Gray designs drawn in ditches

Given that we are currently in the “basement of winter,” none of us Minnesotans can say we are surprised by our lingering cold snap. It does, however, give us strong motive to anticipate the figurative stairway–February and March–that will get us out of here. 

 

In the meantime, though, I have found myself not necessarily liking, but at least appreciating the beauty created by the wind. 

 

Either in this edition or an upcoming one, you will find an article about wind erosion. I became inspired to get in touch with the local Soil and Water Conservation District (SWCD) first, when I had the unlikely problem of having mud tracked into my house during the month of January–not because the ground outside was soft, but because it was on top of the snow. Overnight from Sunday, Jan. 18, to Monday, winds county-wide blew so much soil off area fields that the snow turned gray.

 

When people would walk outside and get it stuck on their shoes, then come inside, what would normally have been a small puddle of water was instead a pool of watery mud.

 

Even without the irritation of a dirty floor, there was something eerie about the discolored snow.

 

If you’re wondering what there was to “appreciate” about that, you are wise to ask.

 

The gray snow was an inspiration to find out more, and certainly got me thinking, but the appreciation comes from other factors.

 

The largest was the designs drawn in the ditches.

 

They’re mostly covered since we got some fresh snow, but for a while the designs on the snow made it seem as if the wind had been daydreaming while it swept a black paintbrush across a white canvas. There were distinct curving lines, arches of shading, reversed-out areas that were mostly black with small patches of white, astoundingly parallel lines.

 

It was windy and cold, but more than once I was so taken by the designs I stopped my car to take a closer look. When I wanted to take a picture, since my electric car windows were held shut by ice, I went so far as to open the door, step out, and hold myself upright on an often slippery surface while being pushed around by the wind. Though I was outside the car for moments, my fingers were chilled as I got back inside.

 

If the weather hadn’t been so hostile, I would have stopped more often than I did. I can tell you I was tempted over and over again, the designs were so intriguing.

 

The other element I appreciate is the snow in motion.

 

In summer we call them “dust devils.” I think the best name for what we see in winter is “snow swirls.” I guess the wind must form those miniature funnels all the time, but only when it is carrying something can we see the design.

 

If we lived in a time without enclosed, heated vehicles or temperature-controlled homes, perhaps I would see them as intimidating or threatening. But when I am in my nice, warm car looking out across a wide-open field where snow is being cast skyward as though some underground whale were sending up a spout, I find myself entranced.

 

The air is always in motion, always making patterns and designs, always dancing across the landscape using the rises and falls as inspiration for its next pirouette. But we only get occasional glimpses. Perhaps more significantly, we only take occasional glances.

 

Although I didn’t enjoy the cold, the harsh wind, or the muddy floor, I have to admit I appreciated the way the wind and snow imposed themselves on my awareness; it’s healthy to be reminded we are part of something much bigger than we usually take into account.