No matter where you live, at some point, your homestead will experience weather extremes.While nothing can prevent a storm from passing through your area, keeping in mind possible or likely weather events when you plan your backyard farm will give you a greater level of success.   

• Hurricane/cyclone
• Tornado
• Flooding
• Hail
• Heavy/damaging Winds
• Blizzard
• Ice Storm
• Drought
• Heat Waves
• Extreme Cold

• Assure that buildings and structures are sound, insulated where needed, and not overcrowded
• Create drainage for areas that are likely to flood – especially places where animals live
• Collect water in barrels, cisterns, or a pond
• Plant a variety of crops, since certain types may survive specific weather event better than others
• Have a generator on hand or another means to generate heat
• Cut down or trim trees or branches that may fall on your home, barn, sheds, or garden
• Prepare a disaster plan for when things go wrong
• Consider which event occur most commonly in your area, and prepare for those events

Wherever you live, the weather and climate have a major impact on your backyard farm.  The climate controls what crops you can grow, which animals are likely to survive, and what supplies you need on hand, and on any given day, the weather influences your daily chores and changes the needs of the plants and animals on your backyard farm.

Over the next several weeks I will share a short series on weather and climate specifically related to the backyard farm.  I'm planning to discuss some of the climate terminology related to gardening, explain some of the traditional weather sayings, and discuss how to prepare and overcome weather and climate challenges.

Weather versus Climate

Weather is what is happening at the moment, and is usually predicted over several days at a time.  Climate is the average weather over a long period of time for a specific location.  Many of the climatic averages you are likely to hear are computed over a 30 year time period. While the weather can change dramatically over the course of just a few hours, climate is generally much more stable; although short term or long term shifts can and do occur.

As a backyard farmer, the climate allows you to plan and predict the success of your crops and your ability to raise specific animals, but the weather of any given year (and your ability to adapt to the weather) is what will determine which crops will grow and what needs to be done to keep your animals safe and healthy.

What is Your Climate?

When you begin to plan your backyard farm, it's important to determine the specific climate that occurs in your backyard.  Your climate is impacted by your height above sea level, terrain, distance from the equator, proximity to a body of water, and any number of smaller influences. Determining your climate gets tricky since climate not only changes across large areas, but changes over incredibly small areas, making the climate across even your backyard variable.

You can start to understand your specific climate by looking at the climate averages in your general region (this is how planting zones are identified).  You can get a general sense of the climate by making observations around you, but if you are someone who likes to see the numbers in front of you, you can get to work collecting some data.

The most important data to collect is temperature and precipitation averages (although wind strength/direction will also be important if you live in an open, windy area).  You can find the data from a number of sources, but for the United States, I prefer the National Weather Service.  You can find climate data for your area by clicking on the map and than selecting the NOWDATA tab on the top right.  Pay special attention to the average date of your first and last frost, the number of growing days, and the amount of precipitation per month.

Once you've determined the general climate in your area, it's time to determine the micro-climates that occur in your neighborhood, and even within your yard. Small areas in your yard may experience dramatically different climates. And even though a certain plant won't generally grow in your zone, you may find that a certain part of your yard is warm enough on certain years. Look carefully at the layout and general placement of your backyard farm.  If you are located on a hill, you are likely more exposed to cold temperatures in the winter and heavy winds, while if you're at the bottom of a valley, you may find that cold air settles and you experience earlier frosts than homes located uphill.  Here are some basic 'rules' for finding the micro-climates in your backyard:

• Southern facing areas are usually warmer (especially when these southern areas are against a building) The soil here will also dry out more quickly
• Areas in the shade are cooler and retain moisture
• Areas near water are more temperate (warm when it's cold and cooler when it's warm)
• Areas at the bottom of hills (even small hills) will be colder on still, clear nights as the air sinks, this is especially important in the fall and spring as these spots will likely experience a frost earlier than nearby areas
• Small spaces protected from the wind will experience warmer temperatures and conversely, exposed areas will be subject to wind
• Gardens that are under the edge of your roof will get more run off when it rains and will be wetter

Once you've determined your climate and microclimate, you can use this information to plan the crops and animals that with not only survive, but thrive in your area.  Next week I will discuss the specific parameters that can help you select crops, but the best way to plan your garden, is to find someone in the area and learn what works for them.  If you don't know anyone locally, try talking to people at farmers markets, or even simply observe what varieties they are growing.

