A manual would be handy

     A manual would be handy. Or a binder with glossy photos. How about an App? There must be some way of figuring out what’s going on with the weather. It still feels like a fridge outside.    

In the middle of this cold wet spring we had to get close and personal with the other type of fridge – the real one that keeps milk and veggies fresh. We had to buy a new one, even though a shiny barbeque is a more seasonal purchase. However, it might be a while before we can spend sunny days cooking outside.      

We’re still waiting for the snow to leave the grass. And winter boots still are permanent attachments on our feet. Even Lake Superior is trying to work it out.  Low water levels are teasing the imagination as well as the dock builders. Where has all the water gone? There’s more and more exposed beach and boulders. I can walk on sand that is supposed to be under water and sit on rock that is more used to the weight of waves. Ice, quite reluctant to let go, still grasps part of the shoreline. The inland lakes are buried under white sheets, waiting for the big melt, as are the eager fishermen. However, patience will win out. The melt will come. Ice has left most of the rivers. The Sand and Agawa Rivers are swollen with frothy currents that will join with those of the lake. The lake currents are of a different variety again. Those on Lake Superior follow a predictable path, one that boatmen and scientists have been charting for decades and decades. Their maps show surface waters running in a counter clockwise direction.      

The currents make a slow arc up from Whitefish Bay and pick up speed as they approach the far north shore. The fastest surface currents, sometimes reaching speeds of 60 cm a second, are in the middle of the lake and flow towards the nose of the wolf-head shaped lake. At the same time as we watch our spring melt, there is another flow, much further away, to keep an eye on. The circulation of the water in the distant Atlantic Ocean can shape the weather outside our own doors. When warm surface water, such as the Gulfstream, travels as a current from the equator, it becomes cooler and denser. The current then acts as a conveyor belt, transporting the warm surface water toward the Poles and then returning to the Equator with cold, deep water. But excessive amounts of freshwater dumped into the North Atlantic from melting could alter the density of the seawater.      

The pooling and release of glacial meltwater, the sudden collapse of an ice shelf or the lubrication of a glacier's base through repeated melting could slow down the flow of the North Atlantic Ocean current. Some scientists think that it would take about two centuries for freshwater runoff to bring the North Atlantic conveyor belt to a standstill.     

Another theory floating around concerns the lack of sunspot activity. The sun’s influence on the earth’s climate can be measured by looking at previous data. Comparing these observations gives an interesting picture. Through the use of hindcasting (using information from past events), it is possible to see how carbon build-up in tree rings coincides with expanding and receding glaciers and sunspot activity.    

 In other words, fewer sunspots mean less tree growth and less ice melting. Could this be why we are so cold right now? Did the conveyor belt of warm air take an early dive? Did it head back south after it hit the cold end of the pool? Is the sun’s retreat from activity cooling off the earth? We will have to wait for future hindcasts to know those answers. Forecasters aren’t infallible. They have theories but no absolute truths. There is no perfect manual for the weather.     

But our fridge manual did offer some comedic relief from the cold. As we read over the “how tos”, we came to a section that gave us both a laugh. The manual writers must have had a hilarious time putting those notes together. They described in great detail all the noises that one can expect from a fridge. Pulsating, whirring, popping, rattling, banging and hissing are part of the repertoire, as are creaking, cracking, buzzing, gurgling and sizzling.      

The best was Ker-plunk!     

That’s probably what some folks feel like doing right now. And that’s ok. Not to worry. The manual says that’s a normal part of the operation.    

 

April Eiffel Drip Drop

True to the old expression, the beginning of April has been quite the joke. And trying to determine what’s real has been somewhat of a test. Are you beginning to feel like we’ve been fooled?

Wind and cold tricksters might laugh at spring, but there are other places we can find a smile. The two cuddly panda bears that arrived in Canada to live, and hopefully raise a family for 10 years, may give some people the warm fuzzies. Chewing on bamboo in China one day, landing in a Canadian zoo the next - those bears must be wondering if someone played a trick on them.

Aside from April Fool’s jokes, it really is difficult to believe some of what the world is telling us these days. I read a story about Xeroxed cities that I thought must be a joke. However the remarkable stories are true. Architects and builders in China are creating copies of American and European towns and cities complete with exact replicas of monuments and buildings. Places like Hangzhou, Shanghai and Beijing have neighbourhoods resembling those in Venice, Paris or London. The mind boggling projects also include a 108 m Eiffel tower, about 200 m shorter than the original.

There’s a British Town Dorchester, a mini version of Barcelona and a complete rendition of the Unesco World Heritage village of Hallstatt, Austria. And by 2019 in Tianjin, Northern China, on the site of a 15^th century fishing village, a re-created Manhattan, with Rockefeller and Lincoln centres standing in front of  a Hudson River, will become one of the largest financial complexes in the world. Whew. The story had me at the Eiffel tower replica.

Such architectural plagiarism makes me wonder about our outdoor environments even more. True, rivers and lakes can be created, but I don’t think Lake Superior is within man’s copy and paste menu. And it has to be almost impossible to clone a natural forest.

The Algoma forests, while not endowed with the huge heights of the Eiffel, do have pines and maples that tower. These past few weeks we’ve been enjoying the forest more than usual as we are making maple syrup. The maple trees grow away from the shore of the lake, higher up along the ridges in the hills. This year’s exceptional amount of snow pack makes the 15 minute trek along the trails a good dose of medicine! Our own sap gets moving before we gather what the trees offer. The best time to head up is early morning when the trail is hard packed. The shadowed stroll around the twists and turns of the lower trail is a meander on a frozen white boardwalk. Climb the hills into the sunshine and sparkles off the snow are a field of fairy dust. Get to the top and the work begins.

We tapped a few trees on March 9 in eager anticipation, checking each tree for last year’s hole and choosing a new spot to drill. (The rough heavy bark can make previous wounds almost invisible.) I thanked each tree along the way. We attached the metal pail to the spile and the first clear sweet drops slipped out of the tree.  Maybe Spring will be here soon we thought. Huh! Winter said “No!” The taps froze and so did all that sweetness in the bottom of buckets. Chopping frozen sap became a new experience.

But sunshine prevailed and a couple of warm days gave us what we were waiting for - a day in the sugar bush to cook up some syrup. We lit the fire and gathered sap. The deep magnetic blue of Lake Superior shone through the trees and waves swooshed on a cobble beach down in the distance.

The trails from tree to tree became soft and snowshoes made mush out of the hardpack. Without snowshoes, feet and legs would have ended up knee-to-thigh deep in a sudden hole beside a sloshed pail. With care, it didn’t take long to bring the silvery liquid to the fire.

Boiling down sap to syrup is a beautiful alchemy. Steam rises from the cooking pots. Woodpeckers rat-a-tat their echoes through the bush. Warm sun heals a cold face. And the rhythm of sap droplets into buckets reveals the heartbeat from awakening trees.

By late afternoon we have a couple of litres of syrup to carry down the hill. The sun is lowering into the west. The trail is soft; our legs are tired. But we are wearing a smile.

And even though April might be the fool’s month, this is no fool’s gold. For a day in the sugar bush is the real thing indeed.