The Wrath of Water and the Great Geese Migration
Happy New Year! I hope you had a restful and joyful holiday season. And, I hope you’re continuing to get rest as we delve deeper into winter. This year, I decided to step away from the tradition of setting New Year’s resolutions, and instead decided to set New Year’s intentions. Instead of picking something I wanted to change, work on, or improve, I chose a mindset to approach the year with — without going into too much detail, I want to slow down this year, and honor the seasons and my body and mind by doing everything with intention and seasonality. I’m leaning into the fact that winter is a time for rest and reflection, not a time for starting new goals or ideas. So if you’re having trouble getting a jumpstart on your resolutions or goals for 2024, remember that winter only just started. It’s much better to lean into the season, rest, reflect, and begin anew in the spring.
Ironically, though, I am starting one new thing this month: my Substack! I decided to take my blog to the next level by beginning a Substack, which is a publishing platform for writers. I love Substack because it’s a great place to follow several writers and all of their work in one place, and find similar publications and discover new writers. I’ll still post here, on Sincerely SC, of course (I’ll post these monthly reflections on both platforms), but if you like Substack and the way it’s organized, you can follow me there as well. If you’re subscribed to my email list here, you’ve been automatically subscribed on Substack. If you’re not subscribed on either, then I recommend signing up for my Substack list. You can do so directly on Substack: Sincerely SC on Substack.
If you’re reading Sincerely SC on Substack, you’ll get an email every time I publish a new post, just as you are now by being subscribed to my blog. I also highly recommend using the Substack app to keep all the publications you follow organized, and to make reading Sincerely SC on your phone easier. I find the Substack app is more mobile-friendly than WordPress, and you’ll also get a notification on your phone when I publish, without having to check your email. Here’s a great guide on how to use the Substack app. Also, Substack is a popular platform because it makes it easy for writers to charge for premium subscriptions — but I want to make it clear it that I am not going to monetize my blog. All of my posts will remain free for all subscribers, and at this time I’m not planning on creating any exclusive content for paid subscribers. So you can continue to follow me completely for free!
Also, another new development: to save on space in these posts, I will now begin posting a separate post for my photo gallery for each month. This way, if you’d like to see all the photos that are normally at the end of these articles, you can view them in a separate post to save you from scrolling too much. These photo posts will only be on the original Sincerely SC site, not the Substack, as WordPress is better for photo-sharing. Now, onto the official blog post for the month.
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In traditional Chinese medicine, each of the seasons are associated with an element. Winter is associated with water. Though this winter has just begun, it’s already living up to this association. Where I live, we’ve already had numerous wet storms — some with rain, some with snow — and there are many more forecasted in the weeks ahead. Several of the rain storms have caused extremely damaging flooding throughout the state, with the most recent one being by far the worst, coming off the heels of a snow storm that left several inches of snow in its wake. When the rain came, melting the snow already on the ground, it washed out roads, flooded entire neighborhoods and parks, and even triggered a sinkhole in my hometown. This winter has been wet, wicked, and full of wrath.
I was born around the winter solstice, just before a major blizzard. The first thing my newborn eyes saw when my parents brought me home from the hospital was snow. My parents tell me that I couldn’t stop looking out the window at the snowfall, that I would watch the flakes intensely while my dad carried me on a tour of the house. I imagine this is why I have such a strong love for snow. It was my first introduction to nature, the first magical element I encountered. At the time, I must have thought that was how the world always was — a dazzling, quiet, sparkling winter wonderland.
I have so many childhood memories of snow in all of its forms. The gentle, slow flurries that fall softly from the sky; the harsh, cutting snow whipped around by the wind in a blizzard; the big, wet flakes that weigh down your clothes but make a great snowman; and everything in-between.
I also have so many memories of rain storms and hurricanes that flooded the river behind the cottage, though this used to only happen in late summer to early autumn. Immediately after a major storm, my parents and I would drive around town to inspect the damage, and so many times did the whole neighborhood gather on the next street over, by the bridge that crossed the river, and marvel at how the water rushed over the road and made it impassable.
