March 23, 2023 at 11:46 a.m.
The Lake Where You Live
They just keep coming
By Ted Rulseh-
Instead we're getting more snow now than in January, and more frequently. On the TV weather maps the storm systems appear, moving west to east, lined up like cosmic-scale dump trucks bound for a jobsite. One after another they come and drop their loads.
It's hard for someone who doesn't live up north to understand how frustrating this is. We're yearning for spring and trying to guess how soon the ice will go out. All the while more snow piles up on top of it. The barrels set out for the through-the-ice prediction contests are hidden under a while blanket.
All this started around Feb. 20 with 12 inches of snow over two days. Three days later, eight more, the heavy stuff the snowblower can barely move. Three days seems to be the interval, and in between days barely warm enough to melt anything.
Six inches. Three. Two inches of wet and sticky. Five inches (after just one inch was predicted). Then in a slow, steady fall over the course of 48 hours another foot or so more.
In the aftermath, temperatures like January. And on the weather map another eastbound truckload of snow headed our way.
The propane tanks are half buried. The horseshoe of banks around our driveway are belly-button high; in places shoulder- and neck-high. When I shovel the walk from house to office I can barely heave the snow over the rounded top. In some spots I have to set the blower chute at maximum vertical to shoot the snow high enough.
The snowmobilers who cross the lake must be reveling in this extended season of soft powder and beautifully groomed trails. For the rest of us our lakes lie essentially useless. Even snowshoes would have suspect utility on the roughly four feet deposited in the past three-plus weeks. And anyway, what's to enjoy on the frozen lake when we're desperate for open water?
I'm trying to gear up preparations for spring and the start of fishing season. But when I can look out the kitchen window and see three feet of snow on the roof of the garage, it's hard to get in the mood.
I long for a spell of clear days in the fifties, when the snow melts back a little on the rooftops, the sun gets a toehold, and water comes spilling down off the eaves, making beautiful liquid percussive music on the bare boards of the porch and deck.
Right now we just have vicious-looking rows of icicles hanging from the eaves. And on the lake such an amount of snow that there seems to be little hope of melting.
Mental health definitely calls for a change in the weather. That starts with a change in the weather map.
Ted Rulseh is a writer, author and lake advocate who lives on Birch Lake in Oneida County. His new book, "Ripple Effects," has been released by UW Press. You can learn about it by visiting his website at https://thelakeguy.net.
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