Weather for the Backyard Farmer

Climate may be important for planning your garden, but this year's weather is what will determine your success or failure.  The weather reports get a lot of grief for the number of times they get it wrong, but when you realize they are making predictions of air movements that impact each other horizontally and vertically across large and small areas, it's often more impressive that they get it right so much of the time.  Weather reports also have a much more difficult time making predictions for a small area.  It may be possible to predict a thunderstorm is in the area, but very difficult to predict where the storm may travel, and even harder to predict where in that storm the strongest winds may be found.  As a backyard farmer, you should approach a weather prediction skeptically and recognize that a variety of different weather phenomena might occur over your region at a given time.

Temperature

Temperature is important for the farmer: it dictates whether a frost will kill off your seedlings, whether your greenhouse will get too hot, or whether your animals water will freeze and need thawing throughout the day.  Temperature prediction are often more accurate than other forecast predictions.  In general, your temperature will change based on the amount of clouds in the sky as well as the larger scale circulation. Clouds keep the sun from warming the ground during the day, but keep the ground insulated and warmer at night.  As air masses and fronts move through your area, they can pull air from warmer and colder climates causing rapid changes in temperature. 

Precipitation

Precipitation is even more difficult to predict than temperature.  As a backyard farmer, the type of precipitation your yard receives is more important the the amount of precipitation.  Strong heavy rains will often run-off the surface and may not replenish your garden.  On the other hand, slow, steady drizzles may only drop a small amount of rain, but will actually be more readily absorbed into the soil.  It is always a good idea after a rain to dig into your soil a bit and see how well the rain replenished the moisture.  By collecting you own rainwater, you can more easily adjust to changes in precipitation.  You can also install a cheap rain gauge to track total precipitation.

Wind

For many people, wind plays a dramatic role on their garden and farm.  Wind cools plants and animals, evaporates water, and can knock over struggling seedlings or even trees.  It's important to know the dominant wind direction, and to protect your plants and animals using wind barriers when necessary.  Winter winds especially can make a cold night significantly more dangerous for animals since wind causes the warmth from an animals own body warmth to dissipate.

Stop by next week for more backyard farming weather and climate!

It finally looks like Winter out. On March 1st. Better late than never!

There has been much lively discussion on the Media and in Real Life about the weather this Winter, or lack thereof. Winter sports enthusiasts have been quite disappointed, folks with an eye on their heating bills have not. Mud season has been in a sort of suspended animation, and the kids have learned that near-frozen mud can be just as slick as ice. It has been a Winter unlike any I can remember.

The farmer in me wants to be alarmed, for Winter not found within its normal confines means it’s on the loose and can be found lurking about at any time, hindering growing plans. But the impartial observer in me says all the seasons fluctuate in duration and intensity, why not Winter for once? It’s natural for all elements of our environment to vary.

So why am I missing those blustery, frozen days? The Internal Clock, I suppose. My body, brain and being are all used to taking a break during those dark, cold months. My metabolism is used to a respite. My landscape is used to a respite. My summer wardrobe is used to a respite. The load of paperwork in my office is used to me taking a respite from the field to catch up on it.

My kids are used to a season of confinement and constraint, of focus on school studies and building up dreams of what to do with next Summer’s freedom. They are used to those sledding forays from which they invariably return frozen, no matter how much clothing and accessories I pile on. There has been markedly less hot cocoa this season.

This is where we live. In the Northeast. Where there’s Winters. And snow. And cold. We need these things to better appreciate the sun, heat and activity of Summer. Our bodies are accustomed to the down-time, and just like the plants and flowers who subsist on photosynthesis, we find that it is not only the light, but the periods of dark that are necessary for proper metabolism.

