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Posts Tagged ‘snow’

Photo: Samuel Bloch.
Saimaa ringed seals are very sensitive to disturbance, and it is forbidden to deliberately approach them without a permit.

I once wrote here about one of John’s a Ukrainian employees who told me that in Soviet days it was dangerous to read certain books. People read The Master and Margarita, for example, under the library table with a flashlight if no one was around.

I don’t think we are there yet, but I do have a sense that a whole segment of our society will be living an alternate life and trying not to draw attention. That might include people who care about wildlife and global warming, like the Finns in today’s story.

Phoebe Weston writes at the Guardian, “Eight hours shoveling snow in -20C [-4 F] might not sound like the ideal day out, but a committed team of volunteers in Finland are working dawn to dusk building enormous snow drifts for one of the world’s most endangered seals.

“The Saimaa ringed seal was once common around Lake Saimaa in the south-east of the country, but only 495 of them remain.

“The seals make ‘snow caves’ inside snow drifts where they raise their young and protect them from the elements and predators such as red foxes – but as the climate warms, the snow is disappearing. To save these rare seals, 300 volunteers spend days shoveling snow into piles [23 feet long] around the edge of the frozen lake. Last winter they made 200, and the seal population is growing as a result. …

Volunteers meet at first light and work until dusk. [Vincent Biard, a PhD student and volunteer from the University of Eastern Finland] describes the day as ‘kind of fun,’ and adds, ‘you actually have an impact, which is nice. If we don’t do it, then they would just go extinct quite quickly.’ …

“Saimaa seals are less than 1.5 metres long and each one has a unique fur pattern – individual to each animal, like human fingerprints. In the late 1980s their population dwindled to its lowest point, with fewer than 200 left, driven by hunting and deaths caused by fish traps. Accidental deaths in fishing nets remain a challenge.

“Now, the seals are fully protected but the threat of the climate emergency looms large. Between 1925 and 2002, the maximum thickness of the ice decreased by 1.5cm [~i/2 inch] a decade. In mild winters the ice caves can collapse, leaving the pups exposed, with up to 30% of them dying.

“Human-made snow drifts are larger and ‘more durable than natural snow drifts,’ says [Jari Ilmonen, coordinator of Our Saimaa Seal Life, which is an EU-funded program]. …

In the future, ice cover is expected to disappear before the pupping season has ended.

“There have already been some winters where there has not been enough snow to create an artificial drift. In some cases the seals have been known to breed elsewhere, but with no snow ‘just a few would hang on,’ says Ilmonen.

“However, scientists from the University of Eastern Finland are working on plan B. They are creating artificial dens, or nest boxes, that mimic the real thing, with preliminary research showing the seals use them for resting, giving birth and nursing their young. The nest boxes could be used in ice-free winters, researchers say. …

“There are about 40 dens on the lake, where three pups have already been born, but Ilmonen wants to get more out there. ‘If you think that there are maybe 500 seals and maybe 100 pups born each year, you’d need a lot of the boxes,’ he says.

Find more of the Guardian’s age of extinction coverage here, and follow the biodiversity reporters Phoebe Weston and Patrick Greenfield in the Guardian app for more nature coverage.

More at the Guardian, here. No firewall, but voluntary subscriptions support responsible news.

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We’re saying good-bye to our home of 42 years.

I haven’t posted photos for a while. Increasingly, I feel uninspired on cloudy, overcast days, and we have had a lot of those this winter. But here are the photos I did shoot. They were all all taken in Massachusetts, with the exception of the last one, my Providence granddaughter’s Model Magic dragon.

Happy Year of the Dragon!

First comes the big snowfall we had in early January, then the bleak, rainy days that came after the snow melted. The river is the Sudbury. The river photo is followed by a memorial at the neighboring hospital, where everyone from our community goes, at least initially, when they have an emergency.

I think it’s good to be reminded what it was like in the early days of the pandemic.

