If March coming in is anywhere nearly as leonine as February going out, it will be a March lion indeed. Today the wind was blowing hard out at Holland Beach, churning Lake Michigan into a grand spectacle of roiling billows, crashing surf, and smoke-like spume torn from the wave tops and carried along on the gale.

It was a marvelous sight. Lisa preceded me out onto the pier, and when I caught up with her, she was standing there, laughing as the waves burst against the ice shelf and threw blasts of icy water toward her. That’s my kind of gal! Someone who takes joy in the wild side of nature.

Unfortunately, the water got all over my camera and onto my lens, so the latter part of my photos are somewhat distorted by water droplets. But I don’t mind terribly, because the effect is actually rather moody. I guess if I was going to have something go wrong with my photos, I would pick that.

Speaking of photos, the four here were all taken from the beach and out on the pier. Click on them to enlarge them.

In taking them, I got more soaked than I realized; and the wind chill being what it was with the northwest wind blasting in off the big lake, I rapidly got much colder than I ever expected. But it was worth it to get some shots of Lake Michigan’s raw, unfettered side.

I haven’t edited these images. I’m slapping them up here just as they are–maybe not works of art, but a taste of the kind of effect the shoreline is capable of delivering when the gales blow hard across the big waters.

It’s gratifying to know, in these troubled times when so many are struggling financially, that you can purchase swan meat for just $50.00 a pound. That’s right, there are deals to be had, and ways to satisfy the well-known American craving for swan at bargain-basement prices.

The kicker is, you’ve got to purchase the entire, live bird. But at rates this low, why would you not?

Presumably, when you order a bird from 1-800-STEAKS.COM, you’re getting a black swan as shown in the web page photo. The page doesn’t actually specify that it’s a black swan, nor does it tell you how much meat you’re getting for your money, because, heck, why not make things more fun by making the customer guess, right?  At the time of this writing, I defy you to search the page content and find any details beyond the fact that you’re getting swan for for $999.00–a steal at $500 off the regular price of $1,499.00.

Since it really is kind of important to know where in the size spectrum between a chicken and a sperm whale the swan in question lies, it’s off to Wikipedia we go, you and I, where we learn that a mature black swan weighs anywhere between 8 and 20 pounds. Very good, now we’re getting somewhere. But in what form will our swan be delivered to us? After all, it’s swan MEAT that we’re after, and that is what the site advertises. So should we expect it to come pre-packaged, frozen whole, or what?

Finding no immediate information, off we go again to do more research, this time to the Exotic Meat Market, which offers competitive prices on black, mute, and black neck swans, and is pleased to answer some of our pressing questions.

Ah! The swans are live. We will not be receiving our 8 to 20 pounds of swan meat in nicely prepared parcels. No, our swan meat will be arriving in the freshest of all possible conditions, honking and hissing and flapping its wings and ready to vigorously assert its personal views on being converted into table fare. So we shall have our work cut out for us, but the Exotic Meat Market sweetens the deal with prices that make us want to shout for joy, they are so ridiculously low.

Here, for instance, is the pricing information for a single live, male black swan:

Regular price: $1,299.00

Sale price: $599.00

Black Swan – Live Male blswlima

[Add to cart]

I’m not sure what “blswlima” means. Maybe the swan comes with Lima beans. Regardless, you can see right away that here is a golden deal if ever there was one, with the Exotic Meat Market undercutting 1-800-STEAKS.COM by $200 on their regular price and $400 on the sale price. I know, I know–it makes you want to rub your eyes in disbelief. Disbelief is a common reaction to prices like these. Nevertheless, it’s true: you can purchase live, aggressively fresh swan meat–between 8 and 20 pounds, we’re still not entirely clear on that–for a low, low, not-quite-six-hundred bucks.

And that’s not all. Mute swan, a non-native species which is rapidly becoming a weed bird in United States lakes and rivers, also sells for just $599.99. And black neck swan, regularly $2,499.99, is currently on sale for a paltry $1,999.99. That’s a $500 SAVINGS! (Though it should be mentioned that the black neck swan doesn’t come with Lima beans.)

But perhaps you’re the outdoorsy type who prefers to head out to the swan blind and harvest your own. If that’s the case, you’ll appreciate this recipe for mute swan burgers. I realize that you’ve probably already got your own half-a-dozen-or-so favorite ways of preparing America’s favorite poultry, but in a country where the mere mention of swan sets mouths to watering, one more recipe can’t hurt.

Let me know how you like it. As for me, I think tonight I’ll settle for fried chicken.

Here’s some news that will put joy in your heart: skunk cabbage days are almost here! (And all the people shouted, “Hurrah!” and donned their festive garments.)

