COLD WINTER CALM......THE STORM IS COMING

The spiral of warm ghostly steam rises slowly from the tea-cup, and is drawn to the cold glass of my office window. As if a wayward spirit is finally moving toward the light, it is lost in the brightness of the morning. I have only just come in from a short walk down the lane, and my beard is frozen white, like a shrub against the house. It is minus 24 at present but as many days, so far this winter, it will blossom with grand sunshine for the rest of the day. The afternoon temperature will be much warmer but tonight is again expected to return to at least minus 20. It is expected this will be the last bright day for the next week. Groundhog Day is on Wednesday (two days from this writing) and it’s not likely to see its shadow on this February 2nd. A storm will soon begin its cross of the Great Lakes, and by tomorrow at this time, we should be seeing the first tumble of clouds of what some are calling, the storm of the decade. Frankly, we have been told this many times, by weather folks this winter, who seem to relish making any storm-front “breaking news” events. Most we have been warned about this year have fizzled long before hitting Muskoka. This winter has been a splendid mix of sun and flurries, with only five or six similarly cold days as this one has turned out.

Sitting at my desk, I enjoy the transitions of the day. The changes in mood from this bright daylight, to the flurries that hit the window-pane in the glow of lamplight. There is always an eagerness to meet the very next weather system heading our way. I’ve sat in this same place for many spectacular summer storms, autumn gales, January blizzards, and the torrential rains of early April. I’ve watched from here as our thin maples and evergreens are nearly doubled over by the powerful winds, and watched as the lilacs and raspberry canes, in the front garden, are violently intertwined by sustained gusts, and twisting air currents that I fear might lift this house off its blocks;........ and blow it unceremoniously onto some unsuspecting witch (stopped to fix a flat broom), somewhere on the Yellow Brick Road.

To some watchers this would seem dull entertainment none the less, as weather seems only a matter of inconvenience, to our daily mortal work and play. It is something to work around moreso than appreciate and understand. If you watched out from this portal long enough, you’d realize just how important the subtle changes are, when for example, everything outside ceases to move and an eerie silence seems to prevail indoors and out. Awaiting the first drifts of snow, from a dangerous storm-front, my resident crickets suddenly stop chirping. The cats and dog seem pensive and alert to changes about to arrive. Some times the changes out here are minute and hard to detect, certainly for someone who hasn’t spent much time interested in the natural world. There are signs, beyond the stiffness of my joints, that nature is offering a warning, in order to prepare her children for a surge of power brewing within. A stillness will commence prior to the storm, when the bird chatter at the feeder will cease, for awhile, and there’ll be no significant wind,...... and the squirrels and birds in the tree-tops here at Birch Hollow, will disappear, as signs guide them to a more sheltered place to weather the storm.

I will watch as the trees-tops on the western fringe of The Bog, begin to waver in the newly risen wind. In minutes, the quake of wind against the earth, will roar as it mounts the hillside from the lake. It will begin with a wheez through the evergreens, and then boom heavily across the open area, slamming into the vulnerable, leaning birches and venerable pines,..... and I will see, before long, the cull of many branches and weak tops, to be sent smashing into the snowscape. Soon after, the voyeur will see the cascade of snow spiraling through the woodlands, dusting down on the vivid green of the resident cedars, sculpting over the lowland and hitting hard at this humble homestead at Birch Hollow. It will be a profound hour or two of assault against the landscape, and many of my favorite old trees will be toppled. From this window I will see the spirited essence of a Muskoka storm. I will have to head out to shovel the lane, for fear of being snowed-in. It will happen here in a matter of several hours. It can be an amazing transformation, if there is a large quantity of snow associated with the front. Even this winter, there have been snowfalls that have necessitated three clearings, through the day, just to keep the driveway unplugged. It’s expected this snow storm could do the same. From this bright and cheerful calm, to the full engagement of a Muskoka storm, seems a work of fiction.....but it will prove real enough when that first roar of wind sweeps toward our retreat here, adjacent to The Bog.

Tom Thomson was a lover of storms. Those who knew the revered Canadian landscape artist, told stories of his sudden change in demeanor when a severe storm was approaching. It was as if his mood was directly proportional to the stormscape’s intensity. He studied the thick, dark tumble of clouds, as it moved over the lakeland, and then exploded suddenly with thunder and lightning,..... the wind gouging down at the water, to create a cauldron of white froth, where only moments earlier, there had been a prevailing, gentle calm.

His keen awareness of the weather, and the volatility of seasonal storms, were hallmarks of his art throughout his short career, particularly in his important collection of Algonquin studies.

I have the same interest. I look forward to the contrasts of the season, and have always felt liberated by these drastic transitions of earth and atmosphere. Now it is mid-winter, and the watcher expects a major snowstorm will arrive, twenty-four hours from now. And I will be here to witness its arrival. A short story shall recall the event, for posterity, as they have for all the seasons that have etched down, and passed my occupancy, of this cherished, humble cabin in the glorious hinterland of my Muskoka.