March Doldrums

There comes a time in a Northern Michigan March when I am a bit disagreeable. I’m stuck in the doldrums.

One moment, the very thing to do is get up and out. To turn my face to the sun, if I’m lucky, and move; move anywhere as long as my back is to winter.

But still, it is winter here in the North. We know to not be fooled. Some of our worst winter storms come in March. And so, beware you novices to Northern winters. As often happens immediately after that urge to move, you will find yourself being sucked into the couch with the duvet up to your chin. Like Mars, the Roman God of War, March can easily do battle with your desires.

I’ve seen March days so stunning I’m flying a kite over an open field with the warm sun on my face and breezes that feel almost tropical at my back. And I’ve experienced March days so cold the creek is frozen over. Most often though, the warm but heavy March snowstorms are what take me down. One day, I’m thinking I’ll not have to move another bit of snow from the driveway. All that remains will surly melt. The next day I’m thinking maybe I’ll have to finish my winter travels to and from the garage in 4-wheel drive.

Oh, March! Your “In like a lion and out like a lamb” is nothing more than a traitorous saying designed to give us hope but, instead, slaps us silly and walks away laughing, leaving us licking wounds in a pile of slush.

Over The Top

With March, we have more light. The sun increasingly rises above the tree tops around my home. Critters are sticking their noses out of burrows, dens, holes, brush piles and woodpiles and taking good long sniffs of the air.

Winter is hanging on this year with another 12 inches of snow just last weekend. Yet gone are the dreary days as we celebrate the light that now holds some tints of color and a warmth around midday that makes promises of more to come.

My furry and feathered friends and I are happy. How about you?

There is still a couple of feet of snow around my home. I’m not complaining. We need the moisture.

But since December I have lived by the path. The path, that is, to the compost pile and the woodpile, the bird feeder, the fire pit, and my well-worn path along the creek. The paths have become beautiful as the March wind carves striking lines and shapes in the snow. The banks, and the paths, and the piles have flowing and crisp edges.

The pin oaks are finally giving up the leaves they have held on to all winter. I beg them to drop their leaves in the fall, making cleanup needed only once each year. But they ignore me. My paths are full of leaves. The wind blows them down the paths and they huddle together in the dips and curves as though they were little brown creatures scurrying to get out of my way.

And now comes the fleeting warm ups when the temperatures rise just a little above freezing for short spurts during the day. It’s perfect Maple Syrup weather when moisture locks up tight on cold nights and then flows freely for even just a few hours during midday.

For months now, the way of the path was my limited walking world. But I have become flighty with the new freedom the contrasting warm and cold temperatures have given me on my morning walks. As the snow warms up each day and then freezes hard each night, a crust is created that can support me. If I rise and get out early enough, I’m free to go anywhere I please. Just this month, I've hiked over bushes that would grab at my clothing and snarl me up any other time of year. I've walked on water over the creek. I've run down slopes that, in the summer, have so much dead fall I’d surly break a limb on my way down. And I've walked over the marshes and swamps, knowing there are all kinds of critters underneath my steps waiting for Spring.

What a contrast to my path routine. I’m free, unconfined, and able to move quickly. March is warm sun on my face and cold wind at my back, serious enough to freeze my toes and frivolous enough to encourage me to take myself over the top.

"Spring is when you feel like whistling, even with a shoe full of slush." ~Doug Larson

River Running

As usual, along about the end of February, I find myself musing about things to come. I become a little less present as I plunge my thoughts and emotions into the upcoming fishing season. As the snow begins to melt and trickle from seemingly flat surfaces towards the lowlands of increasingly bulging creeks and rivers, I notice the new swiftness and I can't help but feel the urge to do a little river running.

It's the nature of rivers to drop in elevation over distance. That is, of course, how they flow. Some relaxing and beautifully meditative rivers drop consistently with few or no surprises. I love to travel these wonderful rivers because they give me the opportunity to play with friends or trail a fishing line or lean back in my canoe and contemplate something important or nothing at all. This is the nature of most of the rivers I travel in Michigan.

Many of the rivers I travel further north, into the Canadian Shield, are not gradual. These rivers pool and drop and pool and drop, keeping me ever alert. The deep pools of swirling water are where I often find the fish. I love these rivers for their energy. They lift me up and move me forward at sometimes breakneck speeds. The canoe goes forward, up and down, right and left and side to side all at the same time. My paddle becomes a rudder and a brace, slowing and turning me as the conditions demand. My arms hurt. My back is rigid and my butt and legs are an extension of my craft, using body language to direct me. And then it's over too quickly and I'm bobbing on riffles, heading towards calm water where I once again must use my paddle to move forward. Sometimes these rivers even force me to stop and get out of my canoe, wary about a drop I might not be able to navigate.