It is in the Darkness we find beauty in the Light. It is in the darkest of Winter when we learn the true meaning of Faith, to hold fast to the knowledge that no matter how cold and dark, Spring must surely come.

We will again by Summer’s end take the warmth and light for granted, and be ready for another break in the hard work of farming. We wonder then how we will ever go through a growing season again, the hours so long and the list of jobs endless. We will be ready once more for a purging of cold, of stillness, of waiting. It is in this crucial time we are recharged, and motivated anew to take on another season of the triumph and tragedy that is farming.

I would not have it any other way.

I remember my Dad keeping a close eye on the horizon.  If it was near harvest and storm clouds were gathering I could read the stress on his face.  If it was a dry year and the towering, cloud banks to the southwest were few and far between I could sense his discomfort and anxiety.

So it’s not that I don’t know how important rain is to farming.  It’s just that after so long away from the farm I temporarily forgot how important it was to not only the financial, but also the social, fabric of country life.

I was quickly reminded of this after moving back to the farm. After even the slightest amount of moisture, no matter where I went, someone wanted to know how much rain I had received.  When I responded, “I don’t know,” I noticed eyebrows quickly rose in surprise and I presume a good amount of suspicion that my Farm Kid upbringing had been tarnished by too many years in the city making my trustworthiness doubtful.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?  Didn’t you check your rain gauge?” I would be asked.

“No.  I don’t have a rain gauge,” I’d respond, which obviously didn’t create a foundation for further trust from fellow farmers.

“What?  You don’t have a rain gauge?  And you call yourself a farmer?” some asked.

I had been away from the farm long enough to have forgotten that on the farm conversations about the weather aren’t considered idle chit chat. Discussing rain, lack of rain, hard, cold winters or early springs aren’t just polite and casual social pleasantries.  No, talk about weather among farmers is “shop talk” and all business.

This last summer, rain was scarce and talk about it abundant. Just a few drops meant the difference between a good crop and no crop at all.  In fact, not far from me the difference between having a milo crop that yielded well and one that never seeded out at all was five miles and three half-inch rains.  It was a tough, dry year and everyone was measuring any and every rain that fell. Well, everyone but me, it seems.

But all that has changed.  I now have a new rain gauge that I too check after every rain so when asked, I can confidently divulge my particular farm’s total.  I love going out after a sprinkle or downpour and lifting the thin glass cylinder out of its white plastic base and seeing to which of the red numbers and hash marks the liquid has risen.

It makes me feel like a real Farm Kid again. 

 He that would live in peace and at ease must not speak all he knows or all he sees. – Ben Franklin 

Broadway, Virginia; February 7; 38 degrees; 8:40 pm

Sitting in my favorite coffee shop eating a 3-inch carrot-cake cookie, topped with about half an inch of sour cream frosting. Not a bad way to spend a Tuesday evening. The grocery store was packed a while ago. The weatherman’s calling for a little bit of winter weather in the morning. Good thing I didn’t need milk or bread; selections were pretty limited. Stockpiling for potential bad weather seems to be almost an instinct. I doubt that too many of us are truly susceptible to being snowbound, though. Those who do live on back roads usually come pre-packaged with hefty SUVs or 4-wheel-drive mountain trucks. So what is the psychology behind laying bare the grocery shelves when the forecast hints of snow?

My exciting news of the day came in the form of a couple of quarter-inch, two-leaved spinach plants peppering the top soil on my first raised bed. I had a little tête à tête with a bright-eyed bunny hovering on the edge of the brush pile. We talked a little bit about briar patches, the upcoming winter, and about the 120-pound Golden Retriever who lives in my house. We also discussed settling rights and the fact that I owned the garden patch (as much as any of us ever own land).  He seemed to understand that I didn’t mind sharing the spinach and arugula as long as I didn’t really know I was sharing. I cautioned him to be subtle in his movements and shrewd in his dealings with my garden. We parted on good terms, I think.

