The Soulful Sounds of Winter

Across the Fence #377

What sounds do you think of when you think of winter? This week I had an e-mail from my long-time friend, Lowell Nordling, who lives in Madison. His message gave me the idea for a story. I told him I’d dedicate this column to him. He said, “I was thinking of you this morning. When I walked out for the paper, there was that special crunch to the snow that reminded me of walking across the yard on my way to school. Whenever I hear it I’m halfway across the yard, by the swing made from discarded telephone poles. It’s quite vivid. In trying to think of a way to explain it to those who have never experienced the pleasure of the sound I thought, ‘I’d like to hear Howard explain it.’”

OK Lowell, here goes. My mind transports me back to cold winter nights when the chores and milking were done. The last milk cans had been carried to the cooler in the milk house and deposited in the cold water. A dozen cats were busy lapping up the milk we had poured into an overturned milk can lid. The stillness in the barn was a sharp contrast to the loud noise of the vacuum pump motor that provided suction for the milking machines. With the motor turned off we could hear the snarling of the cats as they jostled for position to get their share of the milk. The jangling of the stanchions was heard as cows stretched, trying to pilfer remaining feed from a neighboring cow, before bedding down for the night.

As I headed for the house, the sound of my boots crunching snow crystals in the evening snow, created a soothing tempo with each step I took. I was headed for the warmth of our house and each step took me closer. The colder the night, the more it made a squeaky crunch as I made my way over the hard-packed snow. It shattered the stillness of the cold night. When I stopped to look at the stars, not a sound could be heard. My breath turned to clouds of smoke in the below zero air. Billions of stars could be seen in the crystal clear sky. It would be a cold night. I didn’t know at the time that many of those stars I was looking at were actually galaxies far beyond our Milky Way. I had no concept of the enormity of our universe at the time. I was experiencing the same sound of crunching snow and seeing the same celestial sights that my ancestors did when they walked through the snow on a cold winter night, long before I was born. Some things never change.

As I continued toward the house, a slight breeze made the windmill groan and creak for a moment. Then the silence of the night enveloped me again. The sounds, or lack of sounds, in winter are very soothing to those of us who cherish nature’s sounds over constant man-made noise. Snow creates a blanket that softens and muffles sound. It also provides a mirror that reflects light, making everything brighter. It can fill that blanket of snow with millions of sparkling diamonds. An evening walk in the snow is an experience that everyone should enjoy at some point in their life. It’s like Lowell said, it’s hard to explain the experience to someone who’s never had it.

Winter is also the chatter of Chickadees and the flutter of wings as they hurry to the feeder when I bring their food. It’s the sound of a flock of Mourning Doves taking flight from the safety of their evening shelter as I approach the grove of trees. It’s the evening call of the Barred Owl from those same trees, “Who, Who, Who Cooks for You.”

When the temperature dips below zero, you can hear the foundation of a house settle in as it snaps in the cold. It’s like venturing across a lake in the dead of winter and hearing the ice snap under your feet, sounding like a gunshot.

Winter is standing in the silence and beauty of large snowflakes falling all around you and catching them on your tongue. There’s no sound as they land, just a brief, cool moment before the warmth of your tongue returns the intricate, lacy designs back to water.

Winter is the sound of downhill skis chattering across the snow as you fly down a ski run on a cold evening in Wisconsin. My cousin-in-law, Lou, says you can always tell a Midwestern skier. They’re used to leaning forward, carving into icy snow, instead of sitting back and riding the powder runs they have in Colorado. It takes ice skiers a while to learn the technique of skiing powder. I also hear the gentle shush of cross-country skis as they glide across the snow, the cool wind stinging my cheeks, as I lick at the icicles that my heavy breathing has formed in my mustache. Night skiing with the stars surrounding you enhances the peacefulness and beauty of the moment.

Perhaps those are the words I’ve been looking for to describe these winter experiences. There’s a quiet, peacefulness and beauty of the moment that seems to permeate your soul and make you one with nature. It’s when you reach that point that you feel totally alive and that all is well with the world.

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