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45 Degrees North: Syncing With The Seasons [1]

['Donna Kallner', 'The Daily Yonder']

Date: 2024-02-16

When I lived in the city, I always felt out of sync with the seasons. I guess when you can buy fresh strawberries year-round, people are more used to scheduled activities than dropping everything to pick berries before the birds get them. Some seasons are more ephemeral than spring wildflowers. You have to (literally) make hay while the sun shines.

People might joke that northern Wisconsin has only two seasons – winter and road construction. But like many rural areas, we recognize and celebrate a great many more. Unfortunately, for the lesser-known seasons, the farm and fleet store doesn’t stock themed merchandise weeks in advance to alert us. So here’s a look at a few favorite seasons, and tips on learning to be on the lookout and ready to make memories when the season is upon you.

Deep Cold. When sub-zero temperatures settle in, you might think people go into hibernation. Not here. There might be a text chain asking if people are staying put in deference to the weather. But on a recent Monday morning, the local coffee shop was filled despite the brutal cold – or in defiance of it. The veterans group pushed two tables together. The knitters pulled up folding chairs to accommodate everyone, moving extraneous project materials and coats to the adjacent pew – a reminder that the coffee shop was a Catholic church until two small rural congregations consolidated and this building was desanctified.

Deep cold isn’t a barrier to the retirees, semi-retirees, self-employed, flexibly employed, and homeschoolers who gather over handwork that is perhaps not liturgical but still devotional. The conversation touches on births and baby sweaters, deaths recent and impending, children and grandchildren, local history, and recent sightings at birdfeeders. More moderate weather seems to allow exponential expectations to encroach upon our perceptions of time.

So Deep Cold is for picking up unfinished projects and threads of conversations. If you’re new to an area that celebrates Deep Cold, linger beside the table where the laughter is loudest and ask who the retired teachers are (trust me, they’re there). But get your coffee first because you won’t want to step away and miss a moment.

Tourney Time. With March Madness weeks away, folks get caught up in other games. Our library is sponsoring a jigsaw puzzle competition for teams of two. Extended families gather for cribbage tournaments. I suspect there are still some older couples who get together to play bridge and younger folks who play Dungeons and Dragons. Local taverns host dart and pool leagues. A sporting clays club offers league shooting. Ice fishing derbies include competitions for biggest fish, smallest fish, “size doesn’t matter” and more.

Tournament season in a rural area might revolve around cribbage, puzzles, pool, darts — even sporting clays. (Photo by Donna Kallner)

A century ago here in the Northwoods, once the swamps froze it was easier for neighbors to gather and socialize. They may even have played a variation of the Bavarian game that evolved into Sheepshead, Wisconsin’s unofficial state card game. When I moved here in 1986, the neighbors tried to teach me. My Hoosier upbringing (Euchre) didn’t quite prepare me for 5-handed Sheepshead, the object of which, as one friend says, is to make old men argue. If you get a chance to learn a new game from your rural neighbors, don’t hesitate to ask questions, even if it means showing your cards. Do your best to make a partner or teammate look good, laugh at your mistakes, and thank folks for taking the time to teach you. Save your poker face for after they know you’re a (generally) honest person.

Tables Turn. It takes practice to spot the signs that youth and age are switching roles. Awareness may not sync the same, depending on the situation. And everything can change as quickly as spring grass greens up after a rain or brilliant fall leaves drop on a blustery day. Your kids offer to host holiday meals. Kids other people raised invite you to join them on a tour of Lambeau Field and the Packer Hall of Fame. They show up to take you fishing.

The neighbor who helped my husband learn to fly fish also taught him how to steam-bend wood fishing net frames and play cribbage. In his later years, Neil would pull in from time to time, poke his head into Bill’s shop and say, “Got time for a game of cribbage?” Bill always found the time. He still misses those games.

This winter, Bill has been teaching me to play cribbage. He tried once before, but other things got in the way and that fell by the wayside. Until last summer. Bill’s youngest cousin and his wife visited on their way to a reunion. I watched as the three of them played. Jon explained to me as he played, and invited us to join them and their four adult children and their partners for the family cribbage tournament. That crew is a blast, and that was enough incentive to finally learn to play.

Sadly, Jon passed away a few weeks later. We didn’t see it coming. Bill and I both had Covid and couldn’t attend the funeral. We couldn’t even play a memorial cribbage game because I hadn’t learned yet and didn’t have the mental bandwidth to start right then. But we started playing over Christmas. And every time we cut for the deal, I think of Jon and how short some seasons are.

So deal me in.

Donna Kallner writes from Langlade County in rural northern Wisconsin.

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