The full moon is magnificent tonight. The Other Almanac says February’s full moon is called the Full Snow Moon. Traditionally, we tend to have more snow this month than any other. So far, we haven’t seen much of a winter. Maybe things will change.  I’ve also heard that the moon this month has been called the Full Hunger Moon. Animals and humans alike often have difficulty finding food on the harsh and frozen ground. I guess the bunny was just planning ahead.

I suppose real farmers are beginning to feel the tug of the outdoors and sense the lure of spring planting. As a theoretical farmer, I’m also conscious of this seasonal turning point. I just don’t feel the weight of the labor that is about to begin. I will till my little patch, grow my bowls full of vegetables and try to keep the rodents at bay. I’m quite content to supplement my meager harvest with bushels of produce from the Farmers' Market. We theoretical farmers always have a backup system.

Call me crazy (many do) but I like rainy days.  There is something comforting about the sound of rain drumming on the roof, and sometimes a rainy day provides me with a much needed excuse to take some time off.  I love settling into my comfy chair next to the fire place on a chilly, rainy day and reading a good book.  Or taking a mug of hot tea to my desk and writing.

Rainy Day Benefits 

A gentle soaking rain rejuvenates and nourishes my garden, the grass, the trees… it cleans the air and refreshes everything.  Rainfall replenishes the water tables so our wells don’t dry up.  Only a couple of years ago many of my friends and neighbors experienced the distress of a dry well; having to buy water in jugs and bottles, or lug jugs to someone who still had water for filling.  Experiencing that really makes you appreciate the luxury of nudging a faucet and having a ready supply of fresh water.  Rain does that for us.

I’ll admit that sometimes rain will mess up planned activities; but that’s life.  It happens.  Have a back-up plan.  Or plan ahead.  Just last week I swapped a couple of days: I scheduled Saturday as lumber stacking day and Friday and work-in-the-shop day.  Friday was a nice day, rain was expected on Saturday, so I switched those two; stacking lumber on Friday and working in the shop on Saturday.  It worked out great!

Storms with torrential rains and high winds can be damaging, lightning can be scary, but a gentle rain is – I think – soothing, inspiring, refreshing.

Fridays 

Fridays have always been one of my favorite days.  I suppose this was born in my school years and reinforced while I worked Monday through Friday and had weekends off.  Friday is a day of expectation; we’re not out yet, but we’re really close!  Then FREEDOM!  Saturday and Sunday are ours to do with as we please.  The weekend is great, but Friday is the teaser, the part that gets the anticipation worked up.

It’s odd how this became so ingrained that it carried through even when I worked a job with rotating days off.  My “weekends” floated through each week, as did everyone’s: it was a prerequisite of employment there.  Tuesday may have been my last work day before my two days off, but I did not feel the excitement of Friday.

These days I set my own schedule; work when I want, play when I want, rest when I want.  Mostly.  Though I do schedule myself to work Monday through Friday, do yard work and home repairs on Saturday and worship on Sunday, it is within my power to flip any of those, except Sunday, around to suit the circumstances.  Yet Friday is still my favorite day of the week.

And a rainy Friday; well that’s just the best!

Well, the great Kansas blizzard of 2011 appears to be over. Some folks say that the Kansas blizzard of 2011 was of a magnitude not seen for years. I'll admit that it was the first real blizzard that I've experienced in Kansas, but it wasn't the worst I've experienced in either North Dakota or South Dakota. Still, when the temperatures are in the low teens and the wind is driving the snow sideways at about 25 miles per hour, you definitely have a blizzard on your hands, and it is hard on people, machines, animals and plants. Yet, blizzards are characteristic of the plains states so the plants, animals and people that live there have sufficient adaptation to plow through in most cases.

