A March Miracle in Big Bear: Snowfall, New Life, and Ancient Wisdom

Over the past day or so, we’ve been gifted 5–7 inches of fresh powder, piling on top of an already promising season total that has crept beyond 40 inches. Not only has the snow enveloped our mountains in a sparkling blanket, but it's also brought with it a renewed sense of hope and magic. In the midst of this storm, miracles are stirring in the forests and skies above our beloved lake.

Many of you know that our resident bald eagles, Jackie and Shadow, have been faithfully tending their nest for years. Yet, for several seasons, they struggled to hatch a third egg. This year—against all odds—that miracle egg has at last appeared. It’s a moment of immense pride and excitement for us locals, and a powerful reminder that nature always finds ways to surprise us when we keep hope alive.

If that weren’t enough cosmic significance, we’re also on the cusp of the Spring Equinox, partnered this year with a stirring New Moon. Growing up in Southern California, I often heard my elders talk about how the cycles of the moon and the seasons guide both animals and people to times of transformation and rebirth. The winter’s final storms often lead into a spring bursting with new life. This year, that change is almost tangible—everything, from the swirling snow to the eagle’s precious egg, seems to carry that message: We are on the brink of renewed energy.

A Lesson from Ancient Footsteps

Big Bear Lake, and the surrounding San Bernardino mountain region, sits on lands once stewarded by Indigenous peoples who held a deep respect for the eagle. In many Native traditions, the eagle is the messenger, carrying our hopes and prayers to the Creator. Eagles are held up as a symbol of resilience and the unbreakable bond between land and sky. The Great Spirit’s messenger now graces us with a third egg—a testament to perseverance and faith.

From my own family’s stories (my ancestors on both sides called rugged landscapes like these home), I learned that a late-season storm could mark nature’s way of cleansing and recharging the earth. The snows that fall right before spring feed our forests and lake, ensuring the coming season bursts with life. My elders taught me to greet these snowflakes with gratitude: each flurry is a promise of water, each snowfall an emblem of renewal.

Between Storm and Sunshine

This year’s remarkable snowfall arrives in tandem with the spiritual energy of the New Moon—a perfect cosmic match for the eagle’s new egg. The New Moon is traditionally a time to plant seeds of intention, trusting they’ll sprout into reality as the moon waxes. Jackie and Shadow’s little egg is no different—a seed of hope, carefully incubated against all odds. Nature, in her wisdom, keeps forging onward, fueled by the quiet power of rebirth.

Standing here in Big Bear, it’s impossible not to feel awe at the swirl of natural wonders unfolding:

• A blanket of fresh snow that transforms the slopes and invites us outdoors.
• Road conditions that remind us how quickly we must adapt when Mother Nature decides to send her storms our way.
• And high in a nest, sheltered among the pines, an eaglet-to-be, full of promise.

Carrying the Story Forward

As a longtime local, I see these events as chapters in the ongoing story of our mountain. In the hustle of modern life, March’s late snows can seem like an inconvenience. But if you pause, listen, and let your heart open to the deeper rhythms, you’ll find that these moments of renewal—a single egg, a quiet snowfall, the hush of a New Moon—carry lessons about patience, hope, and reverence for the natural world.

In Indigenous teachings, we’re told to see everything around us—snow, eagle, moonlight, fresh mountain air—as family, each element deserving respect. This March Miracle is more than just a meteorological fluke; it’s an invitation to reconnect with the land and to cherish the silent wonders that sustain and inspire us.

Whether you’re an adventure-seeker hitting the slopes, a nature lover watching the eagle cam in anticipation, or a dreamer gazing at the moonlit snowdrifts, I encourage you to welcome this miraculous moment with the wonder of a child. See how each flake of snow and every rustle of wind at night might carry a deeper meaning.

For me, this March stands as a milestone: a confluence of snow, new life, and the whispered stories my ancestors passed down. May these blessings guide us into spring with a renewed sense of awe—and remind us that, just like Jackie and Shadow’s third egg, sometimes the greatest miracles wait until just the right time to emerge.