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| A hint of hoarfrost clings to a leaf along the morning walk. Photo by Melissa F. Kaelin |
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Finding hope in the Hoarfrost
One of the most beautiful things about living in Minnesota is the hoarfrost.
It happens in between seasons, when the temperature drops drastically over night. It happens in the mornings, often accompanied by a thick fog, and when it forms, it blankets entire cities. It happens, and then the world becomes mystical, like something out of a pleasant dream.
What is hoarfrost?
Hoarfrost is unlike anything I had ever seen before I moved to Minnesota. I'm sure it occurs in other states too, and certainly in many other climates. But here, we seem to get a few visits from the hoarfrost fairies every single year.
I think it has something to do with humidity — fog or water vapor crystallizing in thin air to create intricate structures on a tree or a bush. But you never know when you are going to see hoarfrost in the morning, as it seems incredibly hard to predict. Then one day, you wake up, you look outside and you see a crystallized neighborhood all around you.
Spikes of hoarfrost protrude from tree branches; delicate patterns decorate the grass; and tiny little structures of frost — like physically impossible snowflakes — coat every leaf and berry in sight. Looking up from the ground and down the street, the entire neighborhood appears as if outlined in snow, with every detail painted in pure white, courtesy of the hoarfrost.
A frosted Saturday
Matt and I woke up to one such morning in February, and I have to say it was one of the most romantic things I have experienced in my life.
It was late Saturday morning, and the heat from the city was already beginning to melt away the tiny delicate structures in our view. But I could still see the hoarfrost all over our suburban trees, and it was lingering on the berries in the bushes. So when Matt asked me what I wanted to do for breakfast, I insisted on a drive through the forest in nearby Eagan to a bakery we had recently learned of.
"Highway or the scenic route?" he asked me, and I excitedly responded with: "Scenic route!"
As soon as we mustered the energy to find some coffee and get in the car, we were headed out of the urban sprawl where we live, and down the winding road through Eagan, Minnesota, where lakes dot the paths on either side of the street and age-old trees reach out above the road, before expanding into a huge regional park.
As soon as we found our rural route, we were met with a wonder for sore eyes! As far as the eye could see, over hills, lakes and valleys, the horizon was coated in hoarfrost. Thick white crystallized structures clung to every plant in sight, and what resulted was a panorama of frosted forests and lakeshores, as if the morning itself had been dowsed in powdered sugar.
As each tree came closer into view on our drive, the unique structures revealed themselves. Some jutted out of the brush with fierce spikes coming from every angle. Some climbed the pine needles, winding closely around each part of the pine trees. And some lingered in playful little patterns around the edges of things, from weeds and seeds to entire fields of grain.
A closer look
A thick fog also hung over the Twin Cities that morning, and there was a sort of electricity in the air. So with a little spontaneity, Matt and I decided to stop at Lebanon Hills Regional Park for a closer look.
I'm so glad we did!
As we walked down the path, we were greeted with barren branches and winter plants that were buried in hoarfrost. It was amazing to stand in this old forest on a lake, and be immersed in an environment where the frost enveloped everything below us and everything above us.
No matter which direction we looked, we had our breath taken away by tiny little structures that were no bigger than a toothpick, yet so intricately drawn and no two alike.
Exhilarating!
We stopped at each new plant to observe nature's handiwork and see art in its purest form. And at each step of the way, we felt renewed regret over leaving the camera at home. We could have spent all day in the woods just staring at nature's beautiful display.
Back to civilization
Finally, our hunger drew us back to the car. Though we enjoyed an awe-inspiring view of the hoarfrost all the way to the bakery. And an even better view all the way back!
Our bodies were grateful for the feeling of renewal this journey through nature brought us, and the beauty was enough to help our hearts heal throughout the day. We felt submerged in our excitement and joy and, for one of the first times in a very long winter, we experienced genuine happiness.
When you figure in the pastries, almond lattes and kisses beneath the frosted trees, this particular morning amounted to nothing short of perfection!
It happens in between seasons, when the temperature drops drastically over night. It happens in the mornings, often accompanied by a thick fog, and when it forms, it blankets entire cities. It happens, and then the world becomes mystical, like something out of a pleasant dream.
What is hoarfrost?
Hoarfrost is unlike anything I had ever seen before I moved to Minnesota. I'm sure it occurs in other states too, and certainly in many other climates. But here, we seem to get a few visits from the hoarfrost fairies every single year.