Courtesy Karen Keb 

Down in my part of Osage County, Kansas the snow amounts were no where near as dramatic as they were further east and into Missouri. The accumulation at our relatively sheltered farmstead ranged from 4-foot drifts in the lee of the wind to an inch or less in smooth open areas. In the yard and animal pens we received a fairly uniform 10 inches of accumulation -- enough to require shoveling out of feeders and gates and plowing paths. Truth be told, I enjoy snow and the work that it takes to keep the farm going in spite of it.

Last night when I got home from work, I set to on some of my favorite chores -- the encore performance this morning was met with subzero temperatures, calm air and a gorgeous sunrise.

Courtesy Karen Keb 

When I pulled our trusty Kubota out of the shed, the hay spears were still on the loader arms so I swapped them for the utility bucket instead of the snow bucket (visible in the background) because I need to unload bagged feed from the truck. The box blade is useful for pulling snow away from buildings and for pushing it off the lane.

Courtesy Karen Keb 

Molly, our 7-month old Border Terrier loves to romp with us while we are out doing chores. She has seen snow just twice before yesterday, and she doesn't let it hold her back. Molly also has a wonderful knack for staying out of the way of equipment such as the tractor, but she loves racing up and down the plowed corridors and then leaping over the snow piles and into the soft powder.

It cleared up sooner than expected last night so the temperatures dropped further than expected. Chores were completed and the snow was plowed once again when I paused to take in this icy sunrise. How can you hate winter when you get to experience something so glorious?

Our little 104 year old farmhouse survived the blizzard in style. The new mudroom addition stayed snug, warm and dry. It was nice to be able to shed my ice-encrusted coveralls in a proper mudroom and pop them into the drier so they'd be comfortable when I next needed them.

Last night on the way home from work I had a little trouble getting the big Dodge through a couple of drifts. I heard the maintainer scrape past this morning about 4:45. Thanks Mr. maintainer driver for making my trek to US 75 this morning an easy one.

They say it will be even colder tonight, although the winds are scheduled to be calm. I hope it stays calm for the sake of the plants, people, animals and machinery.

GRIT associate editor, Caleb Regan, texted me one evening last week to know whether the funnels that had been sighted several miles southeast of Carbondale, Kansas had crossed my farm. I had seen some weather on the way home, and noted a certain closeness to the air while doing chores, but I was blissfully unaware that tornados were on the prowl in my neighborhood. Sometimes it's just not possible to keep tabs on Mother Nature down in rural Osage County. Mostly, I don't even try to keep tabs.

Back in the late 1980s, I watched a tornado blow up a neighbor's barn just across the section. I was transfixed by the sight, sound and power of it.

I was amazed by how quickly it appeared and how rapidly it moved. The thing about the prairie is that most of the time you can see weather coming -- all you have to do is pay attention.

In the 1990s, while cultivating half-mile-long rows of newly-planted South Dakota shelterbelt, my long hair quite suddenly stood up and bushed out from beneath my Stetson.

I caught a good whiff of ozone as I dove from the still-cultivating tractor and hit the earth a split second before the bolt of lightning obliterated a century-old Cottonwood tree growing in the creek bottom about 100 yards away.

As fast as that squall snuck up on me, it was gone -- poof. Lucky for me, I managed to roll out of the cultivator's path and catch up with the tractor before destroying the young trees.

Powerful tornadoes, and other damaging weather have avoided my 1907 four-square farmhouse for the past 103 years. I anticipate that the place will stand more or less unmolested for the next 103.  If not, so be it. There's nothing I can do about the weather on my patch of the Kansas prairie. And that's exactly the way I like it.

It looks like the Farmers’ Almanac was right on the money with its prediction of an ice-cold winter in the middle of the country. On my farm in Osage County, we’ve not experienced temperatures above freezing for a couple of weeks running. And today, the high is predicted to be around 6 degrees. Brrr … this North Dakota boy isn’t used to that kind of cold down here in Kansas. Neither is the plumbing in the barn. I have my fingers crossed that the frozen pipe in question won’t actually burst – it is PEX after all.

