The mild winter of 2023-2024 brought very little snow to Wisconsin. We watched the weather for months, waiting for more snow to fall but it never did. Last year we arrived in Washburn after Memorial Day and there were still patches of snow in the deep shade of the woods. This year we headed up April 1.
So far as I have been able to discover, there is only one Wisconsin state park that opens this early and as luck would have it, it's right where we wanted to be to visit some friends. We headed north from [Ferne Clyffe](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2024/03/illinois-cliffs), stopped off for a night in Rockford, and made it up to Hartman Creek State Park the day it opened.
The forecast called for some rain that afternoon, but on the drive in I hit a few snow flurries and the temperature dropped to unpleasant levels for driving the bus (the heater in the bus has never worked). The last few miles the "rain" alternated between sleet and snow, and by the time we pulled into camp it was steady snow.
This was only the second time we've hit snow in our travels, though we've had plenty of days at or below freezing. But none of us were ready for ten inches of snow, which is what we got at Hartman Creek. The snow didn't let up much in the night and was back at the next morning, continuing all through the day.
We had the campground to ourselves. Two other people had brought out their rigs, but they seemed to be locals claiming a spot. They left their rigs and went (I assume) home. It was just us and the snow.
I forgot how utter silent the world is when it snows. Even the simple act of walking seems an unforgivable intrusion on the silence.
I have no way to photograph it, but we put the snow under the loupes to see the fractal patterns, the tiny geometric order scattered about in the chaos of wind, often blowing out of my hand before I could even focus on it.
The heavy wet snows of spring never last long.Gloriously clear, much warmer, days came sweeping though just days later.
Once again we'd reset the seasonal clock, the trees still bare, buds present, but tightly sealed up yet.
It was time to keep moving north. We had one final drive, to Washburn, where we'd once again spend the summer. We packed up, said see you later to our friends, and headed on down the road, ever northward.
This was only the second time we've hit snow in our travels, though we've had plenty of days at or below freezing. But none of us were ready for ten inches of snow, which is what we got at Hartman Creek. The snow didn't let up much in the night and was back at the next morning, continuing all through the day.
We had the campground to ourselves. Two other people had brought out their rigs, but they seemed to be locals claiming a spot. They left their rigs and went (I assume) home. It was just us and the snow.
I forgot how utter silent the world is when it snows. Even the simple act of walking seems an unforgivable intrusion on the silence.
I have no way to photograph it, but we put the snow under the loupes to see the fractal patterns, the tiny geometric order scattered about in the chaos of wind, often blowing out of my hand before I could even focus on it.
The heavy wet snows of spring never last long.Gloriously clear, much warmer, days came sweeping though just days later.
Once again we'd reset the seasonal clock, the trees still bare, buds present, but tightly sealed up yet.
It was time to keep moving north. We had one final drive, to Washburn, where we'd once again spend the summer. We packed up, said see you later to our friends, and headed on down the road, ever northward.