The River Landing

First Signs

February 21

Rainy, damp weather has finally left central Illinois; clear skies and the sun have returned. The home trails have become soft and wet with water that has no place to go in the saturated ground. As I followed the trail through last year’s dry prairie grasses, an eastern bluebird sang in the distance, perched on an electrical wire along the roadside. The bird was close to the location where a month earlier my vehicle was bogged down in a deep, heavy snow drift in the middle of the road. On that day, a singing bluebird was not even on the horizon of my thoughts. Compared to when that fourteen-inch snow fell, winter days now are noticeably longer, serving as a reminder to begin searching for signs of spring, although the equinox is still a month away.

 

Home trails with standing pools of water

        Just the other day, I heard the first red-winged blackbird song of the season, although it seemed a rather tentative utterance. For me, that sound initiates the beginning of the spring bird migration, which will continue with a succession of species until late May. But an overwintering rough-legged hawk hovering over a nearby field suggests that it may still be some time before truly warm weather returns. This hawk is at home on a cold landscape; its breeding grounds are on the Arctic tundra of Canada, shared with polar bears, muskox, and snowy owls, among other species of the barren lands. Other northern birds that were at the feeders just a few days ago are further reminders that winter is still here: purple finch, dark-eyed junco, white-crowned sparrow, white-throated sparrow, and fox sparrow. These will all be long gone from Illinois by the time the prairie is in full bloom.

 

Remnants of January's fourteen-inch snowfall among prairie grasses

        While bird life hints of warmer times, plants are still dormant, although in other years, American hazelnut was already producing flowers by February 22nd. It seems like a colder, longer winter this year, with delayed bud development compared to other years. I have become fatigued by the gray days of wintry mix.
        Before heading home, I stopped to watch several thousand snow geese flying high overhead in overlapping “vee” formations, probably looking for resting or foraging areas. They will eventually join the rough-legged hawks at land’s end near the Arctic Ocean. The snow goose is a jittery species; sometimes an entire flock with thousands of individuals rises in flight at the slightest hint of a disturbance. Apparently that is what it takes for them to survive against predation. But to me, it seems wasteful of energy.
        For the next three months, as in other years, I will keep my senses trained on more first sightings and sounds of spring. In terms of timing, there is a great deal of variation from year to year, undoubtedly related to weather; but the overall behavioral patterns hold true.

The Aftermath

Passing of the recent killer Arctic cold front (January 29-31) was immediately followed by two days of solid thawing with temperatures into the upper 40s. To see the aftermath, I wasted little time before venturing onto the home trails. There was still plenty of deep snow, but rapid melting left the exposed ground mushy and wet. After the interstellar-like cold, 45 degrees with calm breezes actually felt warm. But the air was damp, and ground fog hung low over the surrounding farm fields still covered with snow, like smoke slowly drifting over a recently burned prairie.
        I walked among the survivors. The green of the eastern red cedar trees appeared deeper, more alive. Tufted titmice and Carolina wrens sang as if it were a warm day in May. Blue jays emitted curious short musical calls that my scientific mind struggled not to label as “happy.”
        Skies were still gray, but among the gray were hints of deep blue-gray, a sign that lighter times were beyond the grayness. It was as if I had awakened from a fitful sleep, my eyes still not completely focused, throwing off the covers, the smell of fresh brewing coffee in the air, the bright sun seeping through closed blinds.
        Then as I saw my overwintering red-headed woodpecker on its territory within the black locust grove, I felt the warmth of gladness. Storing a cache of mast last fall enabled its survival thus far this winter, but there was much of the cold season in front of us. And more Arctic air screaming down from the Pole would surprise no one. If the woodpecker died from starvation and cold, my only clue to its fate would be not seeing or hearing it for days. And then I would not know for sure whether it perished or simply moved on.
        Before turning back toward the house, I stopped at our honey bee hive and was gladdened once again spotting several active bees around the hive’s entrance. They also made it through the snow drifts, the wind, and the cold! And just at that moment a group of greater white-fronted geese called from above, heading northward, flying close together in a classic “vee” formation. Another good sign.