What’s amazing about this cold day in Kansas is that our animals take it in stride. From the Mulefoot pigs snuggled in their huts or buried in their haystacks, to the Katahdin sheep boldly bedded down in the open (but out of the wind), to the chickens and goats hanging together in the old Butler grain bin, to the Highland cattle who prefer the woods, these barnyard animals have the metabolic and physiological wherewithal to handle cold days – and nights – without a pellet stove glowing in the corner. Wow! Impressive isn’t it? All they require is a bit more feed and hay and they are good to go.

The folks who grew up around here tell me that this is one of the longest cold spells they can remember. I believe them. I have a vested interest in believing them. As much as I like snow, I don’t like bitter cold. I had my fill of frostbitten cheeks as a kid in North Dakota and struggled with sufficient icy implements as an adult in South Dakota. So, I eagerly await the end to this cold day in Kansas, and the one predicted for tomorrow. With any luck, daytime temperatures will be back above freezing sometime next week. In the meantime, I’ve got my Dickies insulated coveralls and silk long johns with the camo pattern handy.

Photos courtesy Karen Keb.

Living in the country carries with it at least the illusion of independence that extends to self-sufficiency when it comes to the basic necessities. In reality, most of us have become pretty dependent on the infrastructure that supports our lifestyle. Except for rare occasions, electricity courses through our wiring, gas flows into the furnace when it calls for heat, and water flows from the faucets when we turn the spigot. It’s only when we lose some of those things temporarily the we come to appreciate what we have in this country, but also to realize the things we have lost when we begin to take our lifestyle for granted.

Recently, when violent windstorms tore through the Midwest, we were one of the thousands of households that lost power. This being our first winter in the country home, we quickly discovered some differences from city living. Sure, we had thought about it before hand, but sometimes it takes the actual event to find out what you haven’t done to be prepared.

Water was the first issue. When the power went out, there was enough pressure to get a couple of pitchers of drinking water, and it turns out that Sue had thrown a couple of gallons of water into the freezer for just such an occasion. Apparently, a full freezer is more efficient, and the ice will help keep the food frozen longer. I wonder if they knew that back when they used to have ice chests to preserve food? And I always thought the pond was just an attractive amenity with fish, but that pond water sure came in handy for the occasional flush.

Heat, or course, was only critical for comfort, since we were only out of power for a day. If it had been longer, the threat of freezing pipes would have to be considered as well. This is where my lifelong desire for a wood burner finally came into perspective. By feeding the wood burner all day, we were able to keep the house at a very comfortable 65 degrees all day long. When we moved into the house we had swapped a gas stove for the existing electric one because of the better heat control, and when the power went out we found that the new-fangled energy efficient thing had and electric sparker instead of a pilot light. To cook we had to reach back into our ancient tribal knowledge to realize that we could actually light the stove with a match.

It wasn’t until later that the issue of light started to become important. I had in mind to use an old Colman lantern that throws a lot of light. OK, I know you’re not supposed to use it indoors because it gets very hot and it also throws off carbon monoxide, but I always assume that the really bad stuff can’t happen to me. Sue would have none of that kind of thinking, so we went out and bought a new Coleman that runs on batteries. As it turns out, with the new compact fluorescent bulbs, these lanterns are pretty darned efficient and are perfect for occasions of power loss.

We were just settling down to an evening of backgammon, reading, and basking in the warm glow of the fire when we began to realize that we were actually enjoying the feeling. It was calming and a little reassuring that we could spend some time cut off from the “outside” and just enjoy our own company for awhile.  Then all of these domestic noises started back up again. Although we both were a little disappointed that the power was back on, we couldn’t help ourselves. The lights went back on, we dropped a DVD in the player, and the backgammon game went back under the table for another time.

Look at any USDA Cold Hardiness Map and you’ll see a thin band along Lake Michigan colored different from most of the rest of Michigan.  Weather Channel maps in winter often show that same area colored white when the rest of the state is colored green.  Though it may seem as if the map-makers run out of the color they’ve been using when they get to the western side of the state, Lake Michigan is the actual cause of the change in color. 

