The snow starting to quietly fall yesterday, as if someone flipped a switch. It arrived without a fanfare
of great winds, a soft gift, and it continued through the day piling about six inches before dinner. I
pulled on boots after dark and headed out to settle animals for the night. Although Paul had cleared the
driveway with our snowblower in the late morning, I had to push my feet through the new snow to get
to the barn. I stood for a moment and watched flakes spin down toward my face from a black, moonless
sky. The entire landscape transformed from dry and brown to completely white. Snowfall creates magic
for Christmas but also a soft white womb for us to climb into as we descend into winter solstice.
Darkness falls by four this time of year. While I enjoy the long, luxurious light of summer, allowing us
to squeeze just a few more minutes of tending into our day, I welcome the dark. Our house illuminated
by candles, we set up a table in the living room and eat by the fire each evening. Because there is no
daylight left, time seems to move more slowly. The cold outside pushes our feet into fleece slippers as
we come in and we hibernate under wool blankets with each night’s sleep. At the time of year where we
stuff our days full of holiday, working hard to organize and control it all, there is something comforting
in giving in to the natural rhythm of things. We put down our pitchforks and shovels and pick up our
books. We invite friends in to share the bounty of our now-distant summer by our candle light.
Darkness encourages introspection and peace. In this spirit, and with apologies to Oscar Hammerstein,
I’d like to share a few of my favorite winter things.
I love Christmas candles in windows. Color irrelevant. As a child, I remember very clearly a sense of
safety when my room was shadowed by a blue bulb atop a white plastic candle, complete with plastic
faux-wax drippings, masking taped to my window sill. If it was a really good year, there would be a
trio of those candles in the window. At my request, my mother allowed the candles to stay lit until
morning and, if I awoke in the middle of the night, I would feel peace from those simple Christmas
decorations.
When the heat of August is over and we’ve had a good frost, I begin putting flannel sheets on all of the
beds in our house. I leave the window open a crack each night and with that, coupled with having our
door shut, the room gets a good chill on. A wonderfully luxurious feeling is to wake up in the dark,
head for the bathroom and then and dive back under the flannel sheets. I press my cold feet against
Paul, causing only slight grumbling, and drift into slumber again for a few more hours.
Holiday music fills our house this time of year. We go old-school with vinyl records and CDs. Our
whole family, separated by airline miles, plays the same music. Jackie Gleason and [the] crooners like
Bing and Frank. At our son Ethan’s wedding a few years ago, the DJ called me up to have a first dance
with him and suddenly one of our favorite Gleason Christmas songs filled the room. I looked at him,
fully teared-up, and simply said, “Damn you Ethan.”
Right before the snow fell, there was a full moon. I find that when there is too much noise inside and
outside my head, if I stop and look up at the winter sky, black as ink, filled with stars and crowned with
the moon crested directly above our house, I am able to find my peace and the peace of the season.
As we rest wrapped in wool, underneath the white lies the promise of things to come. Even though the
memory of planting and gathering is still fresh, I know that each of the bulbs and seeds lying dormant
will be new and different. All I have to do is be patient.
Sending warm wishes for a peaceful solstice and holiday season.