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Over my now-into-middle-age lifetime, I've known a number of people who were fearful of storms. Some feared summer storms, with their thunder, lightning, high winds, and prospects for a tornado. Others dreaded winter storms, the wind-driven snow, impassable roads, and being temporarily "marooned" until plow, shovel and snowblower freed them, and normal daily life returned.

And then there are those who actually look forward to stormy weather, who pay close attention to the weather gurus on radio and television, and have "weather.com" marked as an Internet "favorite" on their computers.

It may seem perverse, for there is always the risk that a storm will bring harm to property, and even to life and limb. We've all seen the devastation of high winds and tornadoes, and the deathly results of ice-covered roads. Our awareness is even greater in an age when anyone with a cell phone or smart phone can become part of the weather news cycle.

But there is another side to the story, one that can be appreciated when warning-worthy weather stops short of doing bodily harm or property damage. As a person whose interests tend strongly toward Nature, I've always found storms to be a demonstration of Nature's power, something that deserves to be respected, but not necessarily feared.

As it is with me, I think this may be the more likely view for those with keen outdoor interests, who are at home on a lake, or wading a river, in the woods searching for morel mushrooms, or plowing through a rim of cattails surrounding a slough in the hope of flushing a pheasant.

It might have to do with greater exposure to the unpredictability, and the harsher realities of Nature; the growth, flowering and decay of plant life, and the sometimes-grim evidence of the mortality of wildlife. Acceptance of Nature's changeable ways may also be easier for those who themselves are part of the cycle, in the role of angler or hunter.

With an understanding of the cycles of nature, a person can appreciate the benefits that can come from severe weather events. Events like an extremely heavy rain, which can also flush silt and sediment out of a river or stream, making it more likely that the eggs of spawning fish will survive to hatch and grow.[[In-content Ad]]

Or the high wind that knocks down an aging aspen tree before it can die of old age, allowing it to regenerate suckers from its root system, a cloned rebirth of a tree species very important in the life cycle of ruffed grouse, whitetail deer, songbirds and other wildlife that thrive in a young northern forest.

Knowing that something good can come from seemingly damaging or harmful events and phenomena, gives perspective - even a sense of comfort - to those who are attuned to Nature's harmonies. As the saying goes, "It's an ill wind that blows no good."

Anticipating the snowstorm that was promised to arrive last weekend, I had filled the bird feeders, parked one of the cars in our single-stall garage, and made sure there was a shovel by the back door, to make it easier to get to the garage and the snowblower, if the predictions came true. Far from wishing that we were snowbirds in a land of sun and balmy temperatures, my wife and I were hoping the snow predictions were on target.

I expected to wake to a fresh blanket of white, and it was a letdown to pull back the curtain at 6:30 a.m. and see in the growing dawn light the same dark outlines of street and driveway, sidewalk and lawn. Another winter storm had apparently missed us! Instead, a light dusting of powdery fluff began drifting down and blowing about, but it was a deception that soon ended.

The neighborhood wildlife must have been deceived into expecting a winter storm, too, for not long into the morning, the nuthatches, woodpeckers, finches, robins and waxwings began to gather, grabbing chunks of high-energy suet, or opening beaks wide to down a withered crabapple from the many that remain on our trees.

Gray squirrels, too, were sitting on their haunches on tree limbs, holding an apple in their "hands" to dine in a more mannerly fashion than the birds. Other squirrels were digging in the thin layer of snow as if looking for something they might have buried, mostly without success. One was seen with its mouth full of pine needles and leaf litter, perhaps preparing its nest for the spring birth of its blind, hairless babies. Maybe they all felt better about the winter storm's near-miss then my wife and I did.

You've no doubt hear the expression "It's not rocket science," describing something that shouldn't be that difficult to figure out. Apparently weather prediction IS rocket science, and most of the its practitioners have a long way to go before they have it mastered!

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