Even winter passes in time

A few days ago I stepped out in shirtsleeves to enjoy the blue sky and sunny weather. I spent time chipping the melting ice off the steps to the side door of my house, then looked at the temperature. It was 22 degrees Fahrenheit, minus 5 Celsius. I was startled; it felt so much warmer. I thought bikini weather was upon us. (Not that I ever wore a swimsuit that was particularly skimpy, even when I had a body worthy of it).

I have slightly more tolerance with the freezing weather because of my Buffalo childhood, but the keening and complaints coming from New York City as residents wait for at least a little melt have been nonstop. I do adore New Yorkers, but they are not known for patience. The city-wide frayed nerves was the subject of a recent New York Times article, (gift link) which ended by quoting comedian Chris Coro, who wrote, “This is no longer winter. It is harassment.”

The anguished public handwringing would be greeted with snorting laughter from states like North Dakota or Montana. Not to mention frustrated envy from battered Ukraine, where Russia’s Putin seems determined to freeze the entire population to death by bombing any source of heat, including lit matches if he can find them. In contrast, what many of us are going through is an inconvenience.

Anything is more bearable if greeted with a generous serving of gratitude. But this winter, my long love affair with country living is wearing just a wee bit thin.

It could be my age. The fact that we have been below freezing nearly every day for weeks would not have bothered me too much even five years ago. This year, my internal whining goes something like this:

Zoey, top, and Bella, below, on our walk this morning. They love walking - or, in this case, wading - on a double-headed leash.

I am tired…

…Of having to dress like an astronaut just to walk the dogs.

…Of walking the dogs at all. Although their differing reactions to the snow are endlessly amusing and it’s hard to believe they are sisters. Bella, smaller and thinner than Zoey, just wants to run and play in the white stuff. Zoey is beginning to come around to snow, but she will sometimes sit in the street and hold up a snow-encrusted paw in disgust. You can almost hear her say, “Ewwwww!”

“This is no longer winter. It is harassment.” - Chris Coro

I’m also tired of having to think about where I put my feet when I walk. Last year, I slipped and fell twice on the ice, but fortunately, I had a winter coat on so puffy that it is like wearing a sleeping bag. It was akin to falling on a feather bed - no harm done. Still. One fact of aging is that falling can have some dire consequences. So I have learned to be careful.

And yet, this winter, like all winters, will pass.

In the country, the signs of the turning of the seasons are subtle, but more noticeable than they are in the city.

For example, more birds are beginning to hang around despite the cold. When I walk out in the morning I can hear more birds singing, when a few weeks ago there was near silence.

Because our pond is only partially frozen, our friends the ducks come and swim around every day. They think it is a heated pool just for them. There is no open water left anywhere, but the many springs in our pond keep at least part of it free of ice.

The days are lengthening. Already, daylight lasts more than 40 minutes longer than it did on Dec. 21, the winter solstice. By the end of February, we will gain nearly three minutes a day of sunlight.

The rays of the sun are warmer, too, even on cold days.

Orion, my favorite winter constellation, and his faithful dog, Sirius, are both high in the sky after sunset and are swinging towards the west by 10 o’clock at night. I know they will begin their descent soon. By the time spring begins in earnest, they will begin slipping farther down towards the horizon until they won’t be seen again until the fall.

Then, there are my household’s measures of spring.

My husband always begins to plant seeds in trays inside the house by the beginning of February for the season to come. He used to plant them all over the house, each with its own lights, leading me to wonder if the neighbors think we have started a marijuana farm in winter.

But this year, he got a commercial seed germination chamber to help with the process. It looks like a big, boxy oven, but in fact, it sets temperature and humidly at the perfect setting for whatever vegetables he is planting.

“Look,” Pete said to me yesterday. He removed a tray from the chamber and held it up in triumph. “The onions are growing!” The tray was covered in what looked like little green hairs, far from the gorgeous globes I will pull out of the earth in four or five months. But they are good omens all the same.

We need these signs. We’ll be back to the deep freeze this weekend, with temperatures plunging to 0 degrees Fahrenheit, snow and high winds. Once again, spring will feel distant. But I’m hanging on to optimism. Warmer days, longer days, are coming.

A waning moon sets over our property at dawn as seen from the second floor porch of our barn. Springs keep a portion of the pond ice-free for ducks.

Baby onions!

Pete’s seed germination chamber. Isn’t it cute?