In belonging to a landscape, one feels a rightness, at-homeness, a knitting of self and world. This condition of clarity and focus, this being fully present, is akin to what the Buddhists call mindfulness, what Christian contemplatives refer to as recollection, what Quakers call centering down. – Scott Russell Sanders

The Sun: On Feb. 18, the Sun reaches halfway to equinox. This landmark in the solar year is called Cross-Quarter Day. The Sun enters the Early Spring constellation of Pisces on the same day.

The Stars: By this time in February, Procyon, the largest star of Canis Minor, replaces the Dog Star due south near 10 p.m. Above it, the twins of Gemini, Castor and Pollux, tell of Early Spring. To their right, Orion and the Milky Way have shifted deep into the west, and the Big Dipper has moved well into the northeastern sky – up from its low December and January position, and its pointers, the outside stars of the Dipper, are easily found. By midnight, the first stars of Middle Summer’s Hercules appear in the northeast.

Weather Trends: in one of the most radical weather changes of the year, the weekly chances for an afternoon in the 60s swell from last week’s one in 10 to five in 10. Although below-zero temperatures can occur at this time of the year, February’s third quarter is the second-last period of Early Spring in which such cold might be expected (March’s first week is the very last). The average amount of snowfall for this week is ordinarily the lowest of the month. The passage of the Feb. 20 cold front marks the end of the snowiest part of the year.

The Natural Calendar: This week of February brings more substance to the natural history of the year, an increase in the number of flower, foliage, insect and bird sightings and bird calls, a weightier accumulation of change than that of last week. Such an accumulation contributes a little more to the seasonal heritage of each region, adds to the composite of time that helps to define the cycles of passage.

Fish, Game, Livestock and Birds: Fish may be most active with the Moon overhead in the late morning and early afternoon, especially when the February cold front approaches. At night, skunks wander lawns and streets looking for food and mates. By about the tenth week of the year, their breeding cycle ends, their odor ceding to visual and auditory markers of the new season: the robin chorus before dawn, emerging pussy willows, rising daffodil spears, blooming snowdrops and aconites. Red and silver maples blossom, introducing welcome color to the Early Spring landscape, as well as offering pollen for early bees.

In the Field and Garden: Throughout the Lower Midwest, the ground temperature is moving above 35 degrees. That means the pastures are starting to grow again.

Under the dark Moon, seed bedding plants and early vegetables. Plant onions in the ground as soon as the soil is properly prepared.

Marketing Notes: Feb. 27 is Dominican Republic Independence Day: Areas that have a sizable population of residents from the Dominican Republic may show an increase in sales of lambs and kids that weigh between 20 to 35 pounds.

The Almanack Horoscope: During this new Moon period, be mindful of mood changes. Often pulse and blood pressure rise at new Moon time. People and animals may bleed more easily. An uptick in violence frequently occurs, and psychic phenomena are said to increase. A few studies suggest that more males born after full Moon, more females after new Moon.

Journal

Feb. 21, 2014: After a night of rain, most of the snow and ice has melted, and the yard is flooded. Skunk odor again around the house. Snowdrops have grown some under the snow, and tips of daffodils and crocus are just barely visible. The barometer just started to rise at dawn, and the wind shifted to the west. I heard no birds at first this morning, even though Bella and I came upon two skunks in the Phillips Street alley at 7. Ten minutes later, a cardinal was chipping and the song sparrow sang intermittently. Crows didn’t call until 7:15. As the snow melted in the circle garden today, I found that daffodil foliage had pushed up even while the snow cover remained for weeks. The same thing in the front garden: crocus and snowdrops were not inhibited by the cold.

Feb. 22, 2016: A soft morning, 45 degrees and cloudy, windless. At a little after 9, Jonatha sent a photo of a honeybee on an aconite, and when I was talking to Ann on the front porch, we watched a honeybee in one of my violet crocuses. Then at 11, Ed called to say he had honeybees in his “thousands of snowdrops” and aconites and crocuses. And when Jill and I walked after lunch, we saw more clumps of violet crocuses, more honeybees.

ALMANACK LITERATURE

Blizzard

Jeff Crawford, September ‘06

“My legs are all fuzzy and my feet are spiked.” That’s what my 5-year-old daughter said after I carried her on my shoulders across the frozen field. And why was I doing that? Well, because of the blizzard of ’77.

We lived at the end of a half-mile long lane off Port William-Paintersville Road.  Rough weather was forecast for that Sunday, and I spent the day watching NFL playoff games. As the snow started that evening, I went out to break a path down the lane with our 1965 Chrysler New Yorker. No Ohio snow could withstand that beast of a Motown car.

I got a running start and the New Yorker held its own for a bit. Then, like a whale on a beach, it came to a sudden stop. And there wasn’t going to be any backing up either, at least not until morning.

Before tackling the car, I decided to walk to Port William. I noticed that I was walking on top of the snow drifts. I could kick and jump up and down and not break through. These drifts were unlike any I’d seen: solid all the way down. I never knew snow could pack so tight you could walk on top of it. Inside light leather boots and thick wool socks my feet were dry and warm.

But the New Yorker still needed to be rescued. I popped the hood, and there was only snow, no sign of an engine at all. I dug out the engine and it started right up.  In a few more hours, I got the car off the lane and out to the road through a cornfield. The cornfield had been combined and swept almost clean by the same wind that dumped all that snow on the lane. The lane didn’t thaw for a month and for most of February, we parked on the road and walked back and forth across the field. And that’s why I was carrying my daughter on my shoulders and why her legs were all fuzzy and her feet spiked.