My house is situated in such a way that the “front” of the house faces north and the “back” faces south. I have a deck that runs along the entire east side of the house and wraps around the southeast corner just a little bit. My house is also built on a hill, so the deck starts at ground level on the north side and is about 10 feet off the ground by the time you reach the south side.
When the deck was built by the previous owner, it was put together with nails, which created a rather curious combination of conditions. A large deck, with lots of open space underneath it, and nails that are not as firm-fitting as screws, all combine to form the most curious cold weather indicator. This is because as the wood in the deck shrinks with the cold it eventually moves in a sudden popping fashion that I can only really describe as a little earthquake. Imagine you’re in the house and someone outside drops a 40-pound bag of birdseed on the deck from about 3 feet up and you’ve got the general idea.
This means that I have an unmistakable signal that it’s getting cold outside. I can be anywhere in the house and “BAM,” the deck lets me know it’s cold. I should really keep track of what the temperature is when I hear these noises so I can determine if there is a precise interval between the quakes. Why am I only thinking about this now?
Anyway, the deck has remained fairly quiet all winter because it really hasn’t been that cold. That all changed last weekend when the cold indicator started going off. BAM — it’s cold. BAM — it’s colder. BAM — what’s going on out there? By the time I woke up on Saturday morning, the thermometer read 8 degrees. The breakfast crowd at my feeders was fairly large and I sat in the warmth of my kitchen, gazing outside at the scenery and thinking that I was glad I wasn’t out there.
As the sun set on Saturday evening, the temperature was starting to drop after reaching a high in the low 20s. BAM — the temperature was dropping again. BAM — it’s colder. BAM — what’s going on out there? By the time sunrise rolled around on Sunday morning, the thermometer read 8 degrees again. I sat and drank coffee for a while, watched the birds and even made some breakfast, and by about 9:30 I was finally seduced by the siren song of Nature. It was time to go outside.
The sun was bright and there was no wind to contend with so I was actually fairly comfortable. As I headed down the hill toward the meadow, I happened across plenty of deer tracks. December had been so rainy and warm that the ground had been soft and muddy. Every track that had been made had been frozen in time since then. It was like finding a path full of dinosaur tracks.
By the time I got down to the small, ephemeral stream that runs near the back of my property, I discovered that the cold had been of sufficient duration to completely freeze the entire thing. It was like looking at one of those beautiful photographs taken with a very long shutter speed. The little waterfalls were all stretched out, blurred and frozen in place. The only difference was that this time they actually were frozen.
There were signs that the water hadn’t given in to the cold all that easily. First, the edges had frozen, then the surface had followed suit, and finally, there were little places where whatever liquid water that remained would leak out and form gorgeous little terraces, like rice paddies built onto the sides of steep slopes.
My camera was with me and I started snapping photos. Each little ripple and waterfall offered another chance to freeze a moment of a moment that had already been frozen in time. Eventually, I came to my favorite moment of the day, when I decided to walk upstream along the frozen surface. I reached a point where the rocks and ice combined to create a sculpture of some sort of large reptilian spirit creature. My imagination ran wild and I started thinking of all the creatures of ice that might live in the forests of Winter’s Kingdom. Now I want to play Dungeons & Dragons!
I realize that a winter walk might not be the first thing on everyone’s mind, but I would encourage you to give it a try the next time you find yourself looking out at a cold, clear morning. I would also encourage you to visit a small stream and admire all of the temporary sculptures that winter creates. Some of them can be quite beautiful and all of them are only available for a limited time. No two works of art will ever be quite the same and that can add the joy of adventure and discovery into your life, even if it’s just for an hour or two.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 21 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service and Massachusetts State Parks, and currently teaches high school biology and physics. Visit speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.