Hibernation

I took this picture of our family home while walking our dog on New Year's Day, 2008. You may recall from January 4's post that Mom and I had spent the afternoon before in the front room looking at photos. That seems an eternity ago.

This is the "house on a hill in a woods somewhere" that I wrote of thirty years ago. If you click on the photo to enlarge and look closely, you'll see the porch swing at the left, hung high for winter, Mom's new bay window in the center, and to the right is Mom's husband Bob who came out to greet us that morning. The house is set far from the road in a woods. Beneath the fresh snow between Kip and the house is a paved circle driveway that goes up to the front porch.

A week ago tomorrow morning, we pulled away from Mom's house and went to Port Huron for her funeral. The house looked like it does in this photo with new snow from the night before.

After that long day, Julie and I drove the 3.5 hours to the west side of the state where we live. As we neared Grand Rapids, the groundcover of snow became deeper. Thirty miles later our own roads and streets were piled high with the record the amounts of snow that had fallen since I left for Thailand.

When we got to our driveway, we were relieved to see that a good friend had come over with her snowblower and cleared us out. I don't know what we would have done if without her help. My daughter Kim's car has a parking spot beside but not in our street. (She is away at college in Chicago.) If you enlarge the photo and look closely in the pile beside our driveway, you can see her '95 Saturn hibernating in a cave of snow.
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Hibernation is an amazing state of existence. In our backyard there are four box turtles that I haven't seen them since Halloween. At first frost, they disappear in boroughs dug along our basement wall. We won't see them again until all the snow is long gone. They hibernate for over five months--nearly half a year. Box turtles live to be 30-40 years old, but in this region they experience only about half of the "time" they share with us humans. Isn't that something!

Do you ever wish you could hibernate? I'd like to for a while--not for a whole winter. I like the winter. I even like snow.... Not like Rip Van Winkle to wake up having missed important events of life.... I'm not sure what I mean. Maybe a snowbound week away would do...
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in "a house on a hill in a woods somewhere

in a woods where no on sees

(save those who pass with a lasting stare

at its glimmer of light through the trees)."
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Update Wednesday, 2-20-08: These "lake effect snow warning" maps may help explain some of the discussion in the comment section. "Lake effect snow" is a phenomenon that occurs in places like west Michigan; Cleveland, Ohio; and Buffalo, N.Y., where cold arctic air blows across the warmer exposed waters of the Great Lakes, creating its own very localized "snow storm." West Michigan has been in a two-day "lake effect" storm since Monday night. Schools were closed Tuesday but not today (so students may learn about ice, momentum, chain reactions, and cars in ditches today--all part of a Michigan education). Sometimes the winds come from the west (Chicago area), but today’s are coming from the northwest (Green Bay area).

Between regular systems and "lake effect" so far this year, total snow accumulations for west Michigan are just under 100 inches. We will likely make that mark by March.

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Added April 26, 2008: Here's an amazing clip about an extreme type of hybernation. Hat tip to Lone Grey Squirrel.