A Weather Report: The Banality of April

Spring has invaded the Missoula valley. Life is everywhere as the leaves pop from their buds on the tree branches. They offer a source of food for the wild life that roams throughout the city. Just the other day, I passed a herd of deer gorging themselves on the campus bushes. Everywhere I look, the cycle begins again. As I gaze into the mountains, I see the retreating snow line. On warm and sunny days such as today, the pink light of twilight reflects off of the snow fields on Lolo Peak to the southwest and Stuart Peak to the north. In those moments, the snow looks as if it is ablaze with the power of the day's waning sun.

Winter is in its death throes. Yes, spring pours its abundant wealth and life liberally upon the earth!

A Weather Report: Spring

I went outside and enjoyed the warmer temperatures today. It has been far too long since I did any trail running. My winter routine has kept me confined to an indoor track on campus. Like a caged animal, I would circle around and around, back and forth. I waited and watched the sky for the tell-tale signs of spring and the time when I could break loose from the indoor cage.

Slowly, the earth comes back to life after a cold winter.

I first knew spring was coming about a week ago. The day was cold and snowy. But, as I rode my bike home in the late afternoon hours, the clouds began to break in the west. I peddled through a heavy snow squall, and I watched as the sun broke free from the February sleet. I gazed in awe as its radiant face slipped behind Lolo Peak to the west of Missoula. This was my first glimpse of the sun since early February. It changed everything. Despite the falling snows and cold wind, the birds began to sing. At first it was only one voice. But soon an entire choir joined the lone soloist. It reminded me of how the birds would sing after a summer rain storm. At that moment, I knew the world was coming back to life. The seasons will change, and barrenness is always overshadowed by new life.

I was thinking about those birds as I ran down the trail today. The temperature has warmed considerably since that snowy afternoon just over a week ago. As I ran, the signs of spring seemed to be everywhere. Even the air smelled of rebirth and life. The wonders were stimulating, and I was so consumed by the sights, sounds, and smells, that I forgot to watch the ground in front of me. Only a quick hop made me avoid a rather large and nasty pile of animal droppings.

I turned to have a closer look at the pile before continuing on my way. I instantly recognized the droppings as those of a bear. They were fairly fresh. I guess this means that our furry friends are beginning to stir from hibernation. It won't be long until I see black bears wandering through the streets and yards of Missoula's outlying areas. (Which is something I've found as an intriguing, albeit sad, juxtaposition between their world and mine, but that's another story...)

The temperature warms. The birds sing. The bears go about their normal routines. The world is awakening with precious and fragile life. Creation begins again. If you look closely, if you listen hard enough, you will see the world rub its eyes and yawn. And, if you are very lucky, perhaps you will even see the face of God.

A Weather Report

Perhaps the Rolling Stones should have written a song called Paint It Grey. At least the thought of the color black carries with it certain emotional connotations. It is easy to feel down in Missoula, Montana, during the months of winter and early spring. In the last five days, the sun has shown its face only once. Words like dull, drab, dreary, and Edgar Allen Poe come to mind. The sky seems to be changeless, and it reminds us that winter is in full swing.

After living in Missoula for eighteen months, I think I can understand why humans worshipped the sun for millennia. The Greeks had Apollo. The Egyptians had Ra. We have Capitalism. Whenever we feel down, the American societal remedy seems to be to go out and buy something that we can show to our neighbors. Forgive me for not subscribing to the popular deities of George, Andrew, and Benjamin

But in truth, the Missoula valley has made me appreciate the rapidly changing weather on the plains of my youth. In Missoula, if it’s raining when you wake up in the morning, it will likely rain all day. Likewise, if the sun shines in the morning, it will shine until it sets across the Bitterroot Mountains to the west. Where I grew up, there was a saying: If you don’t like the weather wait five minutes and it’ll change. Here you can wait five days without seeing a new cloud or the tiniest ray of sunlight.

Over a year ago, my parents planned to visit me for Thanksgiving. As it turned out, their flight was canceled due to heavy fog in the valley. When I say “heavy fog,” I mean thicker than pea soup. (It was at least on par with potato soup. Maybe even grandma’s gravy.) Simply riding my bike across town scared me because I couldn’t see the handle bars in front of my face, let alone the oncoming traffic. During that spell of nasty weather, we didn’t see the sun for almost three weeks (I know, I counted). Some of my older friends who are also graduate students remember calling Missoula “Mordor” long before The Lord of the Rings became cool again.

Yet despite all this, seasons do change. Though I am well trained as an historian, I find it difficult to think in concepts of linear time. (At this point, I will offer my apologies to St. Augustine and my traditional Christian upbringing as well as my confession of heresy before the Inquisition.) I know that the Poe-inspiring days of winter will soon yield spring and a return of the sun. The flowers will bloom again, the skies will be clear, and the deer will feed on fresh grass in my front yard. There is a certain rhythm to life is this place.

I live in hope of that natural rhythm. The changing of the seasons is the heartbeat of the world. Without the pulse, our existence would go into cardiac arrest. Each season brings another beat in time. Each beat brings us one cycle closer to beginning the process of birth, youth, maturity, and death once more. The changes cannot be stopped. Because of this, I will embrace the cloudy skies. I know the darkness means the sun will shine once more. And somehow I will cope, even though the Rolling Stones missed the mark.