Sample text for Wisconsin / Tracy Will ; photography by Zane Williams.
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SEASONS OF THE STATE
Winter
It may snow in October. November can be cold, snow-blown, and windy. But winter never really
arrives until the end of the first full week of December. After that, bone-numbing wind chills begin
their dive to well below zero. Foreheads ache with cold, ears tingle, eyes tear -- as much
because of the wind as for the realization that no relief is in sight for four months. The night sky
is India-ink blue, and ice forms clear and thick on the lakes, an inch a night. The lake waters flip
over, a natural form of circulation in which the chilled top layer of water sinks to the depths.
Water vapor pours off the surface like fog as heat is driven from the water. At the end of that first
week of winter, loud groans and grinding squeals rise from the lakes as the great tectonic ice plates
expand, popping and booming as their faces meet and cannot mesh. The cold breath of winter remains
until March, bringing a variety of winter weather that ranges from Arctic wind chills of 50 and 60
degrees below zero, to warm, springlike days in the January thaw.
Winter brings ice fishing to Wisconsin's 15,000 lakes, as it has since Native Americans first
started spearing fish that they attracted with wooden lures. Modern ice anglers now use a tip-up,
which sends up a flag to signal when an unwary perch, muskie, walleye, crappie, or pan fish has
gobbled up the cutworm or minnow. Spearing for sturgeon, ancient denizens of the glacial lake, is
permitted on Lake Winnebago. Famed for their size and roe (yes, caviar), sturgeon grow old, long,
and heavy. They are difficult to spear, and though hundreds of anglers set up shanties to harvest
the sturgeon, few come home with more than hopes for better luck next season.
Spring
March may enter mildly, but the series of state high school basketball and wrestling tournaments
that follow seem to have the uncanny ability to attract snow-bearing storm systems. It can snow as
late as April, and frost may sting until mid-May. Certain forces cannot be restrained: about six
weeks after the Sun Prairie groundhog sees its shadow, St. Patrick's Day is celebrated in the hopes
of seeing more green and less white. Spring is not always born full-grown. The best springs take time
to build. The most unsatisfactory springs arrive in a hot southern wind around mid-March, leaping
into sultry summer weather that lingers until September. The best come with snow-filled clouds, cold
fogs, and stiff northeast winds whose rain lashes the trees. The cool spring lets the floral bounty
of the woodlands and prairies arrive at a leisurely pace. Spring also heralds tornado season, March
to September.
Summer
Summer is, of course, vacation time, and the baseball diamonds and volleyball courts at taverns
and school yards get their well-deserved workouts. The fishing season brings out a flotilla of craft
on every reputed fishing hole. Outdoor music festivals fill the bandshells, gazebos, and greens of
small villages and cities to entertain the locals in the early evening air. Wisconsin's parks, bike
trails, and forests get a workout every summer, mostly by state residents who have been cooped up for
six months. Prairie flowers put on a summer-long display to highlight the million shades of green
along highways and back roads with subtle touches of white, yellow, blue, pink, and orange. The high
days of summer pass all too quickly, and before long it seems that the sun has set before the ball
game is over, or the day's fish limit reached. The muggy days of July and August may seem to linger
like time suspended, but heavy dews fall on the cooler nights. The Perseid meteor shower of
mid-August is the sign that things are about to change and summer soon shall pass. The vacationers
begin to return to the places they came from, the cabins are shut down and boarded up, and school
children return to school a little older and with another summer under their belts.
Fall
The weakening sun no longer sustains the vibrant green chlorophyll in every plant, and its subtle
exodus brings out the carotene and anthocyan, making yellows and reds -- a brilliant prelude to the
glories of autumn. With the cooler days come the bow-hunters. Hunting means venison, chops and sausage,
and a chance to shed the mantle of the business world and deodorant, and stink like a doe in rut for
a few days. Bow-hunting is a solitary art, requiring tracking skill and stealth so the hunter can get
as close as possible to his prey. The gun season in November is a different type of hunt, with beaters
chasing the deer through the woods so their pals in tree stands and blinds can get a shot off as
their prey rushes by, afraid and half-crazed by the scent of does in heat. The gun season is a
chance to get away from the job and family and hole up in a cabin for a week with a few other guys
who hopefully play sloppier poker with every can of beer. Perfect conditions include a light
snowfall on opening weekend, so hunters can track their deer before they find them and, more
importantly, after they shoot. The best-tasting deer are the yearlings that grow up near cornfields,
but killing a ten-point buck is the hoped-for prize.
Library of Congress subject headings for this publication: Wisconsin Guidebooks