I think it has something to do with humidity — fog or water vapor crystallizing in thin air to create intricate structures on a tree or a bush. But you never know when you are going to see hoarfrost in the morning, as it seems incredibly hard to predict. Then one day, you wake up, you look outside and you see a crystallized neighborhood all around you.
Spikes of hoarfrost protrude from tree branches; delicate patterns decorate the grass; and tiny little structures of frost — like physically impossible snowflakes — coat every leaf and berry in sight. Looking up from the ground and down the street, the entire neighborhood appears as if outlined in snow, with every detail painted in pure white, courtesy of the hoarfrost.
A frosted Saturday
Matt and I woke up to one such morning in February, and I have to say it was one of the most romantic things I have experienced in my life.
It was late Saturday morning, and the heat from the city was already beginning to melt away the tiny delicate structures in our view. But I could still see the hoarfrost all over our suburban trees, and it was lingering on the berries in the bushes. So when Matt asked me what I wanted to do for breakfast, I insisted on a drive through the forest in nearby Eagan to a bakery we had recently learned of.
"Highway or the scenic route?" he asked me, and I excitedly responded with: "Scenic route!"
As soon as we mustered the energy to find some coffee and get in the car, we were headed out of the urban sprawl where we live, and down the winding road through Eagan, Minnesota, where lakes dot the paths on either side of the street and age-old trees reach out above the road, before expanding into a huge regional park.
As soon as we found our rural route, we were met with a wonder for sore eyes! As far as the eye could see, over hills, lakes and valleys, the horizon was coated in hoarfrost. Thick white crystallized structures clung to every plant in sight, and what resulted was a panorama of frosted forests and lakeshores, as if the morning itself had been dowsed in powdered sugar.
As each tree came closer into view on our drive, the unique structures revealed themselves. Some jutted out of the brush with fierce spikes coming from every angle. Some climbed the pine needles, winding closely around each part of the pine trees. And some lingered in playful little patterns around the edges of things, from weeds and seeds to entire fields of grain.
A closer look
A thick fog also hung over the Twin Cities that morning, and there was a sort of electricity in the air. So with a little spontaneity, Matt and I decided to stop at Lebanon Hills Regional Park for a closer look.
I'm so glad we did!
As we walked down the path, we were greeted with barren branches and winter plants that were buried in hoarfrost. It was amazing to stand in this old forest on a lake, and be immersed in an environment where the frost enveloped everything below us and everything above us.
No matter which direction we looked, we had our breath taken away by tiny little structures that were no bigger than a toothpick, yet so intricately drawn and no two alike.
Exhilarating!
We stopped at each new plant to observe nature's handiwork and see art in its purest form. And at each step of the way, we felt renewed regret over leaving the camera at home. We could have spent all day in the woods just staring at nature's beautiful display.
Back to civilization
Finally, our hunger drew us back to the car. Though we enjoyed an awe-inspiring view of the hoarfrost all the way to the bakery. And an even better view all the way back!
Our bodies were grateful for the feeling of renewal this journey through nature brought us, and the beauty was enough to help our hearts heal throughout the day. We felt submerged in our excitement and joy and, for one of the first times in a very long winter, we experienced genuine happiness.
When you figure in the pastries, almond lattes and kisses beneath the frosted trees, this particular morning amounted to nothing short of perfection!
Monday, February 20, 2012
A boy in a hooded jacket
Yesterday was a significant day in my life. Sunday, February 19,
2012, was the day my twin brothers would have turned 14 years old, and
it was the first anniversary of their birth to pass after their untimely
death in April 2011.
It was a tough day. A day for looking back, a day for looking forward, and a day for shedding tears.
Admittedly, the tears didn't come quite so easily for me on the twins' birthday. The situation just seemed too surreal — like a long unwanted dream, swallowing up time as though years were passing over the course of one night's sleep.
It's moments like these that I still find myself asking the basic questions:
What happened?
Why did this happen?
How can this possibly be real?
It was a tough day. A day for looking back, a day for looking forward, and a day for shedding tears.
Admittedly, the tears didn't come quite so easily for me on the twins' birthday. The situation just seemed too surreal — like a long unwanted dream, swallowing up time as though years were passing over the course of one night's sleep.
It's moments like these that I still find myself asking the basic questions:
What happened?
Why did this happen?
How can this possibly be real?
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