It’s true. Sometime within the next three weeks or so, the odd, purple cowls of Symplocarpus foetidus will start pushing up through the mud and matted leaves of the wetlands where they grow, generating enough heat to melt their way through the ice and snow and provide a microclimate for early insects. Here in the Great Lakes, the skunk cabbage is the year’s first wildflower, and I always get happy when I see it begin to show. It’s a charming little plant, though there’s nothing particularly pretty about it. This plant doesn’t care about “pretty.” It’s all about character and nail-toughness. Skunk cabbage has the grit of a pioneer.

It also has the smell of a pioneer, as you’ll find out if you ever hold a piece of the broken flower or leaf up to your nose and get a whiff. It smells a lot like an armpit that hasn’t been washed in a month. Taken all around, this is not the kind of wildflower you’d feel inclined to gather a bunch of and take home to stick in a vase. But, appearing with the robins and redwing blackbirds, it is nevertheless a welcome harbinger of the warmer months. I’m surprised that some Michigan town hasn’t claimed it and instituted an annual skunk cabbage festival. Not too surprised, though.

Speaking of warmer months, they don’t seem to be in any hurry to put in an appearance, and I’m starting to wonder whether Punxatawney Phil might not have been conservative in his forecast of another six weeks of winter. Another major winter storm is poised to dump another 6-10″ of snow on West Michigan this evening through tomorrow, and more snow is in the forecast for the next ten days.

Snow, snow, and yet again snow. If you like the stuff, just stick around. Sooner or later, Michigan always delivers.

There’s talk about another round of snow hitting the South toward the end of February. It’s a bit strange to see how much discussion goes on about snowfall as an anomaly when here in Michigan, it’s a way of life. Today, snow was in the forecast in the Grand Rapids area. But that’s the norm in February. I’m used to looking out the window and seeing snow in its various forms: big, fat, fluffy flakes; small, sharp, crystalline flakes; hard, dry graupel that bounces off the sidewalk like Styrofoam crumbs; frigid diamond-chips that barely qualify as snow, they’re so fine and so tremendously cold, cold, cold.

The snow du jour on this fine, wintry Monday has been the big stuff–merry, white clumps cascading by the billions out of the mid-February sky, twirling, diving, swooping, soaring, pirouetting on the wind–snow that looks as if God sliced open an enormous feather pillow and has been emptying its contents in fits and starts over my hometown of Caledonia. I grudgingly admit, snow Grinch that I am, that it has been a darn pretty sight.

Yes, you heard me say it. Even an avowed, long-time loather of snow such as I has his moments, times when the beauty of winter transcends its miseries and those dancing flakes warm my attitude with their frozen magic. It’s a bit easier to admit to toward the end of an El Nino winter that has been less snowy than usual.

Nevertheless, I’ve never taken the kind of interest in winter weather that I have in warm-weather convection. I don’t make a habit of following forecast models daily in February, I possess only a rudimentary understanding of their interpretation at this time of year, and I get caught by surprise by events that blizzard enthusiasts have been following with eager eyes. You maybe can’t understand my indifference unless you’ve lived in a place where the snow is going to come to you whether you look for it or not, and you will be scraping plenty of it, along with generous portions of ice, off your car windshield for four or five months.

So, is the South due for another round of snow in a week or so? I dunno. Out of curiosity, I ran a GFS snowfall totals loop out to 384 hours a little while ago, and it suggests a pretty good dumping, beginning in Pennsylvania and parts east–why am I not surprised?–and then spreading the joy to northern Oklahoma, Missouri, and Tennessee as another system moves through. That’s probably the system that folks are harping about. But as everyone knows and everyone is quick to say, it’s still a long way out, and nobody knows for sure what’s going to happen right now. That’s particularly true for someone like me, who hasn’t bothered to cultivate winter forecasting skills in a place where snow is as inevitable as death and taxes, and for many, only slightly more enjoyable.

A little dark humor there, folks. Don’t hold it against me if you’re one who loves snow. You’re welcome to remove as much of it as you wish from my vehicle for free, take it home with you, and enjoy it to your heart’s content. Come, ease your craving. I call that a generous offer. But act soon! It’s only good through April.

We may not get socked with anything quite as bad as the three feet of snow that got dumped on Maryland a few days ago, but lower Michigan is poised for a major snow slam starting tomorrow morning. The current warning text from GRR reads as follows:

A WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 7 AM TUESDAY TO
1 PM EST WEDNESDAY.

HAZARDOUS WEATHER...

 * 6 TO 12 INCHES OF SNOW IS EXPECTED FROM DAYBREAK TUESDAY THROUGH
   WEDNESDAY MORNING.

 * THE HEAVIEST SNOW IS EXPECTED TOWARD THE INTERSTATE 94
   CORRIDOR WHERE 8 TO 12 INCHES OF SNOW IS EXPECTED. THE
   INTERSTATE 96 CORRIDOR WILL SEE 6 TO 10 INCHES OF SNOW...
   WHICH INCLUDES GRAND RAPIDS AND LANSING.

