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The best and worst of the season

John Pepin, Michigan Department of Natural Resources

Walk upside-down inside handcuffs, kick my legs to crash it off, say ‘Ok, I’ve had enough, what else can you show me,'” – Bob Dylan

I arrived at the window feeling kind of ambivalent about the scene I expected to see.

I knew there would be more than a foot of snow still covering the ground, but in my mind’s eye, I could also see the upcoming first day of spring throbbing on the calendar like a three-dimensional Valentine’s Day heart.

The wind spun and lifted freshly fallen snow into small snow cyclones that hovered close to the ground and dust-deviled their way across the backyard.

Auntie Em, Auntie Em!

At the same time, the wind shook the snow from the jackets of the tall spruce trees that stood in perturbed appearance at the notion.

More snow. Ho hum.

I slid the window open. The fresh air swept in on the driven snow shot through my nostrils and immediately down into my lungs. I had inhaled as a reflex.

The air felt cold, clean and refreshing.

The sounds of chickadees and goldfinches making all sorts of noise with their songs and calls washed over the scene as two hairy woodpeckers flew in their undulating flight straight toward a stand of tall trees.

They called to each other as they went, with loud and shrill chattering.

These birds were in the mood for springtime too.

Instead, a mist of snowflakes drifted down over everything, making it look like “A Charlie Brown Christmas” out there.

Oh wintertime, we’ve seen your best and worst, your gray days and stormy nights, your moon rings and ice-cold stars. I see your storied St. Patty’s Day Storm and raise you a flock of bleating March lambs.

Why won’t you just go away?

Watching the scene, I felt my heart sink inside me. I guess I must have lowered my head in sympathetic acceptance.

Whatever the case, I looked down and asked myself, “What’s that?”

There was a tiny, milky white blotch on the window glass a couple of inches up from the frame. At first, it looked just like that – a dried droplet of spilled milk.

I didn’t have my reading glasses with me.

I went to get them.

When I got back to the window, the blotch was still there.

But having the advantage of clearer eyesight, I realized this was not something as nondescript and uninteresting as a dried, white milk drop.

This was something I didn’t expect and something I immediately recognized as some kind of artistic masterpiece.

I decided to go down to my desk drawer to get my magnifying glass to see it even better. Wow. This was cool.

I had the same feeling of awe and inspiration that falls over me like summer rain when I see a beautiful and unfamiliar insect that decides to land on my arm while I’m out fishing, or when I see a delicate flower blooming in pink, white or lavender from the mud along a forest trail.

In times like these, the heights are dizzying.

Like a yoyo, I went from spinning in a circle almost down on the floor to now “rockin’ the baby” way up here. Holy Duncan, Batman.

What this thing was, was some kind of snowflake stuck to the window, one like I’d never seen before, especially under the considerable power of my magnifying glass.

At first glance, I might have likened it to a magnified virus, with tendrils reaching out from every side and nodules affixed to them at the ends.

The material at the nucleus of the snowflake had no discernable shape. It had an irregular border that was jagged in some places, smooth in others.

This center area was perforated, with at least three holes, two were round that looked like eyes and one that was long and situated north-to-south. It reminded me of a lake on a map. This second hole may have been two or three round holes overlapping each other.

The structure of the tendrils was strange.

They extended from the center of the flake like bean sprouts with similar growths at the ends, though some were looped and some elongated. One appeared to look like an upside-down question mark or one of those screw-in cupholder hooks.

It also looked like it could be an alien spacecraft from a science fiction flick.

“People of earth, we have not come to harm you, only to perplex you and pick up some more Kentucky-Fried Chicken, Hot Pockets and Oreos.”

On the eastern edge of the nucleus, there was a long, thick section, also oriented in a north-south fashion that looked like a bent nail with heads at each end, or if you turned it sideways, a Viking ship ready to sail to Valhalla.

I did an internet search for snowflakes and found countless photos of magnified, beautiful snowflakes, but none that looked even close to this one. And that’s not because no two snowflakes are supposed to look alike.

My discovery seemed to be perhaps a little too wet for a snowflake and more like part rain or sleet and part snow. That might explain why it stuck to the window glass and the snowflakes falling had not.

I went back to the window two hours after I had seen my little mystery and it was still there, very much intact. It struck me how something so small could be so intricate and beautiful, but that’s nature for you.

What also struck me was that I had never seen any other snowflakes stuck to the window for not only this whole wintertime, but maybe ever in my entire life. I can’t recall seeing a similar sight and certainly not one exactly like this.

Despite any of that, I was grateful for the opportunity to see this little miracle while California dreaming on such a winter’s day.

I started thinking about how I might have missed my chance to experience this sight if I had never gone to the window in the first place – and if I had not lowered my head in sad resolve of winter’s continued dominance.

It is odd indeed how things happen or don’t. It’s like the coincidence of tornadoes and their targets or how a voracious wildfire might race through a little mountain town, leaving nothing standing but a church, a school or an outhouse.

Go figure.

I also think this tiny incident demonstrated for me the enormity of nature’s ability to fascinate and produce the unexpected, even at the very instant everything seems entirely too predictable.

But again, the action began with me. I never would have experienced this if I had not gone to the window as I do each day to see what or who might be out there doing what.

I was reminded quickly of many days when I had been in a funk or worse, dragging around the house or laying on the couch watching television with nothing really on that I wanted to see.

On many of those occasions I had to all but force myself to go outside – even on warm and wonderful sunny days – for a walk or get in my vehicle and head to the woods for some sights and sounds.

And when I did get outside, with almost perfect occurrence, those experiences – whether they were great or small – left me feeling so much better.

I would come home wondering what I had been dragging around for. Suddenly, there were so many things I wanted to do or get done. I felt energized and happy.

Nature had done her magic again and washed my heart, soul and brain clean, like a shampoo, leaving me feeling fabulous.

She did that today too, without me ever having to leave the house.

I am so grateful that I went to the window, even if it was out of nothing more than habit. I came away with several realizations and a bit of early springtime birdsong too.

Thank you, snowflake or “rainflake” or bacterial, alien spaceship. I appreciate your being here today.

Something tells me I may not ever see a snowflake stuck to a window ever again.

And that’s OK.

If there is anything I know for certain in all of this, I will be back at the window again tomorrow and the next day and the next day.

Life is continually strange, conflicting and sometimes seemingly not worth the living.

But as they say, “compared to what?”

So, I kick my legs to crash it off and ask, “What else can you show me?”

Tomorrow is a new trail to hike, a new hill to climb or a rainstorm or thunderclap away from a sunny day.

Add water, stir. Season to taste. Enjoy.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula

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