Rime on the Ridge Tops

I saw rime on the ridge tops the other day. It finally got cold enough, and conditions were perfect for it. Hoarfrost, my grandmother called it. That is from the Old English, meaning white or gray.

On a cold and sunny winters day with a hard blue sky, a lone cloud floats onto the top of a mountain or ridge line, and seems to become attached to it, as though alive, and with some purpose. The ridge top is closed from view, as the cloud seems to slowly move and boil, lifting an edge from time to time to reveal pure white below. It stays, as though communing with the mountain top, and finally begins to float away, ragged now, with wisps and streamers departing from the main cloud, which slowly moves off to reveal a shining white mountain top or ridge line, a white so pure and glowing above the gray winter woods that it hurts the eyes, reflecting the sun so perfectly.

I was caught in one of these clouds more than once, or might I say, I was graced to be within them. The sun is hidden, and the world is gray, gray woods and a gray mist that moves like something alive, depositing ice on everything, trees, limbs, twigs, Rhododendron leaves, grass blades. Even my beard was turned white; it was red back then. It now looks as if I had been standing in one of these clouds. Time is like a hoarfrost cloud for me, I guess. Ice is deposited heavily on the side of the twigs that the air is moving from, making a wedge shaped ice shroud on the upwind side. This greater accumulation of ice on places like Craggy Gardens and Mount Mitchell will kill the buds on the upwind side of the trees, giving them a lopsided shape, called "flag formed". To be on a mountaintop while this is going on makes one feel magical, as though some mystical creature is going to appear out of the mists; indeed, shapes appear in the mists and seem almost to turn corporeal, and then dissipate, sending shivers up your back, though it is only the cold.
And the mountaintop is pure gleaming white in the light of the winter sun.

This phenomenon is a form of sublimation, where ice forms directly from supercooled water vapor, without the intermediate phase of liquid water. Mostly, you will only see it on the higher ridges and peaks in the middle of the winter, when the odd clouds turn the mountain tops white.

Winter, finally

Well, winter is finally here, or at least, sort of. Cold today, with a brisk wind, gusts are supposed to be 50 mph. The weather is still a bit warmer than normal; above freezing at night. Birds are all over the feeders, and are fun to watch.

Mid Winter Warm

It is warm here in mid winter. Mid Winter day is almost upon us, the shortest day of the year, and it is very warm here, in the 70's yesterday. Whew!
Midwinter was important to my remote ancestors, the people of the British Isles. It is a time of celebration, as the Sun, upon its travels, having traveled to the south, turns north again. Obviously, in the British Isles, in some of the more northern areas, it looked as if the sun were going to disappear from the sky on Mid Winter. The fact that it did not was cause for celebration. Mistletoe was used for purification of the house, to bring peace to all who entered. It was also a symbol of life and fertility, being one of the few plants that managed to stay green all winter.

Winter arrival

Winter has arrived. A few days ago we had snow. Today it is chilly and windy. A hard blue sky, and the limbs of the great Oaks sway to a great rhythm. The wind moans and howls around corners, making your bones chill, even in a warm house. You just have to shiver.
Squirrels are wearing their winter coats, with pretty white spots on the backs of their ears. Slate Colored Juncoes forage under feeders, and if my grandmother were still here, she would call them "Snowbirds", and claim their presence presages snow. The leaves of the woods Orchids, Cranefly and Putty Root, have popped into being, and are collecting sun light while the great deciduous forest sleeps. Turkey Brush, a type of Club Moss, covers road banks and forest floor, hopefully dreaming of its glory days, when its ancestors were taller than the mighty Oaks, about sixty or so million years ago. How the mighty have fallen...
Though the woods look dead, they are not. Squirrels forage in the dead leaves that fell mere weeks ago, and deer pick at the buds of shrubs that sleep in the winter as they quietly avoid the puny efforts of human hunters who seem to fill the woods at this time. Of course, humans are not the only hunters...
The Red Tailed Hawk floats above the fields, and suddenly falls to pin the rabbit to the ground. Ah, a full day's meal - she won't have to scuffle for voles and mice today. The Coopers Hawk darts through the woods and the brush on the woods edge, popping the occasional song bird that fails to be aware of threats. Life needs constant vigilance out here in the winter woods.
As we go deeper into winter and the days finally get longer, life will get even more difficult, but the days will get longer, and the sun will finally start its journey back up in the sky. But, today, winter is upon us.