When Is Spring Coming?

Day 145: Today's interrogative is "When?" as in "When is spring coming?" Of course it could also have been "What?" for "What in the hell is she doing?" or even "How?" for "How did she ever get brave enough to do that?" but I'll just go with "When?" because I keep asking myself "When is it going to warm up?"

The subject of planking came up in a discussion a few days ago. I've only planked once before, and that was in front of the old WDFW building in Morton, and the selfie I took on that occasion so impressed the friend who worked in the office there that he mentioned it to his grandmother, whereupon she planked in a somewhat less public location (a table) so he could get a shot. Technically, planking is supposed to occur in public places; my yard was public enough, with a stream of snow-bunnies and snowplows heading up the road, casting curious glances and possibly making furtive phone calls to the local funny farm to alert them to a potential pickup. The truth of the matter is that it took me four hours to work up my courage to do this, largely because the temperature has risen just enough that the snow has turned to rain and what's in the yard is extremely mushy and wet.

There's a lesson in this, and that is that you can endure almost anything if you only have to do it once. You would only have to do it once if you had thought to take more careful measurements and didn't get your head out of the frame on the first go.

Dry Snow Vs. Wet Snow

Day 64: Western Washington seldom receives well-defined crystalline snow at the lower altitudes (i.e., below 3000' or so). We get amorphous blobs of slush, aka "wet snow." On the other hand, "dry snow" is the rule in Eastern Washington, where there is less atmospheric moisture and colder temperatures. An opportunity to photograph real, honest-to-goodness snowflakes is rare indeed!

Yesterday, just as I was preparing to leave for the Park's Christmas party, a fine, dry snow began falling. In between putting loads in the car, I knelt down in the driveway. Yes, there were flakes on the moss...beautiful little pointy flakes just like those in my 1914 edition of "Water Wonders Every Child Should Know." Did I have time to set up a "snowflake studio" to take pictures? Not a chance! By the time I got home from the party, it was dark and there was half an inch on the ground, not conditions conducive to searching out the perfect flake.

This morning, the question arose: had any of them survived intact? In the interest of science, I put on several layers of woollies, added an additional macro filter (2x) to my camera on top of the 4x I usually use, grabbed a square ofd brown velvet, a foam kneeler, a poky-needle from my microscope supplies and my trusty "tripod," aka the three-volume boxed set, "The Audubon Society Master Guide to Birding." Hey, my lab's on a tight budget, all right?

I soon discovered that it was going to be impossible to identify a single snowflake where they had accumulated in number, so I made a hands-and-knees patrol of the shingle where the snow line met ground protected by trees. Over a run of approximately 70 feet, I attempted to sample several dozen individual flakes, only to have them shatter as soon as I tried to lift them free. In this composite photo, the one on the right was as closest to a "perfect flake" as I could find.