A Beautiful Day in Michigan

IT’SSPRINGIT’SSPRINGIT’SSPRING!!!

It’s SPRIIIIIIIINNNNGGGGG!!!!!

Okay, maybe it’s not quite spring officially–still another five days before the vernal equinox–but when I see skunk cabbages blooming in the swamps, then as far as I’m concerned, spring has arrived. Everything else is just a formality.

Skunk cabbage, earliest of the Michigan wildflowers

Skunk cabbage, earliest of the Michigan wildflowers.

With its odd-looking purple cowl shielding a flower spathe within, the skunk cabbage is nothing you’d want to put in a pot on the windowsill, but it’s nevertheless one of my favorite wildflowers. It’s a quirky little plant with plenty of character, plucky enough to lead the procession of the spring wildflowers in Michigan.

I came upon the one above while hiking a wetland trail in Yankee Springs the other day. The afternoon was beautiful, a bit chilly but on the leading edge of a warming trend that will put the temperatures into the fifties by today and as high as sixty degrees by Tuesday.

On a broad, blue day filled with the promise of warmer seasons to come, even last year’s vanishing remnants were transfigured by the sun. A bough of old beech leaves hung like Japanese lanterns in a shaft of sunlight.

Old beech tree leaves catch the sunlight.

Old beech tree leaves catch the sun.

Of course “the kids”–my collection of carnivorous plants–are out on the deck. I removed them from the refrigerator three weeks ago to boot them out of hibernation, and they have responded with a vigorous rush of flowers and leaves. The Venus flytraps are now open for business, and the Sarracenia oreophila isn’t far behind, with an exuberant array of young traps already ten inches tall and nearing the point when they’ll pop open.

White mold wiped out most of my flytrap seedlings during the winter, but a good hundred or so have survived. It’ll be interesting to see how much they increase in size this growing season.

All that to say…YAHOO!!! It’s SPRIIINNNGGG!!! Maybe not by the calendar, not quite yet, but don’t tell that to the robins because they don’t care, and neither do I. Just take a walk in the woods and you’ll know. Spring is here at last.

First Storm Chase, 2009

What a memorable way to kick off storm season 2009! Yesterday, I chased supercells in Kansas with my buddy, Bill Oosterbaan, and today we attended Tim Vasquez’s severe weather forecasting workshop in Norman, Oklahoma. I’m writing this post from a Best Western Hotel maybe a mile north of where the 1999 Moore tornado crossed I-35. All in all, not a bad past couple of days for a lad from Michigan.

Yesterday’s chase began with a visit to Picher, Oklahoma. The southern portion of this tiny town got wiped out last spring by an EF-4 tornado. Today, a year later, that desolate landscape shows scant chance of recovery. It’s a sobering place to visit.

But that’s another story for a different post. Right now, I just want to share a couple images from yesterday’s chase. The moisture was marginal, with dewpoints averaging around 55 degrees up toward the warm front north of Wichita. That’s where we headed, in search of the better helicities. A lot of folks questioned the setup, but it produced. The storm we intercepted put out four tornadoes, though those occurred before we caught up with it. We still saw some nice structure, including a nice wall cloud and a funnel. Check ’em out.

Funnel Cloud

Funnel Cloud

Nice Structure!

Nice Structure!

The Wisdom of Not Chasing Storms in February (or, Gee, I’m Glad I Practiced My Sax Instead!)

When it comes to chasing early-season severe systems, I’m getting better about reining myself in. Today was the big test. With a whopper of an H5 jet max–upwards of 120 knots–pushing through northern Kentucky into southern Indiana and Ohio, it was tempting to make the drive down to Xenia and parts thereabouts. True, the whole thing looked to be a massive straight-line wind event, but you never know, right? Particularly when you’ve been cooped up all winter with a nasty case of SDS (Supercell Deficiency Syndrome).

I’m patting myself on the back for not going. In fact, I didn’t chase squat today, not even the grunge that was drifting north from the border and offered at least the possibility of a little lightning. That would have been nice to see in February, but I just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm, and now I’m congratulating myself for my restraint.  The wind event did in fact materialize, but way to the south, down in southern Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, and on to the east, and not a solitary tornado report do I see in the whole batch of SPC storm reports. So I’m very glad I managed to ward off the temptation to grasp at straws. Not only am I not presently driving the long 350 miles home, wondering what on earth I was thinking that brought me down there in the first place, but I invested my time into practicing my saxophone, a much more profitable activity.

I worked with my new copy of Emile and Laura De Cosmo’s book The Diatonic Cycle, which arrived today in the mail. It’s fun to work with a practice book again. These days, I do so much of my practicing straight out of my head, and the De Cosmos‘ well-conceived, organized, and interesting approach comes as a welcome new way to work on my scales and keys. It should keep me occupied for a few months as I work my way through all twenty-four major and harmonic minor scales as presented in the book.

Opting for practicing my horn over chasing storms was a smart move today. Yesterday, on the other hand…well, if I lived 500 miles closer to Oklahoma, I’d have been all over yesterday’s severe weather. Sadly, that weather marked the year’s first tornado fatalities. It appears that the sirens weren’t working as a large, violent wedge rototilled the town of Lone Grove, Oklahoma, west of Ardmore, doing EF4 damage and taking fifteen lives. According to reports, some people were caught out in a parking lot. How awful. February is not a time when folks in the Great Plains expect such things, and I’d imagine that many people were caught off guard.

Looking ahead, the Gulf of Mexico appears to be opening up for business in Dixie Alley, but we won’t be seeing any of that moisture this far north again in the foreseeable future.  Tonight we plunge back into snowy conditions. This is, after all, February in Michigan.

