SNOWFLAKES ARE SPECIAL

APPRECIATING THOSE LITTLE THINGS

 

I'm slacking today, writing my blog in the warmth of our cabin.  It's that time of year when you're beginning to settle into winter.  You know you can't deny it any longer, so you might just as well find something warm and wonderful about it.  We really don't have to look too hard to appreciate winter in Wisconsin if we give it a little effort.

A few days ago a dear friend, Dorothy, from Montana, sent me a really neat book, "The Snowflake, Winter's Secret Beauty", by Kenneth Libbrecht.  This book includes many awesome closeups of snowflakes taken by photographer, Patricia Rasmussen, in Wisconsin.  I'll give it 5 stars!  

I learned so much about how snowflakes are created and it's indeed true that no two flakes are alike, kind of like identical twins.  Although you might think they look just the same, if you check them out closely you'll be sure to find slight differences.

As I looked out the window this afternoon I noticed a few light snowflakes drifting to the ground.  This prompted me to head outdoors with my camera and try to capture a few amateur photos of snowflake crystals and/or freeze my fingers, just for fun.  I stood near dark surfaces flakes might land on and waited patiently... yes, I need more practice, but here are my best shots.

I also learned from Libbrecht's book that all snowflakes are hexagonal or six sided.  Rarely, when two flakes share a center, they may have twelve arms, but never four or eight.  Snowflakes are symmetrically perfect because as they grow larger, while passing through the atmosphere, each arm of the flake goes through the exact same conditions.

I am fascinated when I think of how the depth of snow on any surface is made up of millions of tiny snowflakes stacked on top of one another.  It's kind of like a sand dune made possible only by the piling up of billions of tiny grains of sand.

If you get a chance, hold out your mitten during a snowfall and really look hard at those tiny snowflakes as they land on it.  I know you've done this before when you were a kid, but just do it again!  Each snowflake you see will be unique to itself and each one will have six arms... unless it was broken on its amazing trip from the sky... to you! 

Thank you, Dorothy!

THE FIRST DAY OF WINTER

A FAVORITE MAPLE TREE OF MINE

I found a seat in an old maple tree by Tom's Creek late this afternoon where I can sit with my journal and celebrate the first day of winter.  It's 35 degrees, cloudy, foggy, and gray, and there's very little snow on the ground!  There will be no sunset for me to notice since the sun has been hiding under the clouds all day, like for most of December, it seems.

 

I appreciate this maple tree.  It's kind of like a family of five trees joined together at the base with each tree spreading out into the world on its own, except for one that's now broken with it's branches resting on the ground, sprawling toward the creek.

A slight mist fills the air and I can hear an occasional drop of rain hitting the earth beneath me or landing on the hood of my coat.  The creature world is silent.  Not even the sound of a blue jay, crow, or chickadee do I hear.  Perhaps the birds are busy at home getting ready for Christmas.

This maple tree reminds me of a family with one member gone, but the one that is gone lives on in the memory of those still standing tall.  Green lichen grows yet on the bark of the downed tree, chipmunks still scurry across its trunk, and it gives me a place to sit and ponder.  Same with our missing family members... although they are apart from us, we will forever remember, and forever be one.

As I dawdle back through the woods towards home, the daylight is nearly gone.  It's that time of day when every bit of brush turns into a deer, every clump of marsh grass turns into a tail, and oak leaves yet fastened to the treetops turn into birds flitting in the wind.  

When I arrive back at our cabin, my dawdling has paid off.  The light in the kitchen is on and the fish we're having for supper have all been cleaned.  Life is good!  

Merry Christmas to all my nature loving friends, and thanks for following my blog!

DECEMBER RAIN

SITTING ON THE BANK OF LINDSAY CREEK

This afternoon my hubby said rain was on the doorstep, so we both shoveled each other outside to enjoy this mild but foggy 44° December day.  While he went ice fishing, I headed off into our now snowless woods, journal and camera in pocket, looking for a spot along the creek wherever water might be making some of those pleasant babbling, gurgling, sounds. 


After a short jaunt, I find myself sitting with pen in hand, listening to beautiful music where water trickles over a small clump of twigs and leaves as it glides down Lindsay Creek.  Now and then a melting drop of ice kerplunks into the water.  I'm fascinated by a circle of foam in the middle of the creek that keeps swirling around and around in one fixed spot, with seemingly no way to escape.  It hypnotizes me, but only for a moment.

There's something about a little creek in the woods.  Although there are no fish to catch in this one, there are minnows and smaller critters to appreciate now and then.  In summer, wood ducks land here occasionally for a brief refuge.  In winter, fox, otter, and even wolves use the frozen ice atop the creek for their highway.  You just have to look close, and listen, to appreciate the creek's magic.

Extra cold November temperatures froze Lindsay Creek up earlier this season, but today water flows over top what little ice remains.  The clear and sometimes root beer colored water is in a hurry today as it quickly swirls past me, meandering on through the woods toward the East Fork of the Black River. 


Lindsay Creek gets its name from an absentee landowner who owned a huge chunk of property in the late 1800's north of here near the creek's beginning.  His name was Freeman D. Lindsay, a Civil War veteran and lumberman.  Although this creek has no official name, and is too small to show up on most maps, I like to keep up tradition in referring to it with the same name the old timers gave it.  I think of Lindsay Creek as a little creek with a big heart.  Maybe Freeman is looking down on me today while I write in my journal, in December, with no gloves on, and pretty soon he'll knock that swirling circle of foam loose so it can float on down to the Mississippi.

Here comes that December rain.  Lindsay Creek and I don't mind as the pleasant memories of this very mild day will make winter that much shorter!

If you have a little creek nearby, take time to sit on its bank, in any season.  Running water, like a flaming bonfire, can captivate your eyes and mind and give you a sense of peace, no matter what is troubling you.

ON WINTERGREEN HILL

WINTERGREEN BERRIES & WINDFALLS

As I journal today on our back twenty, near wintergreen hill, a cackling squirrel scoots down a nearby oak tree.  He fades into the forest with a mysterious morsel in his mouth.  Temps are in the 30's and there's an extreme stillness in the air.  It's so quiet I can hear my pencil squawk as I write, and that upsets me.  It's not a sound that fits into the moment.

I watched an owl fly overhead on my walk to little wintergreen hill this afternoon.  The majestic owl was being harassed by a couple of crows, the usual ones you know, like people we call bullies.  I know the owl will be alright; we can't change the nature of the bully crows.  It's better to reflect on how beautiful their feathers shine in the bright sunlight then to dwell on their meanness.  

This little bump in the woods that I sit by is covered with wintergreen leaves and their sparse but red, delicious berries.  That's how it got it's name.  My sister calls wintergreen berries nature's breath fresheners.  They have a delightful and mild, minty taste.  Today a couple inches of snow cover up the green leaves of the wintergreen plants... but I know they'll reappear in the springtime as soon as the snow thaws. 
 
How did wintergreen hill come to be?  I'd guess it was created over a hundred years ago by a windfall, a large tree blown over by high winds, leaving it's huge root mass jutting out atop the ground.  Although it may appear to be an insignificant bump in the woodland floor, it's an important landmark to me simply because I can always count on it being there.  If you're a woodland walker, you'll know what I mean.

As the sun sets, a chill comes over me, prompting a walk back to a warmer spot.  I hope the owl has found some peace and quiet by now... I know I have.