Finally the sun came out. I took photos of the footbridge over Nashoba Brook, which was hurrying along as if it were spring already. Also in sunshine, a mossy-roofed shed caught my eye.

Do you see balconies next? After the balconies, is the train depot. I was there in the early morning to catch the train to Boston for annual checkups at MGH. While in town, I also took a shot of the Beacon Hill area off Charles Street.

PS All dragons smile, if we know how to look at them.

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Photo: Francisco Kjolseth/Salt Lake Tribune.
Dropping lake levels on the Great Salt Lake, along the north side of Antelope Island, continue to expose more reef-like structures called microbialites on Wednesday, Jan. 4, but the lake benefited from an epic snowfall this past winter.

Good news/bad news on climate change today. Utah’s Great Salt Lake, in danger of disappearing entirely, got recharged after heavy snow in the mountains this past winter. So what does its future look like now?

As Dan Stillman reported at the Washington Post in April, “Just three months ago, scientists issued a report with a dire warning: Utah’s Great Salt Lake, after decades of drying that had only accelerated in recent years, was on track to disappear in five years. Now a record snowpack, fueled by more than 800 inches of snow during the season in some locations, offers a glimmer of hope for the Western Hemisphere’s largest saltwater lake and an important economic driver for the state.

“The Great Salt Lake reached its record low in November when it dipped to 4,188.6 feet above sea level, having lost more than 70 percent of its water since 1850, according to the report published in January by researchers at Brigham Young University. [However] the lake had risen three feet in a little more than five months, primarily because of snow and rain dumped directly into the lake by a season-long series of water-loaded storms. …

“ ‘While we celebrate our progress, we must continue to prioritize water conservation efforts and make sustainable water management decisions for the future of this vital ecosystem and for water users throughout the basin,’ said Candice Hasenyager, director of the Utah Division of Water Resources, in an email.

“This season’s record snowpack promises to push water levels even higher in the coming weeks as warmer temperatures melt the snow and runoff enters the lake. The statewide average snowpack, which is measured by calculating the amount of water contained in the snow, reached 30 inches on Thursday, beating the previous record of 28.8 inches in 1952.

“ ‘This year’s snowpack is nothing short of miraculous. After so many years of drought, this definitely feels like an answer to prayers,’ Brigham Young University ecologist Ben Abbott said in an email. Abbott was the lead author for the January report, which warned of ‘widespread air and water pollution, numerous Endangered Species Act listings, and declines in agriculture, industry, and overall quality of life’ if the lake were to vanish.

“Despite its recent rise, the lake is still six feet below what is considered ‘the minimum acceptable elevation for the lake’s ecological and economic health,’ according to Abbott. … Even if the water level recovers to an ‘acceptable’ level, the longer-term sustainability of the lake will depend on water management decisions and conservation efforts. …

“Historically, management of the Great Salt Lake watershed has prioritized human water usage over the health of the lake, with most of the river and stream water flowing toward the lake diverted for home, business and agricultural use. A February assessment by a team of Utah researchers and state officials found that 67 to 73 percent of the decline in water levels is due to natural and human water use.

“Water levels have been further diminished in recent years by an intense drought, made more likely by climate change, which has only finally started to ease with this winter’s record snowfall. In March 2021, the federal drought monitor showed most of the state in extreme or exceptional drought, the two driest out of five drought categories. In the latest report, [extreme] and exceptional drought have disappeared, with most of the state classified under the two least severe drought categories.

“Reduced inflow of fresh water into the lake results in high salinity levels that have far-reaching consequences including the release of toxic dust, poor air quality, the collapse of food webs and loss of brine shrimp that feed fish and shrimp sold worldwide. …

“More controlled water releases, such as the one coordinated by city and county officials in early March, could not only reduce flood risks this spring but also help restore the lake closer to a healthy water level. Yet regardless of how much improvement comes from spring runoff, Abbott stands by the cuts in water consumption he and his co-authors recommended in their report earlier this year.