Arctic D-Day

“Whispers of the north…in the land that tested Eskimos ten thousand years before.” – from Whispers of the North by Gordon Lightfoot

Quite early during this winter season, there was a feeling of being under assault here in central Illinois. The feeling began with an unusually early snow storm on November 9th while also recalling that the last snow from the previous cold season was unusually late on April 9th. Wintry weather seemed to have squeezed out much of the warmer months. Then following a rather benign December, a tentative hope sprang forth for a mild winter.

 

First snow of the season, November 9th (photo by Julie Lerczak)

 

        That hope became effectively dashed when a mass of wintry weather was detected heading toward Illinois from the southwest, bringing heavy, dense snow. For days we dreaded its arrival, and hoped that the weather forecast was inaccurate—on the side of less snow, of course. But in the aftermath, at least fourteen inches lay on the ground; heavy to shovel out of the way and tough to negotiate through, even with a four-wheel-drive utility vehicle. Our metal gazebo collapsed under the snow’s weight. Were it not for a kind neighbor who plowed our driveway with his farm tractor, we would have been snow bound, or at least would have experienced many hours of shoveling.

        Then without delay, winter’s assault continued when the southern wintry air mass was soon followed by a northern high pressure system, lacking snow but with much colder temperatures and strong winds. Wherever the wind was unimpeded by vegetation or structures, the dense snow blew into deep, weighty drifts. In hindsight, I should have stayed home; food had been stocked up several days before; we had all we needed. But when I saw the rural mail truck passing by our home, it seemed a logical conclusion that the roads were clear, though I had not yet seen a snow plow.

        At the driveway entrance, the county road looked fairly clear in either direction. And so I proceeded with confidence. Just to the west of home, snow blew horizontal and unchecked across the farm fields and roads, and after a quarter mile, there was still not much accumulating on the road. Then just as that optimistic thought ended, ahead I noticed a deep drift covering the road. I should have turned around, but instead put my vehicle in four-wheel drive and sped up. If it had been powdery snow, my plan would have worked. The snow, though, was deeper and heavier than it looked. Twenty feet or so into the dense drift, the vehicle began to slow down and slide sideways…and then it stopped. With spinning wheels, I could not go forward or backwards; snow came up to the vehicle’s chassis. I was in the middle of the road without a shovel or cell phone. Fortunately for me and everyone else along the road, a neighbor referred to as J.R., with a plow mounted on his ATV, was trying to keep the road open. Official road crews were focusing on U.S. Highway 136, leaving folks along the back county roads to “eat grass.” J.R. pulled out my vehicle from the drift and cleared the road, even as new drifts continued to form. I, feeling foolish, thanked him profusely and straightaway headed back home like a whipped pup, and stayed there for two days.

 

Photo Source:  Internet

 

        But soon, slightly warmer weather brought light rain, which helped melt some of the snow. However, this slight reprieve was immediately followed by single-digit temperatures, again from the north. And everything was immediately covered in ice. On the positive side, though, the ice crust over remaining snow, of which there was plenty, prevented further drifting.

        Forecasters, though, were already talking about another impending weather assault, this one worse than the last: a severe cold front with strong winds coming down from above the Arctic Circle. This would be serious weather: -20^o F lows at night with wind chills of -40^o F; frozen water pipes; dead car batteries; freak power outages with fatal consequences. It was coming and there was no way to stop it. And Tuesday, January 29 was D-day.

        But I grew up in Chicago in the 1960s and 70s, with its lake-effect snow and frequent fast-moving weather fronts from the Canadian far north known as Alberta Clippers. At that time, average temperatures worldwide had shown a downward trend for over three decades, and many in the media and scientific circles were raising the alarm that the beginning of another ice age was upon us. The near future certainly seemed more than a little foreboding, but I’m glad that I did not take any of it too seriously. At any rate, I had seen all of this before, and I knew ways to fight back. I did not possess an engine block heater, as many do in northern climates, but I planned to start my vehicle as much as necessary to keep it viable. Faucets would be left dripping. The chickens were under a tent of blankets with a heat lamp. And I would venture outside with only my eyes exposed to the elements.

                                            * * *
        Two days later, the water pipes and vehicles are intact and the chickens are in good shape and talking back! Now, as I type this, the temperature outside has finally climbed above zero by one degree. And the slow, steady climb is projected to continue, above freezing tomorrow on February 1st, and into the fifties in three days. After that, who knows? But I do believe that an ice age is off the table.