2024 will go down in Minnesota lore as the winter that never was. You’d think that would bring on much rejoicing that we got to skip the -35 F degree temps, -50 degree windchills, multi-day snow storms, and terrible driving conditions. A typical winter here offers all of those features, starting in October or November and usually lasting until April or May.
But the complete lack of snow and early onset of spring this year has been almost eerie. Minnesota Public Radio reported that “Climate change and this winter’s super El Niño combined to produce the warmest meteorological winter (Dec-Feb) on record in Minnesota.” According to the Minnesota DNR Department of Climatology, “Most areas in the state had received less than 50% of their normal snowfall through the end of February, and had observed 30-70 days since December 1 with no snow on the ground.”
Usually the winter season, while often harsh, comes as a relief. After a frenetic summer in business and life, winter provides forced rest, creative dreaming, and intentional deep work while the snow blows outside. It was important to me this winter to still go through the motions I would any other year—protecting my creative time at home, diving into a weaving collection on the loom, and reading a lot in the mornings.
One unexpected gift of the snowless winter was an incredible early lake ice skating season, and now, a brief spring skating season bestowed upon us last week. I had the opportunity to skate on a frozen river for the first time with some friends.
We entered the river up above the rapids and waterfalls that enter Lake Superior further downstream. The river flattens out, shallows up, and weaves its way through a valley of small, steep hills and endless, low forest. There were signs of moose on the shoreline, flattened grasses where they’d bedded down.
The sky above was complex with hazy clouds and the ice below equally complex with crystal designs. The ice was mostly opaque blue and inscrutable, making it a little spooky at first, until we skated over a patch of clear ice that was over 10 inches thick and I felt a little more secure. But never completely secure: just like love and art and change, wild ice skating always comes with risk. We come with ice picks, floatation devices, and throw ropes, hoping we won’t have to use them.
There was something about following the snaking path of the river, the quiet broken only by the scraping of our skates on ice, the golden haze of the sun. I kept looking at my friends, starting to try and describe what I was feeling but never coming close. There was something holy about the whole experience, a kind of reverence too big for words.
Wow! The river ice skating looks amazing!!
That sounds amazing. The pictures are beautiful.
We had rhe wettest February on record here in the UK. It is eerie and unsettling knowing the weather just isn't as it should be.