The second big snow covers the ground, and it was ten below last night. We moved here in July, so this is our first Kansas winter. At these temperatures, frostbite is a real danger, especially when the chill factor gets to 20 below. The cold wind cuts like daggers through your clothes and your face numbs instantly.
On the southern Oregon coast, the daffodils and crocuses are up. Snow queen is blooming at Euphoria Ridge under the myrtles. After throwing on a jacket, one can walk the Oregon beaches on a sunny February day. Here we have been housebound for a couple weeks, even though we are quick to get out when the temperatures hit the 40’s. People at the stores express how tired they are of winter, but I am patient. I am even patient with the barrenness of winter, the naked branches of trees, and dry rattle of wildflower stalks.
I have memories of spring from when we lived here in the 80’s. Few places have a more glorious spring. In April the redbuds bloom and spring beauty, phlox, and bluebells run riot in the woods. The air fills with living sweetness of spring and all things green. All is lush and alive.
Even now, the earth drinks deep from the melting blanket of snow. Rhizomes and roots stir, spread, and push deeper. Brown life percolates in spongy dirt as last year’s grass and leaves rot and dissolve. The melting snow is even gentler than the spring rains. Fallen seeds awaken. The slow-burning fuse of spring is lit. Beneath the melting snow lies the promise of spring’s green explosion of life and beauty.
Because I have seen spring, I celebrate instead of berate the cold and snow. Even though it has been 30 years since I have experienced a Kansas spring, the memory holds me steady. Just as one never really sees water until one finds a spring in the desert, one never experiences spring until they have had a winter of snow and ice. The certainty of spring and resurrection changes how we see this present winter.
