Waiting on winter in the Mid-South
That invigorating northern breeze just can't come soon enough for some
It’s almost here. I thought I felt it the other day but it was only a tease of things to come.
Winter draws ever closer and my spirit yearns for it. I will never get used to seeing blooming flowers and butterflies in November.
God I hope we have a winter in Oklahoma this year. Winter makes my blood flow. It makes me want to hunt every single day. It makes me breathe deeper, walk stronger. It invigorates my very soul.
Unfortunately we just can’t always count on it here in Oklahoma. It’s not a calendar event, no matter what the calendar says and no matter what the position of the sun on the horizon might indicate.
Check the Farmer’s Almanac and it will point out that there are both astronomical parameters and meteorological dates for our seasons.
This obviously came about because humans lack the ability to be as flexible as Mother Nature and simply recognize a day for what it brings. We must set a date for things to happen. Otherwise how would we know where to jot down the words on our calendars?
Also obviously we had to come up with a couple different ways to decide which date to jot down because, while we lack the ability to be flexible, we do love to make things confusing.
Astronomically speaking winter and summer begin with solstice, when the position of the Earth in relation to the sun reaches its northernmost or southernmost position. Fall and spring come with equinox, when it passes over the equator. By this definition winter begins December 21 or 22, the day that marks the shortest period of daylight in the northern hemisphere.
Meteorologically speaking, seasons are based on the 12-month calendar and annual temperature cycles as observed by the great climate-o-rologist in the sky (I just made that up)—or possibly a fisherman (a more likely scenario).
According to climate science each season is three months long and begins on the first of the month based on annual average temperature cycles. By this method winter runs December 1 through the end of February.
The story is that meteorologists created this system to make weather records consistent internationally. I think what really happened is some northern angler/meteorologist with backroom ties to a fishing buddy in the calendar division of the International Department that Does Stuff decided that fishing picks up around June 1 so that should be summer and the rest of the seasons could be organized around that.
Thus, June-August became “summer.” Thus was born the phrase, “But Honey, it’s summertime, I have to get the boat out.”
My own definition of winter falls more along the lines of Punxsutawney Phil’s—it’s all about what you’re feeling and it may rely somewhat on a lighthearted suspension of disbelief.
One cannot argue with a 130-year old groundhog that has its own holiday on the calendar and was made extra famous by Bill Murray in a movie titled for the critter’s big day. Phil is a god.
It’s all about the senses for Phil. If he sees his shadow on Feb. 2 it means six more weeks of winter lie ahead, if not, an early spring can be expected. He’s never been wrong, according to members of The Inner Circle—although apparently a few incompetent members have misinterpreted Phil’s signs over the years.
When I lived in Alaska winter spanned from termination dust to breakup—when snow covered the lower mountaintops until the ice left the rivers. Spring and autumn were inconsequential.
Here in Oklahoma winter comes on a north wind that brings with it an indescribable purity and the scent of a snowy day engrained in my senses when I was just a boy. It’s a wind that moves waterfowl to lift, form their flocks and fly south. It carries with it an electric surge that charges inner senses and, put simply, grabs my attention.
I’ll know it when I feel it, in other words, even if it’s just for a few days here and there.
If you’re around when it happens you might see me unzip my coat, turn to the north, and raise my arms to let the wind push that cold, clear air through me. It’s a life renewing invigoration I count on every single year and, for me, winter can’t come soon enough.
