By DEE BLAIR
Local Columnist
January 04, 2009 12:00 am What a sight! Winter has vigorously arrived, and my huge fountain is totally buried. If I didn't know better, I'd think there was nothing there. Wind-sculptured snow has blanketed the sides of the fountain's slanted, tarp-wrapped boards, disguising its shape; the whole thing has "vanished" into a white-on-white canvas. Who needs David Copperfield!? Bundled up, I trotted outside to shovel the front porch and sidewalk, and then stood quietly, listening. Snow had smothered the normal city-sounds; enveloped in "cotton batting" the world was thick with silence, making it easy to pick out the scratch of claws-on-bark, nearby. A jet-black squirrel made his way down the side of a venerable maple tree. He studied the snow for a few seconds from about 7 feet up, then, skipping the last yard or so of trunk, he jumped. Ker-plop! Poof! Awk! The bewildered rodent vanished into a deep drift. He'd miscalculated! I heard a shocked, but muffled, exclamation, and laughed out loud. This was obviously a young, inexperienced squirrel. Gathering himself, he made a mighty leap out -- poof! He vanished again! From a distance the sight was hilarious; the frazzled rodent bounced in and out of deep powder, completely vanishing with every Herculean leap. Finally, he made it to another sturdy trunk about 10 yards away. Snow outlined his long whiskers, and clung to his bushy tail. After a good shake, he climbed to a lower branch to consider things. Huh. This was a VERY different world. Another black squirrel descended the same naked maple; they stood, nose-to-nose, and commiserated. I mean, those two discussed the situation. I heard little chitter-noises, magnified by the silence, as they tried to figure out where their stashes were, because the topography had utterly changed. Their bellies were impatient. What to do? They remained together for a long time, exchanging ideas. Getting cold, I gave up my vigil, grabbed my backpack from the front doorknob, and walked to the grocery, grinning. When I got back, they'd vanished, but deep pockets in the snow led toward the huge blue spruce. That journey must have been exhausting. I climbed the stairs to the front door, noting the tracks on the porch floor, leading to the covered furniture around the corner. Hmmm. The evidence was clear. Someone was camping out under the porch furniture covers. Less wind blew there; the snow wasn't as deep. I recalled the river of cats I'd disturbed last winter; they'd established a hostel of sorts, there ... But this was just one set of tracks. I'd seen a possum sniffing around about 4 days earlier -- surely not. And please, don't let it be a skunk! I'd gotten a nose-full before first light yesterday, as I'd ventured outside to grab the paper. That socially deficient beastie's perfume had made me gag. Suddenly, inexplicably, I got a gremlin-gleam in my eye: Everyone else had made their mark in those pristine piles of fluff; now it was my turn. Carefully moving through the deep drifts to an unblemished spot, I positioned myself ramrod-straight, then fell backward, arms at my side. Poof! Now I was flat, practically invisible, and ready. I scissored my arms and legs back and forth, back and forth, wind-blown snow spraying my face; I could feel it redden with cold. Done! I rose, carefully, and looked. Aha! A perfect angel! Childhood skills remained happily intact. My grin widened. Wait a minute! Anyone could have created this art. Hmmm ... To dispel any doubt, I signed my name with a snowy flourish! Unimpressed, Mama Nature quietly erased all our "Kilroys" within an hour. Sunnybank Gardens, 325 Sixth St., Traverse City, have closed for the winter. The gardens will re-open on Memorial Day weekend, 2009. Please call 929-4351 to schedule next year's events. Visit Dee Blair's Web site, deeblair.com for recent columns, garden photos, and her music, or e-mail her at blairdee@gmail.com.
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Dee Blair