Winter here usually is not especially rough. Craig and I grew up on the East Coast where winter storms bring all sorts of ice and snow and bitter cold. While we don't exactly miss all of that weather, we do look forward to the snowy days we usually get up here between December and February. There is something deeply peaceful about the magic of a blanket of white on the hills bringing stillness and slowness, along with the very vital water it provides. But this year, despite the cold snap through late November, winter never arrived properly and it was unseasonably dry and warm. It was hard to believe spring was actually arriving as early as it did when we were still expecting cold and hoping for snow. But spring came early indeed.
Ice crystals form in a variety of ways in the forest and down by the creek, the last vestige of the winter that wasn't:
The stream runs higher in the winter from the rains, but this year not as high as it should have been without the snow melt to feed it:
And then there were signs of spring:
Honey bees already hard at work on a warm day in February:
And butterflies:
The birds were already doing spring things too:
And blooms that usually arrive in late March or April were coming up on the forest floor. Spring was here, in season if not by date:
