February Snow – Front Yard QBBC
Sitting at my desk in front of the large north facing window, I’ve been watching the snow melt. Now you may think this is as exciting as watching paint dry, which indeed is something I’m also doing, here in The Bunkie Studio. Except in this case, the dripping water off the eaves IS exciting as (hopefully) it heralds The End.
Weather is the big topic of conversation between strangers and acquaintances and it seems to be the case no matter where you are. As if the changing nature of Planet Earth is such a big surprise, although as a chit chat ice breaker perhaps it’s as good as any. For the past few months it’s been a big one here, on coastal Vancouver Island, as Mother Nature has knocked this smug, former Ontarian right flat on her self-righteous behind.
For 5 years now I’ve been waxing rapturously about how wonderful our mild coastal winters are. “No snow”, I said, “At least none that sticks around for more than a day or two”. “Set up the heater in The GreenHouse before leaving on a trip to New Zealand in December? Nonsense, it never goes below zero in December.” Famous last words (see Return to a F*#k&g Winter Wonderland for that particular epic fail).
Since then we have endured long periods of deep freeze, lots of snowfalls, including the last bunch of storms that dumped Ontario-worthy snow on us, knocking down trees in the neighbours’ yards and canceling pilates. Serious stuff.
A visit to the top of the Englishman River Falls was worth the long walk in on the closed park road to find a stunning sight of ice and water…
Top of the Falls
The Road at the End of the Street
I walk every day, no matter what the weather, and walking (trudging) around the ‘hood these days of winter was to view a beautiful and unusual sight. I’m looking up a lot, and to a casual observer it may seem that this is just another gal with her head in the clouds. What I’m really doing, is scanning the tops of these huge trees for action, which most of the time, I find. A pair of canoodling ravens, eagle couples (saw more than half a dozen at the beach yesterday), a heron sitting on top of a cedar several blocks inland from the beach, a hawk which is a new sighting for me, and last week, trumpeter swans flew over the house two days in a row, honking like crazy, presumably on their way back to their winter digs at the estuary. Or perhaps leaving for wherever they live in summer. Early arriving song birds found refuge under the low branches of trees that had shaded the ground from the snow.
But then one day last week, the temperature rose 10 degrees in a matter of hours and the rains came and there was a new sight and sound of bulging creeks and rivers madly rushing to the sea. Soon all will be forgotten and forgiven and the new topic of conversation will be…
Floods.
As the snow retreated under higher temperatures and cleansing rainfall, it revealed the little iris reticulata and other early bulbs already poking up through the earth and the dozen pots of daffodils I plant every year for the patio were getting going. Early flowering and heavily scented shrubs like the sarcococca are, well, flowering early. The GreenHouse is up and running, pots of surviving fuchsias, moved up to the top benches are leafing out, and daffodils I brought in to keep them company are flowering.
My inclination nowadays is to seek out and pay a lot of attention to the natural world, and the more I look the more I see, in my daily excursions. It is a way to find solace and joy at a time when I struggle to find a way to live in a world where the actions of humans fill me with such despair. The words of New Zealand landscape photographer and conservationist Craig Potton resonate…
“I think that if you love the earth with a passion then you release some of your sadness.”
The poet Mary Oliver, whose work is a constant companion for me these days, would agree. I too believe it to be true. If you choose to make it so.
Photo: craigpottongallery.co.nz