Mulberry Jam

Every place has its spring rituals. A few days ago I read about the spring ice lottery in Nenana, Alaska. Since 1917, each year this town has held a lottery to bet on exactly when the Tanana River will “go out”, or melt. In early March, townspeople erect a tall tripod of painted spruce logs, attached with a guywire to the shore. When the ice melts enough to topple the tripod and snap the wire, that’s the official time. I read about it in connection with a study of climate warming, since this precise timing of the ice melt has given climatologists an almost 100-year record of conditions at this far northern town. When I went to the town’s official site, I was charmed by all the photos documenting the event. Putting up the tripod is a big festival in Nenana, marked with snowmachine and dogsled races, dances and big parties. Last year the winning time was 3:47PM on April 27, and 22 winners split $303,273. Big money is this small town I’m sure. I love that they’ve developed their own holiday tradition here. Maybe the world isn’t yet completely uniform and predictable, with a single global culture created by Madison Avenue. I hope not.

Here in Washington, this week has been full of signs of spring. This daffodil was the first to bloom in my garden. I thought for a moment about leaving it, but decided I’d enjoy it so much more if I brought it inside. The weather has been alternating between days warm enough for a top-down convertible and days so cold and raw all I want to do is stay inside under a blanket and a cat. The birds are beginning to sing more each day, and as I stepped out several mornings this week I saw large flocks of geese heading north. I wondered what it must look like to them, flying over a metropolis like Washington.