I don't prefer one type of river over the other. They are both special. It's the variety that is important to me. Moving forward at a steady pace, as in the case of my Michigan rivers, is delightfully energizing in the way a nap rejuvenates me. Moving forward in a chaotic way, shaking things up and amplifying the adrenaline, as in the case of my Canadian rivers, energizes me in the same way a good brawl gets the juices flowing.  

It's March and it's time to rumble! See you on the river or on the bank. Your choice. But I'm not waiting. 

"All rivers, even the most dazzling, those that catch the sun in their course, all rivers go down to the ocean and drown. And life awaits man as the sea awaits the river." ~Simone Schwarz-Bart

"Eventually, all things merge into one, and the river runs through it." ~Norman Maclean

Sweet, Sweet March! It's Maple Syrup Time!

One of my favorite quick changes in a Northern Michigan March is the rise in temperatures during the days that launch the maple syrup season, when maple sap runs through the sugar bush to strategically placed sugar shacks. In the very old days, native people cut a hole in the Sugar Maple. They attached a wood shaving on the bottom of the hole in order to direct the maple sap towards a bark container. Later, sap dribbled into covered metal buckets or pails. Today, most sugar shacks are equipped with sophisticated plastic tubing. The maple sap follows the tubing from tree to tree and ultimately into a storage tank. At the sugar shack, the sap is boiled down until it becomes maple syrup.

Maple syrup is a true treasure because the maple sap can only be collected during the cold and brief six weeks from early March to mid-April. And, on average, a Sugar Maple will yield 40 gallons of maple sap each year, which boils down to only one gallon of maple syrup.

I'm looking forward to my annual spring binge; namely, maple syrup on my morning pancakes, waffles and French toast, maple syrup drizzled over cooking bacon and breakfast sausage, maple sticky buns, maple glazed carrots, maple butter, and the traditional March treat, hot, thick maple syrup drizzled over snow.

A Fly In My House

There's a fly in my house. It has been here for two days. It's smaller and looks different than the house flies I've seen all winter. And it's bigger than a fruit fly, so I know it didn't come from the bananas in the kitchen. I'm excited. It's the first sign of spring! This fly may be a misfit, but I'm pretty attracted to the misfits of this world and thrilled to have it in my life.

So it was a short leap from this misfit, the fly, to this month's newsletter. Hey, no excuses for the strange wanderings of my mind. That's the point.

The Top Ten Ways to Enjoy Being a Misfit:

1. What causes you to be labeled a misfit is the very thing that makes you an individualist. Explore it! 
2. Your “misfit-ness” is often your strength. Hone it!
3. If being a misfit looks like fun, others will follow you. Flaunt it!
4. Every circumstance in  which you find yourself unsuitable is an opportunity to learn something new. Uncover it!
5. When you stand out, you have a better chance of being heard. Say it!
6. People will talk about you. Use it!
7. Expanding on that which makes you different will elevate you to one of a kind. Enjoy it!
8. Misfits often look at things from slightly different angles. Notice it!
9. Misfits tend to question accepted views and to consider contradictory ones. Challenge it!
10. Just like the fly in my house, if you're the only one out there, the lanes are wide open! Floor it! 

First, ask yourself “Am I a misfit in any way?” And if so, don't concern yourself with hiding or compensating for it. But instead, ask yourself, “How can I expand that to other areas of my life?” Because today's misfit is tomorrow's maverick.

“Man is physically as well as metaphysically a thing of shreds and patches, borrowed unequally from good and bad ancestors, and a misfit from the start” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

March Thaw

I'm so glad March is here in Northern Michigan. Just a few short weeks ago, it was so very cold the trees were cracking loud enough to sound like gun shots. The creek was running like Jell-O and the snow crunched loudly with every step  Now, the light has changed. It has more color. My outdoor surroundings are coming alive. Down in the swamp by the creek, things are bubbling to the surface as gas and scum make their way to the top of the snow cover. The creek itself is flowing strong. And I'm starting to see critters down by the creek who have not poked their noses out of their burrows, holes and covers in several months, enjoying the break in the weather and getting out to do a little eating, housekeeping and visiting with neighbors. When I stop to fill up the Jeep I no longer hunker at the pump as icy winds blow across the parking lot. And there is no waiting for all the snowmobilers to move away from the pump. Ah, the simple things in life are so wonderful.