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greenstormWhen I came up north I thought the seasons would be an inconvenience; in Vancouver the winter was basically the time you waited for the few months of summer and slogged through a bunch of mud to get where you were going. I've been through my second winter up here now and going into my first spring. I've discovered something I wouldn't believe if I went back and tried to tell my past self: seasons are wonderful.
I don't fully understand it. I'm a gardener and we only really have four months frost-free here, if that. About half the time it's not even possible to see the ground; there's no dirt anywhere because everything is literally snow and ice. It should be devastating.
It is not.
All the seasonal cliches turn out to be true: winter is peaceful. It's also sunny and bright and snowflakes and crisp and nice to be outside in many days. There's nowhere to walk, but with snowshoes or skis a lot of places open up. It's a time of rest. It destroys a lot of plant diseases and animal parasites that would otherwise be an issue. It allows one to plan the garden. It is the cleanest season; nothing is muddy and all manure freezes instantly. Where there's open water at the end of the lake, the spot that's kept open by constant flow, steam billows up and fogs across the bridge and stains pink in the very long dawns and twilights. You can walk out onto the lake and not know where shore is because it's all just... solid and snow. Water is a solid waste disposal issue.
There are two spring seasons: breakup and planting. During breakup the sun crashes down onto the snow and suddenly everything is liquid, feet of snow disappear in days, water is everywhere and sun reflects off snow and there is an immense feeling of movement, of flow after stasis. Soil appears in patches and it matters. The driveway is a lake and then a stream. Snowmelt drips off roofs and makes cups of water in the piles of snow that slid off those same roofs: as it lands in the little cups of water it makes the first weather sound that's not wind in months. There are flies, and cracks on the ice on the lake. It's time to start seedlings and wander around outside without a shirt.
When the ground is finally free of snow things are already growing. Grass grows under the snow, I guess? There will be a procession of a thousand shades of green; the ground will be turned into rich brown stripes. Outside has colour again. There will be a procession of flower colours chasing themselves across the fields. Snow lingers in the shadows. There are baby things everywhere. We put our human selves into the ground in the form of seeds and plants that have co-evolved with us so we can be driven through another winter.
Summer is known by wildfire reports and smoke and never seeing the dark for four months at a time; I am sure the stars still exist but I could not testify to it. Instead of longing for windows I look forward to the brief periods of dark I can find in my home where I can power down from the relentless sun. I forget where the headlights switch is on the car. Water is liquid all the time.
Late summer is fish and wildfire smoke. Fall... I'll tell you about fall in time, but like spring there are two falls: the harvest and the freezing. Then the wheel turns again and you're back at the beginning.
I somehow love this. I love the orderly procession of similar-but-different worlds around me; I love how instantly recogniseable the feel of breakup season is, even if this year it's not exactly the same. I love that the seasons come around again and again no matter what I do. I don't have time to get bored of any one thing and then we're on to the next; I don't have time to miss any one season before it swings around again.
There are goose eggs in the incubator and mama (saddleback) carport goose has just started sitting again; I gave her 4 pilgrim eggs to go with her current clutch. Just two weeks ago I was pulling the eggs for the incubator so they wouldn't freeze at night. I'm getting nearly a dozen eggs a day. I can see the ground on the south slope of the orchard field on the way to the pigpen; the path where I kept the snow clear by snowblower has melted all the way down. By the end of today it may have melted the whole path. Ducks are bathing in puddles everywhere. Around 3pm when the sun swings in through the windows of my house the temperature spikes to 26C or so; at night it's not getting much colder than -5. My tomato seedlings all have true leaves.
Work is grinding into gear for the year.
It's spring.
Happy breakup.
I don't fully understand it. I'm a gardener and we only really have four months frost-free here, if that. About half the time it's not even possible to see the ground; there's no dirt anywhere because everything is literally snow and ice. It should be devastating.
It is not.
All the seasonal cliches turn out to be true: winter is peaceful. It's also sunny and bright and snowflakes and crisp and nice to be outside in many days. There's nowhere to walk, but with snowshoes or skis a lot of places open up. It's a time of rest. It destroys a lot of plant diseases and animal parasites that would otherwise be an issue. It allows one to plan the garden. It is the cleanest season; nothing is muddy and all manure freezes instantly. Where there's open water at the end of the lake, the spot that's kept open by constant flow, steam billows up and fogs across the bridge and stains pink in the very long dawns and twilights. You can walk out onto the lake and not know where shore is because it's all just... solid and snow. Water is a solid waste disposal issue.
There are two spring seasons: breakup and planting. During breakup the sun crashes down onto the snow and suddenly everything is liquid, feet of snow disappear in days, water is everywhere and sun reflects off snow and there is an immense feeling of movement, of flow after stasis. Soil appears in patches and it matters. The driveway is a lake and then a stream. Snowmelt drips off roofs and makes cups of water in the piles of snow that slid off those same roofs: as it lands in the little cups of water it makes the first weather sound that's not wind in months. There are flies, and cracks on the ice on the lake. It's time to start seedlings and wander around outside without a shirt.
When the ground is finally free of snow things are already growing. Grass grows under the snow, I guess? There will be a procession of a thousand shades of green; the ground will be turned into rich brown stripes. Outside has colour again. There will be a procession of flower colours chasing themselves across the fields. Snow lingers in the shadows. There are baby things everywhere. We put our human selves into the ground in the form of seeds and plants that have co-evolved with us so we can be driven through another winter.
Summer is known by wildfire reports and smoke and never seeing the dark for four months at a time; I am sure the stars still exist but I could not testify to it. Instead of longing for windows I look forward to the brief periods of dark I can find in my home where I can power down from the relentless sun. I forget where the headlights switch is on the car. Water is liquid all the time.
Late summer is fish and wildfire smoke. Fall... I'll tell you about fall in time, but like spring there are two falls: the harvest and the freezing. Then the wheel turns again and you're back at the beginning.
I somehow love this. I love the orderly procession of similar-but-different worlds around me; I love how instantly recogniseable the feel of breakup season is, even if this year it's not exactly the same. I love that the seasons come around again and again no matter what I do. I don't have time to get bored of any one thing and then we're on to the next; I don't have time to miss any one season before it swings around again.
There are goose eggs in the incubator and mama (saddleback) carport goose has just started sitting again; I gave her 4 pilgrim eggs to go with her current clutch. Just two weeks ago I was pulling the eggs for the incubator so they wouldn't freeze at night. I'm getting nearly a dozen eggs a day. I can see the ground on the south slope of the orchard field on the way to the pigpen; the path where I kept the snow clear by snowblower has melted all the way down. By the end of today it may have melted the whole path. Ducks are bathing in puddles everywhere. Around 3pm when the sun swings in through the windows of my house the temperature spikes to 26C or so; at night it's not getting much colder than -5. My tomato seedlings all have true leaves.
Work is grinding into gear for the year.
It's spring.
Happy breakup.
