In the bright sun, sharp shadows of trees stretched out on the snow in the forest. Dark pools of water lay in the low spots. As the snow kept melting, fallen trunks began to show. The forest seemed much less empty.
After the snow fall earlier in the week, the expanse under the trees was an empty white. The pools of water froze hiding the leaves the water had captured, the rich earth beneath. The only indications of life were the prints left by the young fox, the marks left by squirrels, and the occasional sound of a bird – tapping of woodpecker, raspy call of raven, cheerful chirp of chickadee.
Heavy snow hides so much of the forest’s life. Birch and maple are bare of leaves. The abundance of undergrowth died back in October. No sign remains of the fungi and flowers that will grace the ground beneath the trees in May. Only the dead stems of aster and chicory stand grey above the blanket of white.
In the open forest, the marks of the emerald ash borer are starkly visible on the ash trees. These are signs of life and death: the life of the beetle that is killing the trees.
Many creatures that we will encounter the rest of the year are hidden. There has been no sign of porcupine or skunk, though these are not very common here. I wonder where the bears found big enough dens to sleep away the winter. Likely, up where the escarpment is a sheer cliff, where I have seen shallow caves. The bears have found deep enough hollows to safely sleep through the winter. If there were no dens, the bears would not stay.
Raccoons are sighted from time to time, though they seem to sleep when the snow is deep and the cold catches the throat, stings the cheeks. Mice and voles wake, but they travel under the snow, leaving snake like trails that mark their passage while they remain hidden.
In the space where the forest meets the lake, a few seagulls soar. In winter, these birds are silent. The rest of the year, we hear them before we see them. But not in this season. They move silently through the empty landscape. I wonder what they find to eat as insects are buried under the leaf litter which is buried by snow.
Out on the lake, there are waves and whitecaps. Every few days, a couple of mergansers will swim by, dive under the surface, reappear far from where they started. These birds must find creatures I will never see hiding among the rocks at the bottom of the lake. I notice that they are farther out than will be in summer. I suppose the hidden creatures stayed in deeper water so that if the lake freezes, they will be well under the layer of ice.
Not that we have ice out here where wind keeps the water churning. When the polar vortex slipped down to hold us in frigid temperatures, we had a two-meter shelf stretching out from the rocks. It is gone again, the mild weather melting it away, as it melted that protective blanket of snow in the yard, the gardens, the forest.
I know spring bulbs are tough. Iris and lily roots make it though most winters. Peony roots are deep. The daisies and sedum and roses come back every year. But with so little snow cover, the earth that got saturated with water in the late fall is frozen solid. I wonder how much damage is taking place under the earth.
It is going to get cold again, but as the temperature drops, we are supposed to get more snow. Again, I hope it is enough. But there will be no way to know how the roots of perennials and shrubs and trees have survived until the season changes, and spring’s life takes shape.
Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway Nation.