 * SNOW WILL BEGIN TUESDAY MORNING AND BECOME HEAVY FOR LATE
   TUESDAY AFTERNOON AND TUESDAY NIGHT.

 * BLOWING AND DRIFTING SNOW IS EXPECTED TUESDAY EVENING THROUGH
   THROUGH WEDNESDAY MORNING AS NORTH WINDS INCREASE TO 15 TO 25
   MPH.

Here’s what the NAM-based F5 proprietary snowfall total shows for Wednesday at 18Z. (Click on the image to enlarge it.) The GFS moves things more to the south and probably is a bit more in line with the NWS forecast. But either way, tomorrow is going to be very different from the beautiful day we’ve had here today in West Michigan.

Well, what else can we expect? It’s early February, after all, and the groundhog probably was spot-on in his forecast for six more weeks of winter. I guess that explains why there’s open season on groundhogs in Michigan.

It’s the last day of January. Just one month to go till storm season begins! Yeah, baby!

I’m not the only one who thinks this way. A lot of you fellow storm chasers get happy at the thought of March arriving. It won’t be much longer–just four little weeks. Then spring begins.

That’s right, spring. While the vernal equinox will occur on March 20 at 2:35 a.m. EST this year, marking the arrival of astronomical spring, March 1 is the beginning of meteorological spring. Yes, boys and girls, there really is such a thing.

The Roman calendar began the year and the spring season on the first of March, with each season occupying three months. In 1780 the Societas Meteorologica Palatina, an early international organization for meteorology, defined seasons as groupings of three whole months. Ever since, professional meteorologists all over the world have used this definition.^[5] So, in meteorology for the Northern hemisphere: spring begins on 1 March, summer on 1 June, autumn on 1 September, and winter on 1 December.

–From “Season,” Wikipedia

The long and short of it is, even as middle-tier states from the Texas panhandle eastward are dealing with the aftermath of an ugly winter storm, spring is just around the corner. On Tuesday, Groundhog Day, we’ll get the authoritative word from Punxatawney Phil on what the next six weeks holds in store weatherwise. But whatever his verdict may be, the fact is, we’re two-thirds of the way through meteorological winter. We’re almost there!

So dust off your laptop. Spring will be here before you know it.

I had crossed the world to meet this cloud, and, finally, here we were, face to face. I held my hand to shield my eyes from the brilliant rays, now that the sun was well off the northeastern horizon. And these cascaded down the cloud’s face, casting long, warm shadows along the ripples of its surface. The undulations gently rose up with the progress of the wave, before disappearing over the crest.

In so many words, Gavin Pretor-Pinney describes his first encounter with an unusual and wonderful cloud called the Morning Glory. The setting is Burketown, south of the Gulf of Carpenteria, halfway between nowhere and oblivion in the hinterlands of northern Queensland, Australia. To this tiny community, a growing number of glider pilots make annual pilgrimage, convening to take advantage of the ultimate gliding experience: surfing the Morning Glory. While this wave-like cloud formation–and it is a wave, the product of a rolling current of air advancing linearly across the sky–occurs elsewhere in the world, the Queensland Morning Glory is its finest example. And little, nowheresville Burketown is the Morning Glory Capital.

Surfing the Morning Glory is just one of the fascinating, warmly written, often humorous accounts you’ll find in The Cloudspotter’s Guide: The Science, History, and Culture of Clouds. Who better to write such a book than Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of The Cloud Appreciation Society. A lover and student of clouds since his childhood, the author takes you for a look at clouds from many angles. Working his way up from the atmosphere’s lower levels, he not only provides an excellent, well-organized introduction to cloud nomenclature, including the various species and varieties of each cloud genus, but he also shares personal and informative bits and pieces that render the richness of his subject in an imaginative, often funny, and sometimes off-the-wall manner. Through it all, Gavin’s passion for clouds shines like sun pillars in a sheen of stratocumulus.

In The Cloudspotter’s Guide you’ll revisit the terrifying experience of Lt. Col William Rankin, who in 1959, having jettisoned his crippled aircraft in the midst of a thunderstorm, became a human hailstone and lived to tell the tale.

You’ll also set foot inside the strangest “structure” ever designed–the Blur Building of the 2002 Swiss National Expo, made entirely out of cloud. And you’ll join Gavin in an amusing and educational fantasy trip backstage at a Frankie Lymon concert, as Gavin holds up the event in an effort to explain to the singer why the rain falls from up above.

