Mid-Winter…..A Celebration

It’s windy and sunny on the pond today. A cloudless blue sky. Open areas of water are rumpled by the breeze. Contrast to the usual gray and soggy limbo that separates Christmas lights from the soft colors of Easter. Not to omit the raucous bacchanal of Presidents’ Day.

One might have thought, given the grumpy dark days of November and December, that Mother Nature had moved into menopause. We could have used a hot flash or two during that frigid dreariness. Yet, soggy and gray or not, as Woody Allen said, “80% of life is showing up.” I’m happy to have done so.

Moving on. Mother Nature has obviously changed her mood and today she’s clearly showing her sunny side. The winter solstice is in our wake. Summer is on the way!

Just kidding.

There’s a surprising amount of action around the pond today in spite of all that winter entails. The fish, of course, sulk in their dark torpor at the bottom of the pond. Out of sight, but still members of the local critter cult.

The squirrels are especially busy. One pair seems to have struck up a mid-winter romance. They chase each other around the yard, up and down trees and elsewhere. We leave them to their squirrelish ardour. What can one say to a pair of love sick squirrels.

Chuck, the resident groundhog, occasionally rouses himself to forage briefly on whatever mid-winter provender he can find. He then returns to his luxurious digs in an abandoned drain pipe next to the woods.

On the cervidaen front, a pair of does drop by every evening. I think that they’re casing my lovely bride’s azaleas. Bad idea.

Female bears are bedded down in their winter homes, either pregnant or already new mothers with cubs. Must be a restless sleep. Do bears have labor pains? I’ll ask. At this time in their growth the cubs look more like escapees from an Oscar Mayer sausage line than the furry little critters they will eventually become.

Meanwhile, the dreaded Hideaway Beast remains in hibernation, frozen solidly to its tree. It dreams ominously of spring when it can again thaw and haunt the poor denizens of the Hideaway. Be afraid. Very afraid.

Finally, we’ve been very surprised and pleased on three separate days by the arrival of large flocks of robins, roughly 100 in each. They linger for several hours, filling the yard and trees with birds, totally occupied by whatever edible detritus summer left behind. Climate change or the sheer pleasure of our company? Your guess is as good as ours.

All of which proves, in spite Jack Frost’s occasional incursions, that “Winter is not a season…. It’s a celebration.” Anamika Mishra