.jpg)
Chapter 4 – A Change of Seasons
Listening to Bing Crosby sing “Mele Kalikimaka” this past Christmas season, I got to thinking. Hawaii would be a great place to visit but having 365 days of the same weather and forecast each year would soon become boring. Give me northern Minnesota with four definite seasons and I’ll take that any day!
Maybe even a few months of one season can be too much.
The dog days of summer can be too hot and dry. April can be the cruelest month when Old Man Winter hints of letting go of snow and the cold and then reneges on his promise. Spring is probably the shortest season here in the north country, but I still find myself looking forward to warm nights and fully green fields as we move through the end of May. Even during the last days of my favorite season – fall – I look forward to ice fishing, skiing and the approaching Holidays. It seems that in late winter I dream of walking without Sorels and plunking the canoe down in soft water. August is when I start taking my hunting clothes out of the dark recesses of my closets. October has me longing for drilling a hole in the ice, skiing on my trails and maybe taking the hot tent out one more time. March sees me looking forward to the returning warblers and searching for new pockets of early orchids and morel mushrooms.
I suppose that it’s the change of scenery that is most appealing to me. I want to sweep away the dust of a season that has lingered past its prime. Clothing that smelled good to me just a few months ago now seems stale. Activities that I enjoy doing have ceased to be as exciting after engaging them for several weeks. Late winter snow turns dirty, August ground cover becomes brown and uninteresting and once the leave tumble to the ground in fall the forest loses much of its interest. As a photographer, there are only so many snow scenes that I can make appealing. I have a thousand shots of chestnut-sided warblers. Eventually, all shots of people fishing from canoes look the same. I need fresh material!
What things do I look forward to in each new season? Entering spring it is a warming sun that even a cold March wind can’t deny if I can find refuge behind a leeward hill. Chickadees singing their spring song. The emerging forest floor emits a smell of freshness after a winter of cold that won’t even let nostril’s function. Looking for early arrivals of migrant birds – crows in March, ducks and warblers in April and loons in early May are harbingers of new life and colorful landscapes to come. The most ephemeral of flowers start to appear, most lasting only for a few days. Fairy slippers, wood anemones, marsh marigolds and hepaticas. Morel mushrooms spring up briefly and if I’m lucky and can catch them at their peak.
The lengthening days allow longer forays into the backcountry. The yodel of a loon and the beep, beep, beep of a saw whet owl is music to the ears. And - not the least of which – being able to shed the heavy outerwear and footwear needed to plow through deep snow.
The beginning of summer is an explosion of activity, sights, sounds and smells. The forest floor erupts with more flowers than you can count. Strawberry, blueberry, wild plum and raspberry blossoms bring the promise of a bounty yet to come. Grouse chicks, white-tail fawns, moose calves, mallard ducklings and pileated woodpecker chicks sticking their heads out of their cavities bring the beginning of a new cycle of life into the world.
Exciting, unexpected encounters of bear cubs, fox kits and wolf pups and owlets fledging seem to appear around every corner of the trail. The green of new grass and leaves almost hurts the eyes. Turtles and frogs fill the night with their singing and fireflies again raise questions about the mysteries of nature. Although I might be the only one who appreciates this, even the hum of mosquitos outside my tent and the irritation of black flies brings me some satisfaction. Only the presence of thousands of ticks irritates me.
It is a small price to pay for the bounty that surrounds.
Fall signals its impending arrival by splashing the pinks and purples of fireweed and asters around open areas. Grassy fields and roadsides accented by dying ferns turn a rich brown for a couple of weeks before that color fades to a shade of grey. Warm days and crisp nights require another change of apparel to accommodate comfort throughout the 24 hours of a day. A return to a wetter climate of the year enables mushrooms of all types and colors to emerge from lawns and stumps throughout the forest. A maple tree here and another there begin to show their crimson color amongst a sea of green. Robins gather to flock up and early gaggles of geese begin their V’s southward. White-tail bucks rub the velvet from their antlers onto small tree trunks.
The vivid canvases of red, yellow and orange change the forest canopy into an orgy of eye candy, starting with maples and continuing to the birches and aspens as the end of September slips into the beginning of October. The color show finishes with the blaze orange of tamaracks standing out against the stark green of balsams and spruce along lowland swamps surrounding ponds and streams. Big bull moose sometimes may be enticed into showing themselves by mimicking the cries of a cow or the grunt of a potential rival. And the smell – oh the smell – of a cool, moist morning of fall is unmistakable. The decomposing grass, leaves and fallen wood combine to bring a pleasant, earthy joy to the nostrils.
The beginning of winter changes the mood entirely. The rich colors of the previous weeks become almost a monotone of blacks, greys and whites. It’s as if the progression gives our brains a bit of a rest from all the work that has been forced upon it recently.
It is not unpleasant but welcome.
Snowbirds not only foretell what’s to come but lead us down roads and trails by staying just ahead of us as we travel through the country. The winter finches add some color to starkness by spending time at my bird feeder. The bite of a cold breeze in the morning upon the cheeks and forehead reminds us of being alive and aware of what is taking place around us.
The first snow brings flocking to the trees and cleansing of the forest floor. New ice brings texture to lakes and ponds and will soon allow us to walk in areas denied to us for months. Bringing skis and poles and snowshoes down from rafters in the garage is a pleasant task, with promises of extended trips into the back country soon to come. Early ice fishing allows some of the best of the year. The wood becomes quiet, save for the wind in the tops of trees, a raven’s call and an occasional chorus of wolves in the distance. Odors disappear, cleansing our palate to make room for the pleasant inside smells of holiday meals and candles and Christmas trees in living room corners. Down coats, woolen caps and long underwear allow us to feel what warm really means.
How could one not want to live where these joys are brought to us every year? When I was young, I took these events for granted.
As I grow older, I’ve learned to appreciate and look forward to the new life exposed at the change of every season. Maybe it’s a reminder of just how precious our lives are. I think we all feel the same things but not everyone is aware of it. It takes effort to slow down and know. I would hope that it’s easier for us who live in the north country to see these what this is about. That’s why I love where I live.