Of Sunset Calendars and Skunk Cabbage

February. Ah, February. From the beginning to the end of this month, we gain an hour and twelve minutes of daylight here in Caledonia, Michigan. That’s thirty-seven minutes in the morning and thirty-five minutes in the evening. Sunset on the 28th will be at 6:31p.m. I call that a pretty good deal, and I’m pleased to see warmer temperatures this weekend giving us a taste, however temporary, of longer, pleasanter days to come.

It’s amazing how much the sunrise/sunset times vary from north to south and east to west in a single state. I won’t cite examples, but if you’re curious enough to find out for yourself, here’s a link to the U.S. Naval Observatory chart to help you do so. Time is stated in military format for the time zone of the particular town you choose, whether EST for Shamokin, Pennsylvania, or MT for Denver, Colorado.

Anyway…the days really are getting longer. Believe it or not, the beginning of the spring wildflower parade isn’t all that far away. It starts subtly, though, and humbly, with the lowly skunk cabbage. I love this odd-looking little plant that sends up its mottled, marroon-and-green hoods in the swamps, often amid melting drifts of snow. Smell a broken piece from any part of the plant and the aroma of burnt rubber and raw onions will quickly tell you that the name skunk cabbage is an apt one. But the plant is nonetheless one of my favorites, both because of its quirky nature and because it is a true harbinger of spring.

As is true of most people, there’s far more to the skunk cabbage than meets the eye. In fact, I smell a post coming up for a future WaterlandLiving blog. Can’t wait to see this pioneer of the wildflowers start putting in its appearance, possibly as early as the end of this month and certainly by mid-March. Once I spot the skunk cabbage, I know that spring is underway at last. And I’m ready for spring, aren’t you?

GroundHog Day

Today is Groundhog Day. I don’t know whether Punxatawney Phil saw his shadow, but I have to say, I’m not willing to live or die by his abilities as a long-range weather forecaster. When it comes to chewing on roots and leaves, groundhogs’ abilities shine; as meteorologists, though, I’m less inclined to place much confidence in them.

Besides, this business of a groundhog seeing his shadow could hang on a matter of a minute or two. The day here in Michigan started out cloudy–lousy weather for viewing shadows. By around 2:15, it had cleared up, the sun was shining, and shadows could be had for cheap. Maybe Pennsylvania experienced similar circumstances, I don’t know. Did Phil go on the prowl for his shadow in the morning or the afternoon? That could make a difference. If you ask me, it all seems pretty arbitrary.

I have more confidence in the forecast models. Even though next week’s surge of moisture is a week away, I’ve got something reasonably substantial to pin my expectations on. This is the time of year when I start to get my hopes up. Action in Dixie Alley next Sunday or Monday? Could be. Looks like mid-fifties dewpoints may work their way as far north as southern Illinois. Right now, it’s just conjecture, wishcasting. But overall, while ol’ Phil seems like a nice enough fellow, I think the GFS packs a bit more credibility when it comes to the weather.

Why I Hate Snow

I really don’t hate snow. Loathe it, yes.  Wish it would rot in hell like the fourfold abomination it is, certainly. But hate? Come, now, what is there to hate about snow, other than the fact that it’s cold, wet, miserable, a road hazard, and an overall royal pain in the keister?

Hmmm…judging from my attitude, we’re definitely moving on toward February, when attitudes toward snow here in Michigan tend to shift from  aesthetic appreciation to pragmatism. It takes both an artist and a pragmatist to live in this state year-round.

Okay, I confess: I really don’t hate snow. I just like to gripe about it, that’s all. Looking outside today at the large, white flakes drifting out of the late January sky, I don’t mind admitting that the stuff is downright pretty, and winter wouldn’t be winter without it. From a practical standpoint, we need all the snow we can get, lots and lots of it, to bring the Great Lakes levels back up to snuff from their alarmingly low levels. And just between you and me, speaking as an aesthete, I’d miss snow if we didn’t have it. It’s part of Michigan, and I sure do love this state.

So come on, snow! Hit me with your best shot and see if I don’t come up smiling and asking for more.

I probably won’t. But I’m still glad it’s snowing. Hurray for snow.

I hope it goes away soon, though.

Lake Michigan Ice Formations

Ice Formations Along the Coastline

Ice Formations Along the Coastline

These past few days have been busy ones, but yesterday I took time to head out to Lake Michigan with my friend and fellow storm chaser Kurt Hulst to photograph the ice formations. They’re spectacular. If you’ve never heard of them, let alone seen them, I can assure you that you’re missing something. Ice forms all along the Great Lakes shores, but I have a hunch that the formations along the west coast of Lake Michigan are particularly scenic for the same reason that the sand dunes are: they’re a product of the prevailing winds that blow across the lake, whipping waves and spray across vast stretches to create, layer by layer, fantastic frozen sculptures of  ice, sand, and snow. A more austere landscape you can’t hope to find this side of the Arctic Circle–otherworldly, almost alien in its frigid beauty.

I’m not going to write much about the ice formations here because I want to save my creative juices for my next installment on the WaterlandLiving blog this Friday. But I am going to share a few images to give you a taste of one of the upsides of winter in Michigan. And be sure to check out Kurt’s site, too; he’s a great photographer, and I’m sure he’ll have some very cool (pun totally intended) shots of his own on display.

Lighthouse

Lighthouse

Lighthouse, Holland State Park

Lighthouse, Holland State Park

Kurt Out On the Ice

Kurt Out On the Ice

Crack in the Ice

Crack in the Ice

Lake Ice

Lake Ice