“ ‘We’ve got to keep our eye on the conservation ball,’ Abbott said. ‘To replenish Great Salt Lake, we need to reduce our consumptive water use by 30 to 50 percent.’ “

More at the Post, here.

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A girl photographs a bridge over the foggy Seekonk River.

What’s been hard about the most recent iteration of the pandemic is the feeling of going backwards. For a while, there was a sense of forward movement even though we were still taking some precautions. But with Omicron so transmissible, many of us chose isolation again.

It hit me right before Christmas when a friend stopped by. We both had had three vaccine shots and were used to being together without masks, but because I knew that some of her coworkers were not wearing masks, I decided we had better go back to masking when together. Sure enough, not long after that she caught Covid from a coworker. (Doing OK, thanks to the shots.)

Most of my photos reflect the grayness of this period. The view below of the Sudbury River was taken on New Year’s Day: outlook foggy.

I took a lot of snow photos, as you can see, but I’m also including a sunny one of the library’s brand-new children’s wing, several pictures from friends (Kim Gaffet’s snowy owl, a tiny island that Jean Devine’s students planted last summer), and scenes in Providence yesterday (the girl photographing a fogged-in bridge, an icy sandbox, a pond starting to melt). Sandra M. Kelly made the 2022 photo of snow in New Shoreham, where heavy snow is a rare event.

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A dripping icicle.

Although officially it’s still fall, there are many days it feels like winter where I live. We are not yet at the point that the dogs are sticking to the sidewalks, but some days it’s pretty cold. Even the chickens at Codman Farm in Lincoln seem to shiver.

The snow we had a week ago froze into a hard and slippery crust, and we put on cleats to take walks. But what is going on with that yard? you ask. The pattern is the result of my husband’s wish never to use a leaf blower. He puts out a net, rolls up the leaves, and carts them to the town’s composting site.

I took a couple red and green photos on warm days, but they made me think of the holiday to come.

Hellabore uses any break in the weather to flower. So welcome.

In another picture, you see where someone made a child’s game with chalk. It was actually quite intricate, featuring a variety of tasks and awards for getting to certain squares. A more elaborate version of hopscotch.

Most of the other photos speak for themselves, but the lovely dove design is by artist Kristina Joyce, a commission for one of her clients. That photo is followed by a painted door from one of the Umbrella artists.

The last two pictures were sent by Stuga40 and were taken on walks in Stockholm.

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Frost

For one of the online English as a Second Language (ESL) classes where I work as a teacher’s aide, I think up writing prompts for students who want to practice their skills. The other day, I thought of “Write about something you like about cold weather” — but I changed my mind. It’s hard even for me to think of something I like about cold weather, and I imagined it would be harder still for the students from tropical countries.

In any weather, however, there are always photo ops to be found, and I must say I loved the frost-etched leaves above. Today I thought I’d share other signs of the changing seasons.

I read the long, rust-colored band on this Woolly Bear as predicting a mild winter. It’s harder to read the conflicting signs in the photos that follow. The North Bridge and the boat house at the Old Manse look bleak enough for a tough winter. But on one day, I’m kicking through dry leaves along a sun-strewn trail, and the next trudging through snow.

The snow was actually an October surprise. It melted pretty soon. More typical for the time of year are the three scenes that follow., including the one of boys seizing the day for a bit of fishing in the Sudbury River (posted with a warning about mercury contamination).

I expect that my Money Plant — a goofy gift from the bank, of all things — will keep turning to the light no matter what the weather. I like watching its slow dance. Funny how a pandemic-constricted social being can end up befriending a plant.

The artist in the next photo noticed she could draw pictures with the charcoal from a fire pit. She’s partially covering one family portrait that features white hair made from ashes.

