Wednesday night into Thursday morning, a snow so light fell that if it had been any lighter it would not have drifted to the ground. It would have floated in the air and blown away.
Thursday morning, the clouds that brought the snow vanished. The bluest of blues filled the skies.
In the fall I don’t cut down the dried flower heads. I leave them just so they can collect the finest of snows on days like these. The flower heads are mostly air with thin, fragile branches holding up dried flower buds. But somehow the finest of snows manages to build bridges between these thin branches and form billowy nests. Snow so fine should just slip between the thin branches and flutter to the ground.
See how far apart the individual flower buds are? They are further apart than the flakes are big. Yet a few flakes cling to the buds, more flakes cling to the edges of those flakes, and being so light they hang on, until enough flakes cling to their edges and to the new edges, and snowflake bridges span from bud to bud.
The snow is so light, that it’s conceivable it could lift the branches it falls on. Luckily for us, snow melts into water. If it melted into a clingy gas, it could conceivably pull the plants out of the ground and carry them high into the sky. If that were the case, we’d be out smacking the snow off plants to keep them from flying away when the snow changed to clingy gas and carried them over the mountains.
Today’s rain and warm weather melted all the snow. Thursday’s snow is but a memory. The plants and trees did not float away with the snow.
Was this the last snow of the season? It’s almost March. With each day, the chance of another snow diminishes.
One day swans are feeding on pastures on a warm February day and daffodils are opening, but change is in the air.
The next day we wake up to a white, winter wonderland. From spring to winter over night.
It’s a beautiful sight, though the snow is like white concrete. It brought down power lines and we had no power for much of the day. It’s very quiet without the power on. We’ve moved on from using gas powered generators to a backup battery that can keep essential appliances functioning for twenty four hours. No more purring of a gas powered generator, no more checking to see if we need to add gasoline to the generator. And we can keep the battery in the house. Change is in the air.
A surprise was finding shards of ice forming inside a watering can this morning. Is this how ice forms inside a can? Spears of ice shooting from the outside in? What happens when the spears meet in the center? Do these ice spears have a name? Have scientists studied this phenomenon? Looks to me like there could be a Phd dissertation here. See how in the upper right ice is forming like snowflakes, but in the middle it’s forming spears. Something different is happening even though there is very little space between them. How many pages would it take describe why that is?
Not a day goes by without me seeing something that makes me wonder how that works or why it is.
One unexpected change today was discovering that I may be forced to put my tofu making on hold. I placed an order for more organic soybeans but my current supplier told me that they are out of stock. I’ve been dreading this might happen one of these days. My first supplier, Grain Place Foods, ran out many months ago. Since then I’ve been getting 25 pound bags of organic soybeans from the Skagit Valley Food Co-op. Even though the bags they get are Grain Place Foods soybeans. But now the Co-op’s supplier has run out too. According to Grain Place Foods:
As is always the case in the world of agriculture, we are at the mercy of “Mother Nature” when it comes to meteorological instances and weather trends throughout the country. This year, severe droughts in multiple states threaten to limit the availability of raw products. Many farmers who grow crops for us have called to say that their fields have basically “burnt up” and they will have little to no harvest to speak of.
So once my current supply of soybeans are gone, there will be no tofu for a while. Sorry to those of you who enjoy my tofu.
Flower away hazelnut! Some trees go all out when it comes to flowering. Hazelnuts are early bloomers. On this warm, sunny, spring day, they have outdone themselves. How many thousands of blossoms are on a single hazelnut tree? Tens of thousands? Over a hundred thousand?
And one lucky hover fly has the whole tree to itself.
Is that a bee? In mid February? That was my first thought seeing a fuzzy bundle feasting on the hazelnut blossoms. But no, it turned out to be a hover fly instead. A tell tale sign is it only has a single pair of wings. No bee would be caught dead without a full set of two wings.
If you are an insect who loves flowers, it pays to get out early in the season so you can have a whole hazelnut tree to yourself.
Shake a hazelnut tree which is in bloom and a cloud of pollen dust fills the air. But sadly, if you get hay fever from hazelnut pollen, you may be allergic to hazelnuts. That would be a bummer.
Underneath the hazelnuts, an artichoke has sprouted. I’m thinking this may have sprouted from seed. When artichokes bud, I always let some bloom for the wonderful, purple flowers. There are substantial sprouts where artichokes grew last year. But this minuscule artichoke sprouted where no artichoke grew last year.
It’s only February, but already I’m dreaming of summer days with arms full of heavy artichokes plucked out of the garden.
This early spring morning started out foggy. According to the Japanese calendar, Friday, February 4th, was the first day of spring, 立春 – Risshun. It’s a day to chase the demons out of the house and invite good fortune in. I could do that more than once a year. Some weeks every day.
It’s actually more than just a day. It usually starts on February 4 and ends on February 18. It is one of the 24 solar terms in the year. With each day longer than the one before it, each day seems more spring like than the one before.
Dry weather is in the forecast. A week of mostly dry weather should help dry out the garden enough to start getting it ready for planting.
The hens are laying more eggs, a sure sign of spring. I may even have one that has gone broody. She was all fluffed up and warm underneath. I’ll know for sure in a few days. It’s a bit early, but after the harsh winter maybe they’re ready to get a head start on raising a family.
From a the way this early spring morning started so foggy, I wasn’t expecting this light show at sunset. Iridescent clouds spread out in long pearly strands against the darkening sky. What sort of morning do clouds like this portend?
I looked up when I opened the gate yesterday and saw this brilliant display of blue and white in the sky. The sun lit up the clouds and painted the sky a cobalt blue. Every day is a good day, Yunmen Wenyan said over a thousand years ago. Some days, it’s hard to believe that. Really? “Every day is a good day but today,” is what you want to say. But when the sun, clouds, and sky put on a display like this, it’s easy to believe.
On the drive over to Anacortes, the views didn’t stop. A cloud exploded over the Skagit Valley, between the foothills of the Cascades. Can a sky be more blue? Can clouds be more beautiful?
If one were to make a reference book of the colors blue and white, a cobalt blue sky and sunlit clouds like this is something one would certainly include. “This, everybody, is blue,” you’d say, pointing to the clouds. And where the sun lit up the clouds the most, you’d shout, “This is white, everybody!”
On days like this, the sky seems infinite. But it’s not. A short distance above, the atmosphere stops. And the blue turns inky black. The warmth of a spring day turns cold, the likes of which we can’t experience on earth. The side of your body facing the sun burns to a crisp. And the side facing away instantly freezes and shatters.
A five mile walk takes very little time. A five mile drive goes by quickly. But just five miles above us, we can’t breathe. Many go ten miles or more just to work. But ten miles above, nothing lives. The infinite cobalt blue skies we see on a sunny day are but paper thin. Life on earth is extremely fragile. So if we want our children, grand children, great grand children to enjoy these blue and white skies, we can’t take this fragile earth for granted.