Snow Moon
I swear if I see one more social media post or hear someone complain about the snow, I’m going to go back in my own hole and enjoy the backside of winter. Yes folks, winter. You know, that time of year here in the northeast when the temperature dips to freezing or below and white stuff falls from the sky. It’s normal for us, unlike the eleven or so inches that fell in the south a few weeks ago. You know what else the south don’t have? Snow plows, cinder trucks, heck, no one has snow shovels either and they were ordering them online to be overnighted without realizing that USPS, UPS, and FedEx all had to travel on the same unplowed roads that they and everyone else could not because—surprise—their municipalities didn’t have the equipment to clear the snow. My little township has the Monster Trucks of snow equipment because they know the milk trucks need to run daily on the rural roads.
Did you not listen to the groundhog? He said six more weeks of winter. Mine aren’t even out of bed yet. But that rascally rodent isn’t the only prognosticator on the farm. Every single day I run my hands over assorted species of domestic livestock. This time last year my gloves were full of fur, but this year there’s only a few errant strands. Even the Great Pyrenees are holding on to the downy undercoats which leave billows of gossamer white on everything they touch one they start shedding. Only when the fur starts flying do the signs of spring begin to appear.
Grump all you want, but we know snow happens this time of year. It’s either freezing or snowing on Valentine’s Day or President’s Day making a romantic dinner or {gasp} a long weekend of skiing a meteorological crap shoot. This is nothing new and actually, it’s quite critical to the health of our hydrologic cycle.
Late winter snows play a crucial role in our ecosystems by delivering water to the soil. But unbeknownst to most, snow also acts as an insulator signaling to all things living below that soon it will be time to wake up. If anything, a good fluffy snow this time of year can actually speed up the arrival of spring by protecting plants and critters from extremes that would quickly stunt or extinguish further growth.
Last year everyone remarked about what a nice winter it was with little snowfall. Remember how dry last summer was? Let’s put 2+2 together.
The mechanics of slowly melting snow ensure that our waterways aren’t overburdened for their normal channels and nutrients aren’t carried away with the soil. People who live in the land of asphalt and concrete funneling water have little understanding of the amount of soil that can erode in a single rain event. After hard rains there are always ruts in the farm’s driveway measuring several inches deep. Once a storm passes and the water drains off, I get to scoop up all the stones at the end of the lane with a skid loader and deposit it back to the original state until the next storm. We’re talking several buckets full, tons of rock.
Moon names originated in the northeast, used by Indigenous, Europeans, and colonizers alike, most often to refer to seasonal changes. Don’t forget the Onion Snow, so named by the Pennsylvania Dutch for the light snow that sometimes falls after St. Patrick’s Day which is right about the time late winter planted onions would begin to break the ground with their green tops.
No, I don’t like it either when snow or other inclement weather cancels the market, but it’s bound to eventually happen. Let me put it this way—for the food system to survive in the northeast (or anywhere for that matter) snow is a must. If you don’t like snow, move to Florida…oh, wait, didn’t the Gulf of Mexico get snow just a few weeks ago? So go out and enjoy the Snow Moon illuminating a sparkling landscape. After all, it is winter.