Lake Michigan keeps this area more temperate than the rest of the state.  Here, along the shore, the wind passing over the cooler lake water keeps our summer temperatures milder.  This gives us a Zone 6 cold-hardiness rating, a zone warmer than most of the rest of the Lower Peninsula – even just a few miles inland from the lake.  In winter, the lake is warmer than the air, resulting in less extreme fluctuations in temperatures.

It’s this relatively warm water in comparison with the cold winter wind that produces the phenomena known as “the lake effect,” and it generates a tremendous amount of snow.  Artic air blowing over the Great Lakes picks up moisture from the water, and deposits it inland as snow.  Areas east and southeast of the lakes are where the lake effect snows are dumped because artic air masses typically come from the west.  So while that same artic air is clearing up the skies over most of the rest of the country, Great Lake communities are fueling their plows and preparing to get buried in snow.  Thirty to sixty percent of annual snowfall in these communities are due to the lake effect.

The local radio station here reported that the South Haven area has had 50 inches of snow since November of this year; 2 feet were on the ground on Christmas Day which makes it the whitest Christmas we've had in the past few years.

Not all of this snow is lake effect; the low pressure cell of winter storms that hit much of the country recently is responsible for some of it.  It’s the air flow that typically comes behind the storm’s front that produces lake effect snow squalls.  The wind can last for days, making lake effect snow bands persistent.

Lake effect snows are not restricted to the Great Lakes region; any large, relatively ice-free lake which provides a long stretch of water (known as “fetch”) with warmer water than the cold air blowing across it can produce lake effect snow.  But lake effect snows are the most common and heaviest along the Great Lakes shorelines.

I’ve always loved Lake Michigan.  I spent many summers of my childhood camping along her shoreline with my family.  Now decades later, living in South Haven just a few blocks from the lake, is a dream come true.  Living on the oppose side of the state as a child, however, I did not experience the lake in winter. 

The shoreline is an entirely different experience than it is in summer; it looks foreign – almost like a barren alien landscape on another planet.  There are no sun-worshippers on the beach – the fair weather visitors are gone as the sun rarely shines in winter.  Yachts and pleasure boats sit elsewhere in dry-dock like beached whales with their bellies exposed.  Great chunks of ice clog the channel to the lake.  Waves roll the icebergs in fluid motion, giving it the appearance of a long serpent breathing deep, deep breaths.  

The pier is relentlessly beaten by waves, which start to freeze even as they crash over the top of the structure.  The lighthouse at the pier’s end wears an icy sheath, its paint a red undergarment peeking from beneath.  There are always a few cars in the beach parking lot, their occupants protected from the elements as they watch the power of the lake from their tiny capsules of safety.

One cannot live by the Lake and not be awe-struck by her power.  Lake Michigan’s voice is deafening in winter, and it calls to me as urgently as a bright summer day beckons the sun-worshippers to the beach.  Weird as some may think this is, I prefer to be out in the elements close to the water, rather then just view it from inside a vehicle.  I love the beach in winter, and I usually have it all to myself.  The fierce howl of the wind blows as bitter as an old maid’s memoirs, and the roar of her waves drowns out any of my yelps caused from the wind slapping my face.       

As I write this, it occurs to me that the lake effect is not just a weather phenomenon.  It’s a feeling; it’s Lake Michigan’s effect on my soul.  At times, it may be as stormy as the lake itself (as when I’ve fired up the snow-blower multiple times a day just to try to keep up with the continuous snow that sometimes never seems to stop).  Most times though, even on the darkest winter days, it’s a peaceful feeling; a feeling of awe that this thing of great beauty and power inspires. 

Lake Michigan has as many moods as it inspires in those who live near her.  Local photographer Karen Murphy (no family relation to me) captures them beautifully on her photo gallery website at http://www.kmurphyphoto.com/lighthouse.htm.

Map courtesy USDA.