Which return visitor is the surest sign of a Canadian spring? Maybe it’s a robin. Perhaps it’s a crocus. It could be the sneaker snowstorm, akin to the sneaker wave. Or it could be the snow-removal contractor’s shovelling guy, hired to clear a path from the snowy street, up the snowy driveway, and along the snowy steps, who is still hard at it on the First Day of Spring, 2026. Herewith, my view from front and back doors this afternoon.
Sigh. This too shall pass.
In vain do I search my memories of my Alberta yute for freezing rain. Maybe we had it, maybe we didn’t. I remember hoar frost. I remember cold. I remember packed-down snow so dry it squeaked when you walked on it. I don’t remember freezing rain.
Freezing rain occurs when frozen precipitation falls through a warm layer of air, causing the precipitation to melt and change from solid to liquid. However, because the surface where it lands is below freezing, the liquid precipitation freezes on contact, creating a dangerous icy layer. – GLISA, UMich
I don’t need to search my memory about freezing rain in Ottawa: we were under a freezing-rain warning this past week, said warning involving breathless advice to be ready to do without power for up to three days. Yeah, that wasn’t going to be feasible in my house. I mean, I need electricity every day, you know? Usually all day. Surely the weather gods would accommodate a genuine need.
The number of TV channels? The number of electric appliances in my house? The ease of getting food and ready-to-eat meals and, well, anything really, delivered to my house? No, as significant as these are, I think the biggest difference between my life and my grandmother’s is the number of times in a day I bump into unsolicited and seemingly random chunks of new information. I’m left wondering whether my grandmother was *ever* accosted by answers to questions she hadn’t asked, or even thought to ask. To wit:
A friendly greeting goes a long way, and in Gaelic, there are different ways to say hello depending on the time of day:
I had not, in fact, been wondering about Gaelic greetings, but–courtesy of something or other on the internet–here we are now. Let’s see what we have, shall we?
As I write this, we leave Tempe tomorrow. As you read it, we left Tempe yesterday. And yet, in the eternal now of dogs and the internet, today we can walk together through Veterans Oasis Park in Chandler, enjoying this wee part of the space-time continuum.
OK, that’s enough physics for today. Maybe for the year. Let’s continue with biology.
This mallard was happy to pose–with and without some vegetation dangling from his beak–until a jet overhead distracted him. At least that’s what seemed to happen, as he rolled his neck, apparently to check out the loud noise from the heavens above us.
I hear voices. They’re not in my head: the singing is on the Facebook feed of my synagogue’s Friday-night service.
I hear voices. They’re not working hard, as near as I can tell: they seem to effortlessly cross time and space from Eastern-Time Ottawa to Mountain-Time Tempe via some magic we’ve named “streaming”, just as if that explained it.
Which came first,
the chicken or the egg?
This old puzzler has, apparently, been solved: Popular Mechanics (among others) tells me so.
When it comes to the simple answer to the question as it relates to Gallus gallus domesticus (a.k.a. the chicken), that riddle’s been largely solved thanks to evolution. At some point thousands of years ago, ancient chicken breeders chose two tame jungle fowl (gallus gallus) and the resulting union produced the egg of the world’s first genetically distinct chicken. In summary: egg predates chicken.
Another walk at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve this past week gave me some new views. What’s going on this turtle’s head I can’t say (Any chance he appreciates his own reflection?), but in a human this would qualify as “enjoying the sun”.
You can’t step into the same river twice.
That’s the quote in my head, along with a vague sense that it was some Ancient Greek philosopher who said it. Maybe without the contraction: I believe that, like the arrow of time which determines causality, the arrow of casual also goes in one direction only. (Is it a coincidence that causal and casual use the same letters? Probably. Let’s keep going.)
“They” say winter photography
is often “sticks and snow”.
Thus began a recent photo-story from a reader of this blog and Ottawa neighbour. In the back-and-forth that followed his post, he made the comment that, being in Arizona, I was in the land of “no sticks and snow”. Now, at our Arizona elevation I’ll give him the “no snow” part, but on the “no sticks” part, well, I must demur.