Whatever the season, life goes on in its random way, and my pictures documenting it are eclectic. The next one shows a farmer’s version of a Little Free Library beside the big, open-air barn where I buy produce. That photo is followed by a shot of Sandra’s magnificent baking. Her brother-in-law loves fruitcake at Christmas, and she starts making it in November. Ordinarily, she would give it to Tom at Thanksgiving, but this year, she and Pat are on their own with the turkey. Gatherings are getting too worrisome, and the governor is revving up extra hospital space in the convention center.

The last picture is of one of those charming things that people do just because they feel like it. I loved the surprise of two silver bells hanging near the library. It made me want to do more stealth decorations myself, as I did a few years ago.

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Oops!

Massachusetts got a tree-bending snowfall October 30 while leaves were still attached to everything. I don’t know if we should call it an October surprise or a Halloween surprise, but it’s likely to add to the reasons kids will long remember this year’s mask-required Halloween.

For today’s photo round-up, let’s start with what autumn looked like in these parts before the snow. Amusing, colorful, thought-provoking.

In an annual event on the library lawn, people put up scarecrows to represent their favorite storybook characters. I love the face-shield wielding Wild Thing below kicking a coronavirus soccer ball.

As pumpkins came out in yards, flowers continued to bloom on fences, and sometimes the woods seemed to bloom like flowers.

One day I got it in my head that the white-pine needles on our yew branches looked like wishbones, so I set up a silly shot.

The carved stone marker is located near a retirement home in town. I had never noticed before that it has a word about local celebrity Henry Thoreau.

The mother-baby sculpture is a peaceful one outside a hospital in Boston, where I had to go for an annual checkup. Overall, it wasn’t a peaceful experience because there were so many people. The safety protocols were good, but I am definitely not used to crowds.

OK, the luscious dahlia is not mine. Melita sent it from Madrid, where she reports a State of Emergency has been decreed until May 9!

After the dahlia is my attempt at creating a Maxfield Parrish.

Stay safe, stay warm, but try to get out in the fresh air for a bit every day.

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Photo: Brian Feulner, Special to the Chronicle
Joan Vickers, 92, was a snowflake in the first production of San Francisco Ballet’s “Nutcracker” in 1944.

I was surprised to learn that the “Nutcracker” ballet — which my youngest granddaughter and thousands of little girls and boys around the world were part of this past Christmas — was first performed in the United States in 1944. I guess I thought it was eternal. How could there ever have been a time that the “Nutcracker” was not performed at Christmas? But such is the case. And every ballet company that performs it now does something different to make the event its own.

Sam Whiting reports at the San Francisco Chronicle, “It was wartime 1944 when San Francisco first felt the magic of a Christmas Eve snowfall. It lasted 10 minutes, and Joan Vickers remembers it clearly.

“Vickers was in the first full-length ‘Nutcracker’ to be staged in America, a San Francisco Ballet production at the War Memorial Opera House. Act 1 ended in the Land of the Snowflakes, according to the program, and there were no special effects. There was only a 17-year-old Vickers and 15 other corps members dressed in white. They each held a stick with a white star at the tip of it, and they waved them around like sparklers.

“ ‘We became the snow,’ said the now 92-year-old Vickers, from her home in Alameda. ‘The audience was amazed and in awe.’

“Bay Area audiences continue to be in awe as the holiday tradition continues, and the snow scene has only intensified over the decades. ‘Nutcracker’ has been updated four times — in 1954, 1967, 1986 and 2004 — with the last revision orchestrated by Artistic Director Helgi Tomasson, who took the setting from snowbound 19th century Europe to 20th century San Francisco … when a jeweled city rose straight out of the sand to form the Panama-Pacific International Exposition.

“Despite the Mediterranean climate, the snow still falls, though in this production, it comes in the form of 600 pounds of confetti dropped from the fly space by a six-person crew. …

“ ‘As a child (in Iceland), I was always amazed at what a snowstorm can look like and how monumental and beautiful they can be,’ said Tomasson by email from Copenhagen, where the company was on tour. ‘I wanted to re-create that personal memory for San Francisco.’