When my dad blazed the trail to the river through our backyard, we got to see exactly how the river floods in our own backyard after a hurricane in 2021. The next sunny morning, we ventured down the trail and were immediately met with our chairs knocked over and debris and logs all over the path, marking the highest point the river had been. The river had receded a bit by this time, but was still covering a large part of the land, rushing at a speed I had never seen before. To see the river in this powerful, commanding state, to hear its symphony of rushing water and waves crashing on the shore, was overwhelming, but breathtaking and awe-inspiring.
Every major storm had the same outcome, the same roads and parking lots flooding, yet it’s always an exciting adventure to see it with your own eyes, so we go on these excursions every time. But, this used to only happen once every few years; now, it seems to be a yearly occurrence.
The fact that this has happened twice so far, during this winter instead of summer, is concerning. It’s proof of climate change, that storms and natural disasters are becoming more common, and that our current infrastructure isn’t resilient enough to handle it. The water is reacting to the abuse we have put our dear planet through. It’s become vengeful, full of wrath and rage, thrashing about and leaving destruction in its wake. When the water rises, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. Water is perhaps the most unpredictable and uncontrollable element, alongside fire, and it’s reminding us weekly now that water will go exactly where water wants to.
The drastic changes in temperature and what form we see all this water in is also enough to cause whiplash; one day there’s pounding rain, the next there’s a foot of snow, soon there will likely be freezing rain and ice. The snowy winters of my childhood, some of which were also damaging, bringing down trees and powerlines, are not as common as they once were. It’s difficult to process that information, to process the emotions that come from not seeing the world as it was the day you were born. Of wondering when you will see the blizzards and the flurries and the fluffy snow again.
But then, there are the days that water is gentle. When the soft snow comes again, and reminds us of Mother Nature’s more peaceful moods. When these snows come, I always take a moment to walk in it, whether along the cottage trail or at a park near the apartment. I marvel at the way the trees hold the snow in their branches. I follow animal tracks through the woods, identifying fox, rabbit, deer. During the most recent snow, I took a moment to meditate. Standing there, on top of a mountain, all was silent. Only the sound of the wind and children laughing in the distance, while playing in the snow, could be heard.
I’m extremely grateful that we had a snow storm this year, and that more snow is predicted for the rest of winter. I am learning to welcome water in all her forms, embracing this aspect of the season. It’s true, we have a long way to go in terms of building resilience and preparing for the consequences of climate change. But may our winters also be full of breaks and pauses from this important work, to bask in the beauty of freshly fallen snow.
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Along with the snow, there’s something else magical and fascinating about this time of year: The Great Geese Migration.
Every winter, large flocks of geese rest in the river by the cottage. Every morning they come in for a landing, and every evening, at sunset, they prepare for takeoff. I also see flocks and flocks of geese throughout the state this time of year, always flying by on their journey further south, their great migration.
Recently, I was visiting a nearby pond just before sunset, and got to watch a flock’s magnificent takeoff. I had seen this display before at the cottage, several times, but this was by far the largest flock I had seen go through the process. There must have been a hundred Canadian geese, plus one snow goose! Yet the way that they communicated, making sure to time and coordinate their takeoff just right, was fascinating.
All the geese, which had divided themselves up into smaller groups, honked and swam back and forth, discussing the order they’d fly in, which groups would take off when. It seemed like some of them were having heated discussions, honking incessantly loud and nonstop. But I imagine there’s a lot of planning involved in takeoff procedures, and things have to go smoothly and just right in a goose’s world.
Then, one by one, each group flew away. Suddenly, without much warning to humans, a sub-group of geese would leap out of the water, their wings splashing droplets and feathers everywhere, carrying them into the sky. After about five minutes of honking, another group would take off. Then another, and another, until only one small group of four geese remained. The pond was much quieter now, with only these four geese honking, before they, too, took off and were gone. Then, the pond was silent, only feathers and a few ripples in the water showing there had been life there just moments before. The whole thing took exactly thirty minutes.
It’s these little moments that bring so much joy to winter. Despite it being a season of rest and hibernation, there’s still so much life to be found in the snow. I hope you get to experience lots of snow this season, and witness the amazing cycles of life around you during this time.
Sincerely SC 