Spring into SnowShoe Meteor


I know. You can’t wait for spring. Enough is enough.
But hold on. Things are getting interesting. Those huge piles of snow are our harvests from the storms. I bet there are snow bank aficionados out there who are becoming attached to the monoliths in their yard and driveways. It’s like having a couple of giant stone lions guarding the entrance. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone hasn’t started the snow bank Facebook site!
                Another thing this looong winter world has provided is a multitude of photo ops. The lucky countries where winter makes white coverlets on everything have some amazing eye candy for the camera. In fact, Russian photographer Marart Ahmetvaleev got the shot of his lifetime during a morning foray to capture frosty landscapes. At 9:20 am on Feb.15 he snapped an unbelievable view of the meteor that fell to earth near Chelyabinsk Russia. His image of the 17 metre wide and seven to ten thousand ton space rock shows a brilliant white ball against a backdrop of skinny sentinel trees by a white field. I found the pic in the archives of the Astronomy Picture of the Day on skynews.ca.
                About every hundred years earth is supposed to feel the impact of such a meteor. This century Adele’s Oscar winning song, Skyfall, is the perfect background music to the event. And how fortunate that the meteor avoided hitting any other sky craft. The fact there was no collision in the atmosphere is miraculous actually when you look at how many planes are in the sky each day.
                Recently I had the opportunity to get an idea of how many planes are dancing through our skies. A friend alerted us to a website called flightradar24.com. The site is a live flight tracker and one can see all the planes that are flying over any region in the world. Find the map of the area that holds your interest. Wait a few seconds and planes soon will appear on that map. Tap on a plane and all the info comes up, including flight number, origin and destination. If I hear the roar of a jet overhead or see the white plume streak the sky or even find the plane itself outlined against the deep reflected blue of Lake Superior I have the option to check the site. I no longer have to wonder who might be looking down at the lake. I can discover that it could be a flight from Shanghai to Toronto or from London to Los Angeles. It’s fun to look up and have some idea about the folks in the plane looking down at Superior.
                The maps on the site can be quite comical. Zoom out and it looks like all of the States and most of Europe are covered in flights. Some of the maps resemble bee hives covered in flying critters. The site has confirmed what I already suspected. A lot of people spend a lot of time going to a lot of places. That’s what many folks must do to escape the thick of winter. Hopping on a flight to southern climes is a quick release from snow banks and shovelling. The sunny south
calls so pack the bags with bathing suit and sandals and hit the beach.
                But for those who can’t do Cuba or the Caymans, or those who are back from Cuba or the Caymans and wish to return to a land of ‘dos cerveza por favor’, there is a cool alternative. The winter beaches of Lake Superior pack a full load of sunshine that is hard to beat. The other day I grabbed my snowshoes and headed out to capture some vitamin D. Sunshine was so bright that sunglasses were mandatory. Sparkles of reflected light were scattered diamonds on top of the brilliant snow. 
                 Snowshoeing was floating through stars. A thin skin of ice on the lake wheezed up and down, slow breaths from resting water. February warmth fell from the sky and slid right into my bones.
                If a beach is too far, find a sit spot close to the river. If the river is too far find a sunny window or a south facing shelter. Feel the strength of the returning heat. You can be in any sunny world your imagination lets you. And that same sun IS coming back.

Time to breathe


               What’s going on? Are things still speeding up? Is fast the norm? We know that some fast things are part of our culture. Within the food industry, ordering the Friday night pizza can be a staple and the quick breakfast sandwich jumpstarts many a person’s day.
               Some super-fast machines are never fast enough. Each year snowmobiles and race cars strive to beat the previous year’s records. And the speed of the internet, with its constant streaming of information, is astounding.
               Every once in a while, just for fun, I check the speed test on my computer. Friend and computer guru Marco knows what those numbers mean and has told me that a download speed of 4.03 Mbps and an upload speed of 2.78 Mbps are amazing for where we are located. Our old internet system, which I thought was miraculous, seems obsolete. If we had been humming along with dial-up, we never would have seen a thousand ice fishing cabins on the frozen Saguenay River at the same time as we heard a news story about it on the radio. But it’s not full speed ahead yet.
               I still remember some old slow tricks that really do work. Like snail mail. I like to send real letters. I’ll write a little note, attach the stamp, turn the letter over in my hands for a second, then slip it into the mail slot and wish the note bon voyage. Overseas or over province, in a few days someone else gets to hold the same letter in their hands. No way can the internet deliver that kind of personal touch.
               Appreciating slow has helped as I watch the lake trying to freeze. With the steady round of east winds, it has been fairly calm on this part of Lake Superior shoreline. I keep looking at the wrinkles on the water, expecting them to solidify with the next breath of freezing east wind. The best view is in the evening, when the pink orange glow from the setting sun reflects off the almost ice glassy surface. On the horizon huge ice humps resemble islands and for a brief moment the sun trail appears as a road to another kingdom.
               But there is ice formation which can be startlingly fast. And that is the build – up of ice banks. If the wind is powerful enough to push rolling ice cakes onto shore, they can pile up on each other, creating icicle - laden arches, cliffs and caves. This year there are some smallish ice banks on the shore. The lake has been slow to make the gigantic transformation.
               Moving towards a slower modus operandi can be quite challenging. If you’re eager to get out of the fast lane, there’s a rather interesting, tongue - in - cheek website called the International Institute of Not Doing Much. Some of their advice for going slow is obvious but it’s a fun read anyway.
Drink a cup of tea, put your feet up and stare idly out of the
window. (They even sell the mug - with their logo of course.) Do one thing at a time. (Is this even possible?) Do not be pushed into
answering questions.
               A response is not the same as an answer. Ponder, take your time. (I like that one.)Yawn often. Medical studies have shown that yawning may be good for you. Read slow stories. Spend more time in the bathtub. Practice doing nothing. (They admit that this is the difficult one.) And avoid too much seriousness. Laugh, because you're only on planet earth for a limited time.

Chris Hadfield, the Canadian commander of the International Space
Station, knows about this one. He spends quite a bit of time smiling, looking out his window... and singing. He and Ed Robertson of Bare Naked Ladies fame have just recorded a song together. Hadfield, in space, grabbed a floating guitar pick and strummed along with Robertson and a choir, on earth. Their song, ISS, stands for Is Someone Singing?, and maybe too for International Space Station. The opening lyrics speak of a strange dichotomy. First they describe incredible speed.
               Eighteen thousand miles an hour, fueled by science and solar power. The oceans racing past. At half a thousand tons, Ninety minutes moon to sun, A bullet can’t go half this fast.
Yet the long gaze out the window reflects a hunger for the slow.
Look out my window, there goes home. Fast or slow, tortoise or hare, how can we know which way to be? And do we need the answer right now? But if you’re asking me, I’m going to need some time to think about it.