“The snow falls with a ferocity probably unmatched by any other production of ‘Nutcracker,’ which premiered in St. Petersburg in 1892 with an original score by Tchaikovsky and is now revived in some form each Christmas season by just about every ballet company.

“The ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes’ is so beloved that it has its own YouTube category. … In San Francisco it comes down like it does in the film ‘McCabe & Mrs. Miller,’ which is to say once it starts it doesn’t stop. It gets in the hair and the eyelashes of the dancers, and piles up on the floor to slicken the stage. …

“Jasmine Jimison, a 17-year-old member of the corps de ballet, said it can be arduous to dance upon ‘the snow’ each night, even with caking her slippers in rosin to take the stage.

“ ‘Dancing in the snow scene is an experience like no other. It’s scary and exciting at the same time,’ said Jimison, also reached in Copenhagen last week. ‘There’s always the stress of not slipping or having enough stamina, especially once the snow starts falling really hard toward the end. I’m so exhausted by that point that my legs feel like Jell-O and I can barely see, but adrenaline helps push me through, and the escalating music adds to it.’ …

“Artistic Director Willam Christensen designed [the first US ‘Nutcracker’] as a one-season production inspired by a San Francisco visit by George Balanchine in the fall of 1944. Balanchine had danced in the full-length production of ‘Nutcracker’ in Russia and encouraged Christensen to create his own. …

“The restrictions of the war effort necessitated that budgets and materials were tight. There was only $1,000 allotted for costumes … so all of the red velvet for the outfits came from the curtain of the Cort Theater on Ellis Street, which had been demolished. … The opera house was under a blackout order, and air raid wardens were in the audience ready to blow their whistles.

“The production then went on the road to Oakland, Sacramento and Stockton, and that was to be the end of it. The following Christmas, Christensen mounted ‘Hansel and Gretel’ and ‘it was a failure,’ Vickers said. They tried other productions, but nothing else worked, so in 1948 Christensen brought back ‘Nutcracker’ for good.”

More.

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Transitions. In September, the meadow along the Sudbury River was green. Last week it was ice.

As kids, John and Suzanne used to skate on the meadow as soon as the river’s overflow ice was strong enough. Perhaps the wooden posts have something to do with a new generation planning to play there. Nowadays, John puts up a backyard rink in winter — just the thing for his family of skaters.

The next photo was taken by my sister in New York City. She says it’s unusual for Riverside Park to have icy puddles like that — one more example of the weather we’ve been experiencing in the Northeast. In my town, Thursday’s deluge came on top of melting snow and ice, and kept my husband bailing out the basement all day.

Next, you see our neighborhood before dawn and after dark, at sunrise and at sunset, in light and in shadow.

I had to include some lovely fungus, of course, and a message in stone that persons unknown left at a pocket park downtown.

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Today I thought I’d start my picture roundup with Lynn’s photo from Florida. Lynn says she was first introduced to trumpet lilies when she toured Africa with her cabaret show. I definitely don’t have any trumpet lilies growing outside my house today.

What I do have is ice, snow, and shadows. Here goes. The icicles were shot back in January. The tulips were a little joke in February (I got them in the store and planted them before the snow). The other photos don’t need much explanation. You know I love shadows.

The moose is waiting for the mail lady.

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When you don’t have to travel, ice and snow are not the burden they are to a driver. You can wander a little outside your home and take pictures, bake banana bread, put out carrots for the bunny that appears at dawn, feed the birds, make ice lanterns.

The ice lanterns above were made by John’s children, and the photo was taken by my daughter-in-law. I love the smoky, swirly, mysterious aura that she captured.

My own 2018 ice lantern is below. My husband was critical to the enterprise. If you want to make an ice lantern yourself, check out an earlier post, here. You need a really cold day.

Right before Christmas, I took several photos of ice on trees and bushes because it looked so pretty. I know it’s not good for plants, though.