There’s plenty more to this little book, named one of the Best Books of 2006 by The Economist. I spotted it a few weeks ago on the shelf at Schuler Books & Music while looking for some weather-related reading and decided to give it a try. Good choice. The Cloudspotter’s Guide is a whimsical, informative, and heartfelt read, written in a popular tone that will engage pretty much anyone who has ever looked up at the sky with a sense of childlike wonder and adult curiosity. Weather nerds, stick this one in your library. You’ll reach for it more than once, not just to refresh yourself on cloud nomenclature, but also to remind yourself why you’re doing so.

A beautiful day and a warmer day. A day too nice to ignore. That’s what today has been, and the beginning of a warming trend, to boot. The snow has been melting on the balcony, and beneath the slanting, southerly light of a cloudless January sky, the birds were going absolutely nuts at the feeders earlier.

“Let’s take a drive,” I said to Lisa. She has been in the middle of a massive crocheting project, I’ve been sequestered inside my own head with various writing projects and weatherly explorations, and it seemed to me that it would do us both good to pull away for a little while and enjoy the remnant of the day.

So off we went with our cameras to Gun Lake fifteen miles to our south in northern Barry County to watch the sun set. I thought I’d share three of the photos I took there in the state park. Click on them to enlarge them.

The deer was one of three yearlings that were hanging out next to the park drive. They were preoccupied with foraging and appeared completely unconcerned about the tan Buick Century that had pulled up alongside them, or the human on the other side of the driver’s-side window who was busily snapping pictures.

The bright orange blob is a parasail, and the guy to its left had just finished with an hour or so of snowboarding out on the frozen lake. As for the sunset, that’s self-explanatory. The one thing unique about it is the vantage point out on the Gun Lake ice, a perspective unavailable to me during the warm season.

With nothing bursting at the seams for me to write about either musically or weatherwise, I figured the photos would offer a pleasant diversion. A little splash of color to brighten a mid-winter day never hurts, right?

They call it a “blue moon”–a second full moon in the same month. It’s a rare occurrence in itself, but tonight’s blue moon will be all the more unusual because it’s occurring on New Year’s Eve. Now we’re talking about a REALLY rare event–once every 20 years, in fact.

But wait–it gets even better. This blue moon will also undergo a partial eclipse. Don’t get too hopped up about it, though. If you live in the northern hemisphere, you won’t be seeing it. Elsewhere in the world, though, in places far removed from my little old hometown of Caledonia, Michigan, sky watchers will get to witness the whole shebang: a blue moon eclipsing on New Year’s Eve.

Those of us who reside in Michigan, on the other hand, will be lucky if we get to see the moon at all. With snow in the forecast, it’s highly unlikely we’ll get so much as a fleeting glimpse.

Too bad. I was looking forward to seeing a New Year’s Eve blue moon. I hate to think I’ll have to wait another 20 years before I get my next crack at one.

Maybe there’ll be a rift in the clouds, just long enough to offer a quick glance.

My heart is hopeful and my fingers are crossed.

As far as East Coasters are concerned, with 26 inches of snow falling on Long Island in yesterday’s blizzard, winter has already arrived. For that matter, here in Michigan, you’d be hard put to convince anyone otherwise when it comes to the practical sense of the word winter. Look outside and what do you see? Snow, and lots of it. Sure looks like winter to me, and has looked that way for a good month.

But today at 12:57 a.m. EST–less than three hours from now as I write these words–winter will become official. That is the precise minute of the winter solstice, the time when the sun reaches its southernmost position over the Tropic of Capricorn and begins its journey back north. From then on, the slow but steady pilgrimage toward spring will be underway.

In my hometown of Caledonia, according to my sunrise/sunset calendar, the sun rose today at 8:09 a.m. and will set at 5:11 p.m. EST. That gives us nine hours and two minutes of daylight on the shortest day of the year. From this point, we’ll struggle a bit trying to add those extra, tiny increments of daylight. The sun will set a little later each day, but it will also continue to rise a little later for a while, nibbling away another four minutes of dawn until January 7. That’s the day when, after tipping above the horizon at 8:13 a.m. for seven days straight–the sun will finally rise at 8:12. We’ll have added a minute in the morning and, by then, 14 minutes in the evening–a total of 15 minutes. By the end of January, we’ll have gained 58 minutes of  daylight.

Gray and cold though today may be, with a light snow falling steadily outside my deck door, winter solstice is nevertheless a welcome landmark. Its frozen arrival portends the lengthening of light and the certainty of spring. And this one comes with a visit from my brother Patrick, whom I haven’t seen in several years. It’s wonderful to see him; a more welcome Christmas gift I couldn’t ask for.

Whatever the winter brings–and with a strong El Nino in force, it could be a doozy for many–today is the time when the forces that conspire to create snow, ice, and bitter cold begin to lose their logistics. Winter’s batteries may presently be charged to the max, but the countdown to storm season is about to begin.