On Nov. 20, the steady pitter-patter of rain/sleet lulled me; toward first light there was a hushed quality to the air, and I knew. Snow! I thumped downstairs, dressed in a flash and dashed outside. Oh! An ocean of fat flakes fluttered down, teased by wind-driven whimsies into performing aerobatics before landing on the still-warm ground. In the fading moonlight the sedum tops, my big steel spider webs, and the long, slim blades of the giant miscanthus grasses, sparkled. I tried to trap snowflakes on a red napkin to admire their exquisite architecture, but they'd always wink out too soon.
The sun slept late, then took the day off; cheeky clouds, gray-faced and bloated with moisture, blew winter into northern Michigan with increasing intensity. Snow blurred the landscape, softening harsh edges. A young squirrel cautiously tiptoed onto the lawn, intrigued by this radically different, white world.
Cat strolled across the alley, doing a curious dance. Every few steps he'd shake his footpads free of sticky snow, his annoyance plain. These silly paw-pauses made his journey longer than necessary. I couldn't help it -- I laughed. Insulted, he flattened his tattered ears and stalked off, hind legs shooting out at odd angles, snow-wet fur distinctly rumpled ... not one of his better exits. From the top of the fence I heard the sugar-frosted Chippie mocking the cat, his 'chip-chip' of defiance clearly audible to the elderly feline, who gritted his ground-down teeth and soldiered on.
Old age ain't for sissies.
A car chugged slowly down the alley, decorated by a large, long-eared brown dog dangling from the front window, nose twitching, tongue hung long as he explored the possibility of pouncing on that cat from on high ... I heard a firm "Sam -- NO," from his mind-reading master; the dog sagged slightly, but his hungry eyes remained locked on Cat's retreating back as he fantasized a different ending. Lacy flakes fell on his wet nose, dissolving instantly. The top of his snow-furred head suggested a still-spry old duffer remembering his youthful days, when hot pursuit was automatic.
Shrugging on my trusty backpack crammed with books, I trotted to the library for refueling. This walk is always enjoyable. But today, as I trundled across the whitening meadow just before the train station, the rapidly vanishing grass path, blurred by fat flakes, moved! Someone was snow-tunneling, just ahead of my route! Exposed by my inquisitive boot a horrified field mouse squeaked in alarm, and fled into taller weeds. He shot one fearful glance at the sky; airborne death, by hawk, or owl, was surely responsible for this traumatic near-hit. I felt a stab of guilt; no harm done, though.
Delicious sniffs from the EuroStop Deli Cafe made my nose twitch as I stepped over multiple train tracks and trudged toward the library's entrance. I'd probably indulge in its lasagna lunch on the way back ...
Two well-padded gray rabbits hopped unhurriedly by, heading toward the Children's Garden, which probably served as a huge, convenient restaurant/lodging house all winter long. They barely acknowledged me. ('Peter Rabbit,' with its charming sketches, might be a book to revisit, I mused, grinning.)
The animal world, ignored, but right under our inadequate noses, was thriving. I'd seen a beastly smorgasbord living in the nearby forest along Boardman Lake while biking the beautiful tarmac TART trail to the Logan's Landing restaurants, in late autumn.
Flashing Spock's "live long and prosper" greeting to all, I settled into the library's treasures, which are ignored by Traverse City's feathered/furry folk- although I recall that mice occasionally enjoy devouring a good book, too ...
Sunnybank Gardens, 325 Sixth St., Traverse City, have closed for the winter. The gardens will reopen on Memorial Day weekend 2009. Please call 929-4351 to schedule next year's events. Visit Dee Blair's Web site, deeblair.com for recent columns, garden photos, and her music, or e-mail her at blairdee@gmail.com.
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