Nature Connection: Snowed In

When the winter brings us snow and ice, we can choose to stay indoors, cozy and warm away from it all, or we can happily don all our warm and mostly waterproof clothing and get outside. The recent snowfall was deep enough to offer some serious challenges to walking anywhere in a casual fashion and areas that were cleared became icy and treacherous early on.

Still, the call to get outside is strong in some of us, and out the door we went. Some of us were lucky enough to wear snowshoes or cross-country skis while others of us sunk into snow up to our knees and remembered how our moms used to put plastic bread bags on our feet inside our boots to keep us dry, if not exactly warm. I, of course, was in the latter category.

There’s a lot of beauty to behold after a snowstorm. The landscape we are so familiar with has been altered drastically and dramatically, everything draped in blankets of white. Sound is muffled in the immediate hours after the snowfall fades, but later the sound of snow falling and the cracking of frozen branches begins to tease our ears. There are thumps and groans, bangs and whistles as the landscape adjusts itself to its new reality. It’s ultimately temporary, but isn’t everything?

Because the initial snowfall was followed by sleet, the top layer of snow was frozen enough to support the weight of our yard bunny. I saw him or her navigating through the bushes in our backyard, nibbling at leaves and buds it once couldn’t reach. It was light enough to sit on top of the snow and the extra foot of height it had acquired gave it a whole new outlook on life. Later it would hop across the yard, staying on the surface for the most part. When it hit a spot that had softened it went down a few inches but popped right back up, shook itself, and hopped back onto more stable ground.

Our neighborhood squirrels seem to be taking a bit of a break from their daily foraging on the ground, but I have seen them high in the spruce trees grabbing cones and running back down the trunks, jumping from branch to branch as they work their way back to their warm hideaways in a nearby oak tree. Although they could probably scamper across the snow without harm, they would stick out against the stark white snow, making themselves visible to the neighborhood red-tailed hawk which has been vigilantly watching for some small animal or even a bird to make a misstep so it could have a meal.

As I write, another potential storm is being talked about. Writing a week ahead of publication, I can only guess what next week will look like. As a reader, of course, you will already know. This makes for a strange partnership when big weather events are predicted or happening and can cause a rift, a tear in our shared reality. I may not be able to predict the weather for the next few days, but I probably can predict it will still be winter. 

The light is stretching longer into our late afternoons and is occasionally giving us incredibly gorgeous sunsets. Sunrises are edging earlier and spreading a golden glow over the white landscape most mornings. A full moon always makes things interesting, tugging at the tides, pushing and pulling water in and out of all sorts of places, welcome or not. We know winter never lasts forever, but it feels that way some days.

I find myself drawing the stalks of plants and seed heads sticking up haphazardly through the snow in all my gardens. The goldfinches have pretty much gleaned all the seeds from the skeletal evening primroses and echinacea plants, but there are still seeds that the sparrows are finding. 

The cardinals and robins have managed to eat most of the remaining berries in our yard, and recent walks have revealed that most of the red cedar berries and winterberries have been devoured. There are still some holly berries, inkberries, privet berries and even greenbrier berries, but those are being greedily consumed by cedar waxwings, traveling robins and other berry-eating birds and animals.

As I sketch the shapes of flower stalks that have died but still stand, I think about the intrinsic strength of so many things, including the human spirit. We are living through times and events that are constantly slamming our hearts and heads into the ground, but still we rise. As I look through seed catalogs at all the pretty flowers I could plant, I find my mind and gaze wandering. I stare out the window into a world covered with snow. It feels so peaceful and quiet, and yet I know it is only a brief respite. 

Much of wildlife struggles through winter, and many individuals won’t make it until spring. As humans we have our own fears and concerns as innocent people are captured and jailed or shot and killed on the news every day. We can only hope that as the snow melts, so does this horrible, ill-begotten blip of our human history. It is time to once again prepare to plant seeds of hope that will strengthen our resolve and will to make right what has been made wrong. At the moment all may feel dark, but light will win. As I draw the tired stalks of last summer’s beauty, I know that beneath the snow, beneath the soil, lies rich goodness that will bloom once again.