“We’re about to go into a dark winter,” said a certain eager national political candidate.
“I don’t think we’re going to have a dark winter at all,” said the other eager political candidate.
Signing onto either of these two prognostications means one feeds off the zero-nutritional value of obvious statements, or thinks Pollyanna is a dream date.
So you relocated to the Hudson Valley, or the Catskill Mountains. You probably made that decision with an emphatic “yes!” as the songbirds warbled, the perfume of wild roses and pine floated in the air, and as you sun-bathed naked on that warm flat rock in a creek that runs through your remote acres.
It’s gonna be different now.
Oh, yes, Autumn is always gorgeous here, and this year was epic. One hopes you gathered those fallen leaves for compost. What a beautiful sound they make as you wade through them, ankle-deep, and what a perfume!
That’s over now. Be sure they are cleared off pathways or expect a thick, slick layer that you describe to your orthopedic surgeon as the reason you need bolts in your femur.
October gave us a little goose about what winter brings, but that was followed by 70-degree days with a slight, buoyant breeze that made us feel as if Mother Nature’s side hustle is to give facial massage followed by a slight bronzing treatment. People from Brooklyn, like my children, sat contentedly on south-facing porches, thinking to themselves, with little self-affirming nods, that yes, the move was so smart.
But now it’s really cold. And yes, it’s dark. Dark before dinner. Dark at morning rise.
If you hail from Arizona, as does one equestrienne friend of mine, you have a hard time believing this isn’t the worst of it. If you are the tenth generation of mountain dweller, you are still cuttin’ wood in your t-shirt.
Should we stay or should we go? How much wood should a woodchuck cut? All of us want to know what’s coming, so we know what moves to make.
It’s going to be a La Niña winter. For the Northeast, that means colder and snowier than usual. Usually. La Niña is a phenomenon in which the surface waters near the equator of the Pacific Ocean are cooler than normal, the opposite of El Niño when the water in the equatorial Pacific is in a warm phase. Except that The Farmer’s Almanac and The old Farmer’s Almanac say si si to the snow, but nyet to the cold.
I’m getting that same feeling I get when Siri tells me to take a left at The Arena Stage … when I’m in Gilboa. So, let’s turn to nature for some clues. After all, when one lives in Brooklyn or Hoboken, one needs to know only: is it hot, cold, wet or dry, so I know what coat or shoes to wear. Network news is a reliable source.
Existential questions
Here, if one is to be prepared, one needs to know: where should I park my car, do I have enough toilet paper, what’s the price of fuel oil now, who plows snow, what do I do when the power goes off for days maybe, weeks. Is it safe to store my frozen food outside in a power outage and what are those teeth marks in it?
Is it true that if it snows enough to be higher than the height of the windows, will I suffocate? What happens when there are so many mice or squirrels nesting in my house that I cannot sleep? What is creosote, and what does it mean if the handyman said “Your chimney is loaded with it. Oh, well. Too late now.” To whom do we turn? Don Lemmon cannot save us now.
Let’s examine Mother Nature’s signs for help. The colors of the wooly bear are said to be an accurate predictor. Wooly-bear caterpillars are the larval form of the Isabella Tiger moth, which is a beautiful creature, with yellowish-orange and cream-colored wings spotted with black. The reason we see so many in the fall is because they are hunting a warm place to take shelter – a thick leaf pile or a log – where they’ll be safe until spring. It is typical that they have three bands of color. Two bands of black with a band of orange-brown inserted in between. If that orange-brown band is thick and wide, don’t pull out more than one feather quilt per bed. If that orange brown band is narrow, and the wooly bear is mostly black, “Katie, bar the door!”
Signs of winter
The habits of spiders, bees, wasps and hornets also tell many a tale. Expect a hard winter if in the fall:
Spiders come in the house sooner, in greater numbers, and make more webs than usual.
Bees, wasps and hornets make their hives higher in the trees and put themselves to bed earlier in the season. As the old saying goes: “See how high the hornet’s nest, ‘twill tell how high the snow will rest.”
Raccoon tails grow extra thick with bright bands, and mice begin chewing furiously to get in. Muskrats burrow holes high on the river bank and woodpeckers share a tree.
Crickets arrive early on the hearth, and ants are seen marching in straight lines.
Pigs are seen to gather sticks and extra hair grows on the nape of cows’ necks.
Animals grow thicker coats. Horsemen and women watch for this, because certain breeds need blanketing, and certain breeds do not.
Watch for squirrels with heavy fur and fat, fluffy tails – they are dressing for a cold winter.
Groundhogs lumber slowly because of fat.
Evergreen trees make more and bigger pine cones and holly bushes hang heavy with berries. Oak trees scatter heaps of acorns.
Then there’s the breastbone of a goose. You’ll need one recently deceased goose for this prediction. The length of the breastbone is said to foretell the length, and its color the severity of the coming winter. The more mottled the breastbone, the colder and snowier the winter will be.
Everyone knows that around these parts, each foggy morning in August counts toward a snowfall in winter – and by my count we’re looking at quite a few.
And then there’s the maxim about the first snowfall – the number of days from Christmas the first snowflakes fall tells how many times it will snow this winter.
There’s an old adage about fall mushrooms. “Mushrooms galore, much snow in store. No mushrooms at all, no snow will fall.”
And pay close attention to apple skins and the onions taken from a late garden – those with thicker skins than usual indicate a tough winter.
Similarly, tight cornhusks which are denser than usual and acorns with thicker shells indicate a hard winter to come.
The taller the weeds in summer, the deeper the snows that winter.
Native Americans observed beaver lodges for winter predictions – the larger and stronger, the rougher the winter.
If autumn leaves fall while still green, and if peak fall color is early, the winter will be mild. The later the peak, the colder the winter. Spectacular fall foliage that takes longer than usual to leave the trees is another indicator of a mean winter, bearing heavy snows.
Early bird and monarch butterfly migration, ducks and geese flying south earlier than usual, squirrels frantically darting about looking for nuts? You, too, may want to get ready to tuck in early.
All tucked in?
Now, see, you have to understand that phrase “tuck in.” It’s what we do here. It’s warm and cozy and lazy and good, ’til roundabout March. That’s cabin-fever season, and a tale for another time.
Until then, get out and about with your notepad and pen and make observations. Interview the local lumberjacks, the hunters, the foresters, the farmers. When all this is done, make your own predictions and act accordingly.
Trust yourself, or promise to learn how. You’re going to need to know.
And when you are tucked in, read The Thanksgiving Address, the central prayer and invocation for the Haudenosaunee (also known as the Iroquois Confederacy or Six Nations — Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora). It reflects their relationship of giving thanks for life and the world around them. The Haudenosaunee open and close every social and religious meeting with The Thanksgiving Address, including United Nations sessions they attend. It’s the kind of political posturing I can support. Perhaps it is the only one.
It begins: “Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles of life continue. We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and thanks to each other as people. Now our minds are one.”
Join the family! 
