The February-March Yoyo
Looking out the window this morning, rainy sleet patters against the eastern windows. Just a few degrees colder, and this would be heavy, wet snow. A few degrees colder than that, and it would be the dry, flaky snow of last week, which blew about in the wind and piled up by our front door in a drift as high as my shoulder.
The journey from deep winter into spring is always a rocky one, especially as we enter into March. February grows moody as the sun climbs higher but the land is still battling its way out of the frigid grip of January. One morning it’s 30 degrees below zero, then a few days later it climbs to be 42 degrees (above zero). If that were to happen in the summertime, it would be like going from 50 degrees to 120 degrees or more! Only winter can make those kinds of sweeps and still keep snow on the ground.
The texture of the snow can also change wildly in February, from crystalline gems to crusty ice, soft and pocked lumps to flinging blades in the wind. Each day can be a wildly different condition, and I keep my ice cleats handy for a moment’s notice. I’ve had my fair share of falls on the ice, and these strap-on micro spikes are my friend.
With conditions like this morning’s light rain, the dampness returns that we haven’t seen since autumn. Even a 40-degree day can feel much colder than it is because of the dampness, which seeps through my sweater with its chill. By evening, I’d rather be sitting right beside the wood stove with a good book or fun project.
March carries on the tumultuous relationship with temperatures, sometimes grim, sometimes cheerful. I remember one St. Patrick’s Day on the farm being 80 degrees. Unfortunately, the apple trees took this as an early sign of spring and bloomed, only to have the blossoms frozen in a cold snap later. Drat!
This makes life with livestock complicated, as the swings in temperatures are hard on them as well. As the farm slowly thaws, ice buildup melts and refreezes, causing wooden doors to expand and refuse to shut (or open). Latches fill up with water and freeze. Ice crystals that have formed on the inside walls of coops and barns melt and dampen the bedding, which means that the late winter transitions involve hauling lots of fresh bedding to keep animals warm and dry before the spring cleanout.
The slipperiness of the melting and freezing snow can make chore-time treacherous as well. I still remember the time (before cleats) when I fell on the hill down to our walkout basement, carrying a pail of eggs. Up went my hands, and the scene turned to slow-motion. Up went the eggs as well, spreading out like fireworks in the air. When my butt hit the hard ice, I had only enough time to cover my head with my arms when all the eggs came raining down all around. Unsurprisingly, none of the eggs survived the adventure, and I was a bit of a mess, as well as sore.
As the domestic animals work to regulate their temperatures through these fluctuations, they also need to burn more calories. I can see this in our wild friends as well, who have been busy at the feeder snagging seeds. There is still too much snow-cover to find wild seeds, and the birds and our one intrepid (and a bit chubby) squirrel have been frequent visitors.
Yesterday morning, the feeder had run empty, and the squirrel was hanging on it upside down, desperate to try to find one more seed. Then he (or she) climbed up onto the curve of the pole and looked in the window at us, as if to say, “Eh, hello, hellooooooooooo in there! Could one of you come and fill this please? Hello? It’s cold and we’re hungry, and that your job!”
We dutifully did, and the chickadees snagged several seeds before the squirrel returned.
In the Northwoods, it’s a long and rocky road to springtime as February and March make their yoyo of temperatures and conditions. Stay safe everyone with the ice and the damp, as we work to keep the animals happy and comfortable—wild or domestic. I’m sure that some of ours are hungry, so it’s off to chores. See you down on the farm sometime.
