around them, and feeding them, I get a very good sense of how much more at ease they are now that we’ve come out of the latest blast of extreme cold.
Those wicked cold mornings have the horses looking so stoic as they stiffly brace themselves against the stinging bite of the frigid air. They do very little moving to conserve what little warmth is lingering under their winter growth right up to the moment they prepare for the delivery of their feed pans by romping about, running, and kicking to jump-start their circulation.
In contrast, their lack of stiffness yesterday morning energized me. The horses radiated a feeling of ease and contentedness that stood out more than usual because of how different it was from just days before.
There has been a lull in snowfall for many more days than the cold temps, and the snow in the paddocks is getting thoroughly beaten down as a result. It remains deep enough in the fields that they have barely ventured beyond the fences but there are some tracks out there.
It’s unclear to me how many of those footprints are evidence of new activity or old tracks emerging as sunny afternoons have started to shrink back some of the coverage.
Yesterday afternoon, I lingered for a long time, leaning against a gate to watch their activity after they had all finished eating from the feed pans. They were just being horses with no urgent agenda.
It made me want to be a horse along with them —a horse during a warm spell on a February day.
When it’s cold again, I want to be a human living indoors.
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Every Step
I spotted an impressive phenomenon of nature after heading down to the barn yesterday morning.
Each and every small animal footprint through the snow had captured a fallen oak leaf.
The latest air mass of bitterly cold temperatures has left us for the east coast. At noon today, I plan to give the horses a break from wearing blankets again. Other than the off-and-on annoying sounds of snowmobile engines passing by, it is calm and quiet under the hazy sunshine in our valley.
As the air warms it becomes obvious that the thick snowpack becomes its own refrigerant, radiating cold from below. Even though the daily high temperatures are forecast to rise above freezing, it doesn’t guarantee it will feel as warm as thermometers indicate.
However, with all things being relative, any above-zero temperatures offer welcome relief after extreme cold spells like we endured Thursday night/Friday morning. The horses seemed to begrudgingly tolerate the pain, gritting their teeth and standing still in a meditative state that hid any spark of life in their eyes.
This morning, they looked much more alive and were a smidge more active. I think they will be as happy as me to be granted several days of ease, free of the brutal grip of dramatically cold air masses.
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Numbing Cold
It is cold outside again. It might be ridiculous trying to parse the subtle differences in how cold feels between tens of degrees further below the freezing point, but they are there. When temperatures drop to single digits (F) or negative numbers, the impact on activities at the barn doesn’t feel all that subtle. Extremes of cold tend to complicate things that are usually simple.
Yesterday, there was an incredibly quiet calmness during the long pauses between snowmobile traffic on the local trail that passes our southern border. There was no breeze and the birds and squirrels were out of sight and silent. With the horses standing completely still, the quiet was dramatic.
Silence like that outdoors is almost enough to distract me from the numbness developing in my fingers and toes. Sometimes I forget. Is it better to be able to feel the sting of cold in my fingers or the absence of any feeling at all?
I couldn’t resist lingering against the gate with the horses for a while after all my work was done, enjoying the peacefulness despite my body growing ever more chilled.
The sun had come up and was beaming brightly through the clear sky above, complementing the cold air with its cheery rays.
On my way back up to the house, I stopped under an oak tree and looked up at the remnants of leaves beneath the deep blue sky.
As if taking note of my hands being out of my chopper mitts, old man winter brought up a little breeze for variety. At -2°F, numbness returned in a blink.
Stepping back inside to the warmth of the house on mornings like this is such a wonderful relief. Top that off with a plate of fresh waffles Cyndie just prepared and my numb fingers are suddenly nothing but a fading memory.
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Relative Something 