The north wind doth blow
And we shall have snow.
What will the robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll stay in the barn
To keep himself warm
And hide his head under his wing, poor thing.
That old nursery rhyme came to mind the other week when I noticed robins hopping in our yard. Snow was indeed predicted and soon arrived, along with bitter cold. I’m no fan of winter but we need moisture of any sort. Even a dry snow, beats more hot wind. The trees were beginning to bud, robins and other warm weather birds returned. Then Ma Nature said, “Hold your horses and take another nap.”
Folks involved in agriculture, which is anyone who eats, are worried, or should be. Many don’t realize that if you’re a teacher, mechanic, city employee, or doctor, your living depends on agriculture. When drought deepens, all kinds of fallout happens and none of it is pleasant. Farmers and ranchers get turned down for loans, can’t afford to replace aging equipment, and look for other ways to keep body and soul together. Businesses close, small town school populations diminish, and Main Street begins to look like a ghost town. Meanwhile, cost of living increases. Maybe the hospital and nursing home close, or schools consolidate. Now people have to drive farther for these services. We in the arid West know the drill; we’ve seen it before and just hope we’ll be lucky enough to stay where our roots are. Pay attention to that word, hope. Sometimes that’s what we live on to get from today to tomorrow.
So, I’m sitting in our living room soon after sunrise, pondering these things. The sun is out and only a few tracks of wildlife have disturbed the snow cover. There’s a lake about half a mile down the meadow where last week, geese and ducks swam and circled. Frozen now, and the birds departed for somewhere else. We enjoy seeing the water shimmer on sunny days and gauge wind gusts by the size of waves but, at five below, none of that is happening.
Oh, but look! Tiny sparkles from snow on the ice; how is it that they show up from this distance? My old eyes hardly let me make out road signs until we are nearly under them.
Well, there’s probably an explanation involving light refraction or some scientific rule, but have my own theory. It’s a message of hope, a prompt to wait and see what’s ahead that is good. Reinforced the next morning with frost sparkles on all the trees, prettier than Christmas lights in town, and with no effort on our part. There’s a message in that too.
I don’t know where the poor robins spent the cold spell, likely not in the barn because that’s the cat’s domain, but I do know they’ll be back. Let it be. Wait and see.
Meet me here next week and do your best to hope. Somebody might like it.