December Almanac

By Clinton S. Powell, Naturalist

Once again, as the high winds blow, autumn colors tumble down the road and a brighter, lower sun arrives, winter is back with us. Some like wintertime some don’t.

For those winter lovers, this is your time. One to two cords of dry firewood are stacked in your wood shed; kindling is stacked along with pinecones. You are ready, let the wind blow, let the rain rip in and with a thin chance, possible winter snow will

fall long, long before it is expected. Perhaps, just perhaps, we will even have a white Christmas.

The transition from autumn to winter is a subtle one. But you have been faintly aware of the lowering angle of the sun, the shifting and swaying of conifers and the way some of the poplars are turning butter-yellow. You dig deep into the closet and reach for a long-sleeve shirt, maybe a flannel shirt.

Screened windows that remained open for too long to remember are now slowly closed. Not totally shut, because a fresh late-autumn breeze still is refreshing, and how is the kitty going to get in and out of the house?

Along with finding the flannel shirts, you realize that the flannel sheets will soon grace your bed. And of course, an old family woolen heirloom blanket made by Aunt Gladys can be removed from the plastic wrapper and placed at the foot of the bed. Who knows: Tomorrow, deep within the night, a cool Pacific storm might come sneaking in and you will have the great fortune of something, anything warm.

But don’t put away your shorts and T-shirts, because the end of the capricious autumn still commands this mountain. Cool mornings turn into warm afternoons, then recede like a tide into a cool, even cold evening.

Yesterday, the vibrant autumn colors of red pears, orange-red pistache, and yellow oaks barely twisted in the almost-too-warm afternoon. These are the autumn days resplendent with all the delights that a true mountain can present.

Late at night as the owls called, Orion graces the southern sky, Sirius right behind it, riding along as if tied by a celestial tether. Later, as Orion creeps to the west, leaves begin to tremble, and then the dry pine needles begin their Bach continuo. And deep within you, you could feel a new pulse: It happens every year and tonight you know, it’s time to bid farewell to autumn.

The full moon, the last one of autumn, is on the 15th. This autumn moon, this last one of the season, is one of my favorites. This last show is one you can breathe, you can hear in the rustling wind and occasionally you might hear migrating waterfowl high overhead, flying to spend the winter in Mexico.

The first day of winter, commonly called the Winter Solstice, arrives Dec. 21. Those not ready for this change had better heed the call of the season.

Sometimes winter can be mild. And why not: this is Southern California. But other times, winter can come ripping into your life without a warning. It can come sweeping in from Alaska with not one forecaster even considering this could happen.

And forevermore, people will ask: Will we have a white Christmas?

I keep a daily engagement calendar. In it I note the temperatures, the arrivals and departures of birds, the amazing number of mosquitoes, the first freeze and the first snowfall. Since 1980, every day, if only noting the high and low temperature, I keep this journal and my life alive. The last time we had a white Christmas was 1988. So, as you can see, a white Christmas seldom arrives. But who knows, perhaps this will be our white Christmas.