This week at the cabin, a gray day had a hint of moisture in the air—maybe snow? But temperatures were in the high 30s, so what came out of the sky was graupel, a German word I love to say because it sounds like what it looks like: hard, round kernels of snow, somewhere in between hail and snowflakes. It came down fast, like hail but not as destructive, pelting the deck and roof with a hissing sound.
It didn’t last long, because it’s something intermediary, caused by temporary weather conditions. So I headed to Wild Basin, just a few miles up the road, to wander through the forest that goes along the St. Vrain River. Much to my delight, it started snowing—big, thick heavy flakes.
Instantly the world was transformed. What was sharp and clear was now fuzzy and obscure. The hillside of green pines was hidden behind a veil of white. A tall pine loomed above the creek, like a ghost tree, stranded among the willows. The creek was a blur with sudden bursts of clarity where a dark pool emerged from the snow and ice.
The road back was an unbroken expanse of white. The only tracks were from a small animal that eventually wandered off toward the creek. From the woods I heard a strange cry, something in between a cat, dog and bird, something plaintive that I’ve never heard before. It was just me and this unknown animal sharing an empty landscape on a rare snowy day.
Your nature commentary is lovely, Kathy. Have you thought of putting together a small book of what you feel is your best with photos and your own drawings?
Posted by: Rosemary Carstens | February 06, 2021 at 10:38 AM
So glad to see snow on the ground! Hope you get more soon. Your writing always brings me right back to CO and I can walk along beside you. Thanks.
Posted by: Carol Christenson | February 06, 2021 at 02:12 PM
This is a particularly beautiful piece, Kathy. I felt I was there with you, a welcome return to a landscape I love. I had my first introduction to graupel when I lived in Laramie, Wyoming. I wonder if it's just a Rocky Mountain thing here? I'd never seen it anywhere else I'd lived.
Posted by: Julene A Bair | February 10, 2021 at 12:58 PM
I love that plaintive cry. I agree with Rosemary, a book with your writing and photos would be wonderful.
Posted by: shoney | February 12, 2021 at 01:48 PM
Thanks Rosemary (and everyone else who commented on this post). I have thought about a book, but I feel the strength of these posts is in their immediacy. I'm not sure it would work in a book.
Posted by: Kathy Kaiser | February 13, 2021 at 09:31 AM