Sandra M. Kelly is the photographer behind the two photos of frozen bodies of water in New Shoreham — water that hardly ever freezes. It didn’t stay frozen long enough for her to get shots of ice boat racing, however. New England is swinging too quickly from deep freeze to balmy.

The big snow January 4th produced the mountain I noticed in a parking lot and the deceptive cushions on Suzanne’s porch furniture.

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The New York Times headline about snowboarders in Rhode Island said the state was “powder poor.” Not this weekend! Rhode Island is snowed in.

Everything else about the article is probably true since the Times is known for pretty good fact checking.

Matt Ruby reports, “Five miles from the beaches of Narragansett, somewhere between Vail and Zermatt, there are 28 skiable acres. They don’t cover a mountain, just a modest hill that gets about 34 inches of snow a year. That slope is the unlikely canvas for a collection of snowboarders whose wild imaginations have earned them more cachet than many of the sport’s most accomplished athletes.

“The place is the Yawgoo Valley ski area, and the snowboarders call themselves the Yawgoons. They’re the equivalent of a world-beating beach volleyball team based in Saskatoon.

“In a sport where bigger, higher, longer, and more spinning and flipping define the boundaries, the Yawgoons get creative. They use the natural terrain (rocks, trees, grass) as well as the unnatural (buildings, snowcats, pipes) to construct landscapes with one I’ve-never-seen-that-before feature after another. Then they shoot video of their runs and let the snowboarding world watch in awe. …

“Everyone has seen video of snowboarders roaring down the steepest, snowiest descents in Alaska and Switzerland. Somehow, watching a Yawgoon land a backside 180 to switch 50/50 while gliding down six corrugated tubes is even more impressive. …

“I had seen their videos and wanted to see the terrain for myself and meet the Yawgoons — Brendan Gouin, Marcus Rand, Dylan Gamache and Brian Skorupski. … The ski area — the only one in the state — had been open for only a few days this season, but the group was eager to produce its next video. …

“ ‘We are just mad lucky to have that little place there,’ Rand [said]. ‘It’s so random, this far south in Rhode Island.’ Rand, a 29-year-old from Narragansett, has been coming here since he was 2. He works as a mason.”

Read more about him and the other Yawgoons at the New York Times, where you can also see some nice action videos.

Photo: Snowboarding

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Time for a photo round-up. Winter in New England: warm days, cold days, snow, ice, complicated shadows, empty facades, food and drink.

If you get any time to be alone and quiet — maybe just nursing a head cold — use it well. Everyone needs time to think.

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Time to share my travels on foot again.

First up, plain folk waiting for their train. Next the street lamp in Narnia’s endless winter on the other side of the wardrobe.

The bird in the nest was given to me by an expectant mother as a thank you for “helping to feather my baby’s nest.” The baby is now in his late 20s.

I thought the snowy dogwood branches had a hopeful lift to them.

Finally, a team from the company Life is good put a lot of energy into building this giant Adirondack chair beside a beach ball, encouraging photographers to tweet pictures with the hashtag #ligbeachday. I saw a lot of homeward commuters snapping away en route to their trains. Quite a lot of advertising potential in this playful installation in Dewey Square, Boston.

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The BBC, having fun at our expense, has been measuring our snow depth in height of dogs. More recently, having passed what it calls “six dogs,” it is adding athletes as a unit of measure. See several illustrations here.

The unconventional measurement should work for Bostonians, who have  been accustomed since 1958 to measuring the length of a bridge over the Charles River in Smoots. (Oliver Smoot was an MIT student pledging to a fraternity.)

For a more realistic picture, see below. The first shot, from Sandra Kelly, is of New Shoreham, RI. It’s windy on the island, and snow usually blows right off. But it seems to be sticking this time. A poet out there tells me it’s “wild, white, and windy.” I can hear the wind whistling in that. I hope she writes a poem.

The icicles and front walk are from Massachusetts.

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