Meteorological Spring, One Long Week In

We come from the land of the ice and snow…

For some reason, that Led Zeppelin line about rampaging Northmen keeps coming to mind. Especially the savage alarm that precedes it, which just doesn't translate from Ah ah, as in the officially written lyrics. At the very least that's short two whole syllables, one of them quite long.

February was the fifth cloudiest on record, round these parts. As promised, this week a late chunk of broken polar vortex blew in. Tuesday, we shattered the record for lowest high temperature ever on that date. There's gotta be a better way to say it than 'low high', but there it is.

Up north, for the first time in more than two decades Lake Superior is 90% ice covered, about double what it was prior to February. That's well above forecasts, though it doesn't mean the sea caves of Cornucopia will be open, so don't get your hopes up on that.

Likewise, the mass of great northern ice that forestalls evaporation suggests it's unlikely the shipwrecks along Au Sable beach will be readily available this summer. So I'll chalk those off any speculative list.

What ice cut by open water running through the prairie says is that while there's a ways to yet go until ice and snow yield their wicked grip, the sun climbs higher in the sky by the day. Higher, faster, than any other month of the year. Even when you can't feel its good effects, the landscape absolutely does.

I've been working the new lens during brief forays to a local prairie remnant. The patch is only recently preserved and still full of invasive bull thistle. That'll take years of hard won volunteer work to clear, if ever.

It's good to get out but also to stay close to home. I don't much trust any winter, much less one that exerts a will to overstay. I've gone ice-fishing three times in my life and went through the ice twice. Lesson learned.

Thankfully, even this local bit of scrub prairie sports an abundance of natural riches.

One morning, coyotes mimicked a slow passing police siren. They sang and sang and sang, until they'd chased the intruder away. Couldn't beat the joy out of their song with a stick.

In my youth I typically enjoyed two successive autumns. The plan this year is to reap the benefit of two springs. The first, here on the prairie. The second, at Superior.

I've about had it with ice. The new lens checks out. I've restocked my fishing gear. The canoe is high, dry and ready.

Now there's only waiting on the world to catch up to my ambitions for it. Until then, an illusion of spring must serve...