The Veil, Paul Gruchow Contest Essay Winner 2006

The Veil

Like a demurring maiden, White Bear Lake covered itself in a veil of swirling fog this evening, as if to hide while the warm spring winds stripped it of its icy robe.

Fog is evidence of the struggle between earth and sky. It was late March, a few days after the equinox when day and night are equal, when the forces of winter are strong, but waning, and the forces of spring are weak, but waxing. The struggle between winter and spring can be fierce. Warm, moist air from the south was clashing with the waning forces of winter from the north in the form of a charging cold front out of arctic Canada. The battle order began with booming thunder and jagged lightning, the first to explode over the area since autumn. Then came a warm spring rain for an hour or so. The warm rain hit the cold, icy surface of the lake, melting it and pumping even more moisture into the turbulent air. Toward evening, as the sun set, the air began to cool and mix with the warmer air on the ground, spawning a strong ground wind. As the super moist warm and cold air mixed over the ice-chilled lake air, a heavy fog was born, swirling and churning over the lake and over the land.

This atmospheric cauldron provided some seldom seen lake dramatics at the marsh, where Wolf, my springer spaniel, and I stood watching in wonder. At first, a river of fog came blowing straight into our faces. It was like putting your face squarely in front of a blowing humidifier. The air was so thick with moisture it was practically condensing on my face and dripping away. While a humidifier blows only a small stream of moist air, the lake that day spewed cold steam over a distance of miles.

For several moments, we were in a complete whiteout, barely able to see 10 yards out as the fog intensified. The next moment, however, the blowing wind shifted and revealed the faint outline of tall maples on Manitou Island some 100 yards out. Then the fog bank would thin a bit and the crown and trunks of those tall trees would appear, fog filtering through the straight black trunks and spreading branches. It looked as if the whole island was smoldering in fire, smoke billowing out through the trees.

Then from across the lake, the faint outline of the shoreline a mile away would suddenly appear through the roiling tempest. A gust of wind would blow, and in a brief moment we were once again plunged into a complete whiteout. A few times, as the fog blew thick at ground level, it would thin overhead, revealing welcomed patches of blue sky and white clouds for but a moment before it, too, was obscured by the ghostly fog.

Through all of this, I heard a familiar cry from the east. Soon, two dark forms appeared winging in low. It was the season’s first wood ducks (check here if you see a wood duck___) on the lookout for open water and possible nesting sites. Five months earlier, sighting but two would have been a disappointment compared to the hundreds that crowded the marsh during the fall migration.

But after five months of lifeless winter, their noisy appearance was cause for hope the long, cold nights of winter were finally retreating.

The first redwing blackbirds (check here if you see a redwing blackbird___) were also on the marsh that day, shrieking their territorial call to ward off competitors from their chosen nesting sites. This week also saw the arrival of the showy hooded merganser, the plucky ring-necked duck, large common mergansers and ever restless, laughing gulls. There, too, appeared the first gangly great blue herons and the clownish bufflehead duck, twittering around on its indifferent wings. (check here if you see a ringneck____; bufflehead___; laughing gull___; blue heron___)

Wolf, exuberant at the season’s first warm weather, ran uncharacteristically helter-skelter in the open water at the edge of the lake ice. He briefly charged a pair of mallards swimming about and a muskrat lounging on the ice edge. All easily eluded his plodding charge through the icy waters. As the sun slowly sunk in the west, the fog storm began to die out. After raging only a half-hour, the storm was deprived of its energy by the setting sun. The show was soon over, and Wolf and I began the bike ride home. Everywhere the ice-covered lake and surrounding land was dappled with patches of snow, small puddles and flowing rivulets. The lake and land were preparing themselves to give birth to a new burst of life brought on by the strengthening sun, lengthening days and warmer air. The land and lake are indeed maidens full with the wetness of courting and the spring. The sun was already impregnating both with its solar seed that will soon spawn an abundance of new plant and animal life both on land and in the water. As Wolf and I neared home, the darkening sky revealed the shining crescent moon and Venus, the goddess of love, consorting in the evening sky overhead.

The gloom of frigid, cold winter nights was quickly disappearing before the warm light and restless life of spring…and none too soon for the winter weary here in the north.