Let’s Talk Nature: The Gift of Snow

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I love a heavy snowfall!

Your opinion may differ. I acknowledge that!

But hear me out.

At the heart of this joy in watching snowfall is my childhood. Mind you, I didn’t necessarily love it while I was living it, but snow was the norm for at least half the year. I was raised in the northern Maine town called Presque Ise. Just before Thanksgiving, we could count on a raging blizzard that dropped so much snow, the storm would shut down even northern Maine for a time. One such November, all the kids that relied on buses, including me, got stuck at school and had to bed down in the gym overnight. A 15-foot-high snowbank rested against our barn and the one-story portion of our farmhouse was completely buried.

I have a picture of one of my dogs sitting on the roof.

Here, on Cape Cod, we usually get a dusting. Or a few inches. And within days, it melts.

That’s the norm. Except, at the end of January, we got a big drop. Up to 17” in some places, we heard. I didn’t measure, here in Dennis Port, except that it was high enough to conspire to trip me as I shoveled skinny paths around the yard, cold sensations from bits of fluffy snow sneaking between the tight grip that my winter boots held around my calves.

I always wonder how the little creatures manage. I can only hope they find a way, with some help from me. I saw the outlines of rabbits clustered around the bird feeders in the dark of night, and the mornings revealed so many footprints, there couldn’t have been an untouched patch of snow anywhere. Even the coyotes left a path where they frequently move through our property.

A large clump of ornamental Japanese grass called Miscanthus, had its uncut stalks bent to the ground by snow so heavy it made a white hump that looked like a tiny igloo. Little holes immediately appeared and I observed tiny birds hopping in and out. Maybe rodents did too but I didn’t stare at the holes long enough to find out.

I don’t cut down any plants in my yard before winter, and this recent snowfall is the perfect example of why seed-bearing plants are better left standing. The masses of the late blooming and ungainly yellow pollinator wildflower called Oenothera biennis or Common Evening Primrose inhabit my yard every year. Their three-to-seven-foot-tall seed-rich stalks are picked clean by finches. Even uncut perennial flowers that tower over the snow are covered with hungry birds. I’ve noticed that crab apples outlast the more favored hawthorn fruits, both visited by squirrels, flocks of robins, and the typical cadre of various backyard birds. Flickers and Downy Woodpeckers poke holes into a thick branch on the hawthorn, apparently finding insects inside.

The hawthorn won’t fare well.

So be it. They need to eat!

Now, you may ask, “Aren’t all these uncut and fruit-covered plants messy”?

I would answer that “messy” is in the eye of the beholder.

It all comes down to what a person values and how much of a neighbor they want to be when the wild population needs them most. For me, there’s no question. I value environmental untidiness that results in food sources for wild things over landscapes that are cleaner than the inside of the house they surround.

Snowfall is a gift when viewed through the eyes of plants. It’s more challenging for birds and mammals.

In northern areas where snow can be six, seven feet or more, animals may find themselves in trouble. I’ve been told that in deep snow, deer stick together in one cleared place, unable to travel, and predators pick them off where they huddle.

Nothing in extremes is particularly welcome. But our snowfall isn’t extreme. Just inconvenient for some.

I am personally thankful for the heavy snow cover that hasn’t yet melted, and that’s for several reasons. First, the front portion of the house I live in dates to 1863. This old half-cape sits atop a 3-brick foundation leaving a space so skinny between the bottom of the house, i.e. our living room floor, and the sand the bricks sit on – last seen 163 years ago – that it can’t be accessed to be insulated.

I did think about buying strawbales to bank the foundation, or hauling seaweed for the same purpose, but I didn’t get around to doing either.

And this is where snow is a blessing. The January storm packed the fluffy stuff against the brick foundation, thereby blocking the typical flow of cold air. I was giddy when I didn’t feel the familiar freezing draft rising through the gaps in the floorboards. And now that frigid days are upon us, I’m more thankful than ever that the snow is staying in place.

That’s the best thing about snow from the point of view of a plant. It’s like a thick blanket that covers the roots and ideally, the tops of plants so that they can live out the winter. So many plants that we use here on the Cape are hardy to USDA planting zone 7b. That means that plants that we can expect to grow from year to year are hardy to 5- 10 degrees Fahrenheit.

We’ve already experienced temperatures of 5 degrees, or less, in parts of the Cape. If it were this cold with no snow cover, many familiar plants would die, like various ornamental grasses, heathers, some perennials, and some warmer-climate trees and shrubs. Because of the snow insulation, there’s a good chance that many of these less-than-hardy plants will defy the winter cold and rise again in spring.

And as for that oft-heard phrase, “snow is the poor man’s fertilizer,” snow may add some nitrogen to the soil, but snow is more useful for insulation and for melt water. It’s far better for the landscape to receive a spring watering from melting snow than a dry spring where the plants get no relief when they are attempting to recover from harsh exposure to winter wind and cold.

I’ll add a quick word for those who will tell me that good lawns will be covered with snow mold in the spring. Snow mold looks like big patches of dead grass and upon closer inspection, you’ll see spider-webby-looking gray threads. Snow cover keeps the lawn moist and dark for an extended period, so this condition is probably going to show up on a lot of lawns. Spraying fungicide in the spring is of no use, so get out there and rake as soon as the snow is gone to get air circulation into the grass blades.

What I most often hear from others is that snow is inconvenient and expensive, or profitable, depending on which side of the plow you are on! I don’t love to shovel snow either, but my shell driveway can’t be plowed. During the first big snowfall I experienced, in Dennis in 1987, a local told me to always shovel as quickly as possible after snowfall because Cape Cod snow gets moist and turns to ice. She was right! I’ve lived by her advice and I typically shovel, often in the dark of night, so the ice never gets a chance to build up in my driveway.

We shouldn’t complain. It could be worse. We could have freezing weather, no snow, and a lot of dead plants to replace in the spring.

So, thank you to nature for giving us this free insulation, free water, and a clean and quiet landscape. At least for a while. Hot days and drought are coming soon enough. I’ll take the snow over drought any day! And I’m pretty sure that if plants could speak, they’d say the same thing.

Shannon Goheen is an intuitive landscape designer who is in love with plants and has been creating art on the land for nearly four decades.  Writing is a lifelong passion, as is singing and playing drums.  She can’t remember trying anything creative that she didn’t like!  You can email her at gardenwriter@verizon.net or follow her on Instagram at @theeveninggowngardener  

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