Vernal Equinox 2023—Adapting to Changes

           It's almost here, and as I watch each morning as the lovely waning crescent moon become ever more slender, I think back and reflect. Six months ago at the Autumnal Equinox I thought about winter and said, "I hope we get lots of rain and snow this winter."  I got my wish, and the thirsty desert will drink deeply as spring melts those near record snows and rivers and streams once again rush through the canyons towards the sea, and some flowing into the Great Salt Lake.
            I know, however, that the drought is not over, just like I know that climate is still drastically changing, and of course I know that for me, the key is attitude adjustment and adaptation. When the reservoirs and lakes again get really full, we'll take out the kayaks and cruise through newly refreshed wetlands and revel in the birdlife and insect life that is rejuvenated.  As the Great Salt Lake comes up a little bit, we'll again kayak there as well, enjoying the salty solitude and dramatic vast vistas that are so unique to it's waters and distant landforms. And we'll hike up to the summer snowfields to feel their coolness and enjoy mountain cascades as the summer comes in and the inevitable heat returns. I might even get a few summer telemark ski turns in this year.
            The wind, however, continues to blow. That's a little harder to adapt to, but it's an inevitable part of the greater changes in climate. The wind has always blown across the lands of our world, but it seems to me that it's become a bit more incessant in recent years. It seems that absolutely calm, windless periods of time are getting shorter and shorter.  So again, I am adapting. On breezy days I carry with me my small, trusty kite and fly it overhead.  And recently, we bought an intermediate kiteboard kite so that we can harness some of the windy days, and with luck, tackle the learning curve and try a little kite skiing in winter, and a little kite sailing in summer.  We'll see how that goes!!!
            Of course, we always carry our small sails on our ocean kayaks, and always harness the winds on water when they are not too strong. When they get fiercer, we linger beside the lakes and listen to the cacophony of waves as they polish the stones and deposit new sands to the shores.
            So on this Vernal Equinox I'll stand outside on a the first new moon morning of spring and say, "I hope the summer is not too hot, not too windy, and that we get some gentle showers and some rainbows and some beautiful but not too violent thunderstorms.  I hope . . ."  But I know that there's a chance that we'll catapult from a cold, chilly, wet spring into a hot, windy, dusty, dry summer.  And I'll adapt again—I'll seek shade and wake early each day to revel in the coolness of dawn and remember the snows of an amazing winter.