a breath of spring air

it was -20 last week and now it's spring i guess

up here, the sun glares in through the south windows from noon to three, so bright that it’s hard to see. Fresh meltwater drips off the roofs. By morning it will be black ice. People are whispering about an early spring.

The sun rises in reds and gold. We snowshoe up in the highlands to watch it set, fiery orange sinking behind a ridge, shadows long and purple. It smells like spring; like water that has just begun to run, like moss emerging from beneath the snow. We hike home under the light of the full moon, orange against dusty purple.

Spring is still a month, maybe two, away. But God I can taste it.

Remember to check out the Exploring the North Shore eBook & Interactive Map for all season hiking recommendations on the Shore!

The first winter I spent up here, on the North Shore of Lake Superior, was long. I moved to Grand Marais in November and the ice had already set in. It wasn’t until April that the snow melted and waterfalls started running. I spent the winter making friends, and watching sunsets on the breakwater, grabbing dinner once a week at My Sister’s Place. We’d have people over in our tiny apartment on Tuesdays and Thursdays and sometimes Saturdays and watch Life Below Zero, the show about Alaska. We’d joke about with how cold it was here, how long the winters are, and how lonely. Really though, it wasn’t so bad.

The next winter, last winter, we spent in a different apartment. The cold came a little later but stayed longer, with ice on the lakes and ski conditions into May even. I’d cook Thai peanut chicken and we’d come up with places for everyone to sit on movie nights. We’d talk over the movies. Every now and then, we’d drive up the Gunflint Trail to watch the Northern Lights. A lynx would cross the road in front of us in the dark, lit by headlights. Or a wolf, or fox.

Friends of ours trickled back south that winter, work and housing conditions becoming more difficult. The more people left, the more wanted to leave. Out of seven, there’s no one from our group left up there anymore.

from the first winter we spent. an early morning with frost, winter camping. those are our tracks winding east

winter camping set up from inside the tent.

There is something about spring air that is unlike any other season. In the summer the back of your neck prickles with sweat, and blue lakes shimmer, and the woods are alive. In the fall it smells like earth all around, like you’re breathing in the trees. In the winter there’s the cold on your skin and the either the bright white daylight or gray, then the long night. But you can feel spring in the air, and it feels clean and fresh. It feels like the promise of good things to come.

There’s a quote going around on social media, that happy people don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer. I disagree.

Soaking up the details of the world melting, and blooming, and thriving, and burning all around us a hallmark of happiness. There is something really remarkable about the passage of time, and the way that one breath of spring air can call back to all of the other beautiful springs you’ve had.

Photos & Stories from my first winter on the North Shore:

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