In the beginning, there was winter

If you number a Garry Oak among your neighbours, observe how next season's buds are already formed, waiting snugly for the moment of unfurling.

In traditional Chinese medicine, winter is ruled by the element water, which “dances in the hundred valleys" and nourishes the ten thousand things. Even as the cold slows outer activity and movement, water's subtle power quickens new life in the hidden depths. In the economy of the annual cycle, winter and water are the beginning and the foundation of fruitfulness and abundance.

Contrast this with the English phrase, "in the dead of winter". Sun worshippers at heart, peoples of European descent commonly perceive winter as a deadly wasteland of snow and ice, from which living beings are rescued by the return of the sun. This parallels the experience of early humans who, lacking the protection of fur and hibernation, had to deploy their wits to survive the harsh season. Hence the theft of fire from the gods -- the stuff of heroic mythologies whose traces still linger in our unconscious turns of speech.

But close observation bears out the wisdom of the Chinese sages.  If you number a Garry Oak among your neighbours, observe how next season's buds are already formed, waiting snugly for the moment of unfurling. The trunk is warm and dry to the touch amidst the cold and wetness. In January and February, the Great Horned Owl is already nesting, taking advantage of long nights to provide extra rations for the hungry hatchlings.

On Southern Vancouver Island, winter is not a matter of extremes but of subtle half-shades. The land is cocooned in fluffy clouds that keep the edge off, now and then emerging into a sharp, sunlit brilliance with hoarfrost on bare branches and thin ice on ponds. On such crisp days Witty’s Lagoon in Metchosin offers a wide field of discovery to the patient and well-swathed naturalist.

From the park entrance on Metchosin Road, the trail winds through immense Douglas Firs and Big-Leaf Maples. In the gloom of the canopy, creatures are best located by sound: a sharp “tsip” reveals a Dark-Eyed Junco, the scurrying in the underbrush a Dusky Fox Sparrow.  Below the Sitting Lady waterfall, it is a thrill to discover less familiar species of ducks in possession of a small lake – Lesser Scaup and strikingly-coloured Buffleheads, both expert divers.

The trail follows Bilston Creek out of the forest and through meadows of coarse rye-grass, then circles around the lagoon -- a wide, shallow expanse of brackish water within a sheltered bay, alive with hundreds of wings flapping, gliding, dabbling and diving.  As the sky changes from orange and magenta to purple and turquoise, the busyness subsides, and family groups settle down for the night with soft chirps and sighs. Only the geese are still restless, calling loudly in the dusk. The heron has barely moved for the past half hour. Suddenly, a jab; supper is swallowed whole and the great bird lifts off with a harsh cry.

Hushed, we wait for the owls. We are not disappointed: not one but two, a Barred Owl and a Great Horned, serenade us as we slowly walk back.