Ice Raids & Snow Braids

The cacophony disparaging winter season begins soon after leaves start changing color and well before the first frost. Anti-winter sentiments abound as winter’s detractors say, “Oh no, you know what’s next? The cold and snow. Gross.” “I’ve had enough winter to last me a lifetime.”  “I can’t wait to get out of here and head to [insert warm destination here].”

Ol’ Man Winter is constantly being blasted and bashed by folks who express “Winter Season Bias (WSB)”.   WSB is the social prejudice against cold weather, ice, and snowy landscapes. A growing number of people celebrate mild winters, a changing climate, and the decline of traditional winter activities. The migration to warmer climes is common, and Winter Season Bias is as real as slush is to thaw.

Winter isn’t for everyone, I get that. However, for those of us who live for sleds, shovels, skates, snowshoes, and skis, winter holds magic and fun adventures. It’s a tradition. It’s science. It’s art. In recent years, as climate change dulls winter’s edge, we chase north for that frozen magic.

I’m a self-proclaimed winter connoisseur—an avid cross-country skier with a deep appreciation for the winter season. These days, it’s not uncommon for me to travel hours to find a skiable ribbon of machine-made snow, unfurled from a snow cannon like a red carpet that’s white for winter sports. The people who operate the machines are the unsung heroes of our shrinking winter. They know snow is more than exploded frozen water. It’s an experience, a landscape, a culture.

The science of snow, also known as “Snowology,” helps us discover and answer details about winter precipitation. When conditions are right, a quiet meteorological tango unfolds in the sky. Moisture clings to dust particles in clouds, forming the nucleus of an ice crystal. As it gathers more moisture, a snowflake is born and becomes shaped by the humidity, temperature, and pressure it encounters on its journey downward. These intricate flakes come in all forms: star-shaped, dendritic, columnar, capped, rimed, and once they become too heavy to float, they fall. If the ground is frozen, the snowflakes stick, drift, and stack up. That’s when the wax hut debates and serious fun start.

In addition to sparkling highlights, certain conditions cause it to glow pale blue, lavender, or pink, thanks to refracted light and the presence of microorganisms like algae. Snow isn’t just weather; it’s nature’s artwork.

Snow accumulates and transforms trails, hills, and frozen rivers into playgrounds. British author Katherine May wrote, “Winter is the closest we get to living in another world. “She’s right. In winter’s silent, sparkling world, we find awe and wonder. Robert Frost paused his horse in snowy woods. Joni Mitchell longed for a river to skate away on. “Winter Wonderland” was penned from a tuberculosis sanitarium window by a man watching people frolic in the snow. The song “Winter Weather” by Ted Shapiro calls for embracing, with lyrics that say, “I love the winter weather, So the two of us can get together, There’s nothing sweeter, finer, when it’s nice and cold…”  There’s romance in winter. There’s nostalgia. There’s camaraderie. Winter has it all covered.

As kids, my best friend Gary and I would skate the mostly frozen DuPage River all the way to Ruzicka’s Drug Store, where we’d warm up sitting at the soda fountain sipping hot chocolate capped with whipped cream. Skating home we chased our long shadows and watched as the snowscape changed colors with the setting sun. Ice was like scratch paper as we etched patterns with our sharp blades.

The blizzard of 1967 pummeled our farm, transforming it into breathtaking beauty with a record 23 inches of snow. Our daily barn chores turned into an all-day task. My older sisters and I teamed up with two sturdy Quarter horses, Dickens and Heidi, setting out to deliver a ton of hay bales to the pole barn loft. They handled the horses and held the toboggan’s rope tight while I rode on the back, tasked with balancing the towering and teetering hay bale and keeping them from toppling into deep snow drifts.

It took hours to break trail through waist-deep snow; each trip was a demonstration of raw horsepower, coordinated pulling, balanced straddling, contortions, and blind luck. From the edge of the driveway, we descended to the barn, past Bur oak trees, and across the field. We sledded and slipped load after load, grooming a faster path each trip to the barn door until it became more of an adventure than a chore.

A couple of winters ago, after a heavy, wet snowfall on the Wolverine, ABR, and Birkebeiner trails, the birch trees formed ice-arched tunnels over the groomed corduroy. As sunlight pierced the frost, prisms of light danced and sparkled across the woods and snow. On occasion a miniature rainbows flickered on and off like a sprite or elf fooling around in the scenery and made you wonder if you saw it. Like one of the “hallelujah” moments you usually only read about in poetry.

Another winter marvel appeared in the Northwoods a few winters ago. Caught up in the birch and other trees were huge, growing balls of snow that clung to the branches. They looked like drifting clouds that paused midair, caught among the treetops in a bizarre mix of shapes and sizes. The weather must have hovered just warm enough for the snow to melt and refreeze repeatedly, allowing lake-effect flurries to sculpt these formations into thick, burl-like clusters. Those who prefer sunny beaches in winter never get to witness wonders like this.

And then there was last winter, closing the Groomer’s Barn after the Great Bear Chase. The aurora borealis lit up the night sky, while laughter echoed from the kids as they slid down and climbed up the nearby hill. Sleds and tubes zipped past like comets. It was pure winter joy.

There’s something about snow, cold, ice, and winter that exhilarates. It softens noise in our lives. It creates stillness and excitement. Always in winter’s realm, there’s enough wonder to avoid Winter Season Bias.

So, the next time someone grumbles about the cold, try offering them a new perspective—or at least a pair of decent gloves with hand warmers tucked inside. Better yet, invite them to go skating, sledding, snowshoeing, or skiing. Let them hear the crunching tones of fresh footprints in snow, see the sky lit up with northern lights, or feel the rhythm of carving turns on wild ice. Once you’ve experienced snow and immersed yourself in winter’s diverse offerings, you never forget it.