This summer I found a new trail, not far from my house, that I have been exploring. As summer changed to fall, I was thrilled to encounter the little red squirrels who move so fast, the family of deer that often crossed my path, the glowing yellows and then orange as the trees changed color, and then one day the surprising beauty of a wood bare of all leaves, and the trails coated with a brilliant orange carpet. On a recent visit I encountered a young male deer with beautiful 2 point horns, fluffy at the base. But last time I went hiking there it was cold, and grey, and all the critters were quiet. It felt like being the last one at a party when everyone else had gone to bed. I drove home in the early darkness through grumpy rush hour traffic, and wondered whether I’d be able to keep up those weekly hikes I so looked forward to in winter months.
I’ll be honest with you -- I have skipped several opportunities to go walking on the rhythm I had settled into- too cold in the morning before the sun is fully up, and dark before the work day is over. I’m having trouble transitioning to winter. Part of the reason I’m struggling is because I just can’t make myself follow those routines and goals that were a delight to follow in the summer and into the fall. Wednesday morning, after that big snowstorm that dumped 6 inches on Ithaca, I bundled up in my warmest coat, and took the dogs out for their early morning walk in 20 degree weather over sidewalks covered in that treacherous lumpy ice that forms when snow has melted and refrozen. The dogs got to the end of the block and then started limping and shivering, and I carried them back to the house. I took their coats off, dried their little feet, But I, bundled in my big sleeping bag of a coat and warm boots, wanted more. I headed back out for a winter walk in my downtown neighborhood. There was something enlivening about being out in the snow. The light reflecting from below, even as the sun has barely made it over the hills and was shining only on the top branches of the trees. Everything was still frosted with show, all the tree branches and roofs. Even the songbirds and squirrels seemed to be waiting out the cold snap, but I spotted ducks sleeping on the not yet frozen creek. The walk was a much needed reminder that I DO like walking in winter, it’s just different.
It's like each year at this time I learn all over again how to winter. I slowly remember that we know how to do this, that we and the other beings with which we share our ecosystem know how to do this, and have done it for generations. Gradually I remember what it is that brings us comfort and beauty in this season. Each year I discover the comfort of my super warm coat, and my cozy boots. I remember the pile of books I was planning to read all summer while I was too busy enjoying the sun, and discover anew the joy of a book in my comfy chair, my puffy winter blanket, and a mug of hot tea by my side.
I wonder, what are the things you enjoy most in winter, that bring you comfort or delight?
As we transition to winter, the whole eco system here in the northeast changes dramatically in ways that have required significant adaptation from pretty much every plant and animal who lives here. We have seen the trees preparing for winter all fall, the squirrels hiding their walnuts all over my backyard. Even the ducks, who seem to nap comfortably on the near frozen stream fluff up their feathers to make their own super warm coat. Their feet are specially designed to withstand cold. Not everyone can survive a winter on our latitude, and many beings migrate to a more conducive climate. The many beings who stay here slow down, have some kind of dormancy or hibernation. They remember year to year, generation to generation how to winter. Like the duck who is born with special feet to withstand the cold waters of winter, we too have our own adaptations that not only help us survive the winter, We too know in our DNA how to winter. [i] Our circulatory system knows to shrink our veins, and to protect our core when we get cold. We have a special kind of brown fat that helps you stay warm when it gets cold. [ii] Like the ducks and bears, our bodies participate in the metamorphosis of winter, without our conscious attention.
Just as beavers spend most of winter in the lodge they spent the whole summer building. (They don’t hibernate, but they do spend most of the winter indoors with their family, and often with their muskrat neighbors sharing warmth.[iii]) We too tend to spend more time indoors, and our many traditions, habits and customs help us remember how to winter. Perhaps when we are decking the halls, this is just a fancy human way of preparing our lodge, our den for the quieter indoor season. We deck the halls with the beautiful evergreens that bring their color to the white and grey landscape, from Christmas trees and wreaths, to the green and red holly berries that are just coming into fullness at this time of year. I remember the Christmas of 2020 was the most epic Christmas decorating year ever, an effort to lift our spirits in difficult times. I think if you scratch the surface of most holiday customs, you will find they are built on a wisdom that helps us survive the winter, help us “flourish in lean times.”[iv]
The Advent tradition in Christianity focuses on an inner preparation, reminding us that this is a good season for contemplation.
Stories of mystical stars remind us that as winter trees show their beautiful limbs against the sky, with leaves now turning into mulch around their feet, there is more sky to see, and more hours to enjoy the stars and the moon.
Our holiday gatherings and holiday cards remind us of the importance of reaching out and connecting, remembering especially those who may be lonely, or those who may need help with food insecurity, or houselessness, or just a bit of holiday cheer.
Even school procedures for closing on snow days remind us that some winter days it’s really just best to stay out of your car, but may be a perfect day to put on your snow pants and go sled or make snow angels or snow forts. I love walking through city streets empty of cars feeling the excitement of and wonder of a snow storm.
In oral traditions, there are special stories only told in winter, when we have more hours of that dark dreamtime to share stories, especially epic sagas that need a long winter night for telling.
I’m not saying winter is easy. Anyone who shoveled their sidewalk this past week knows that. Anyone who has one of these winter colds going around knows that. Anyone who struggles with the long nights and grey days which leave so many feeling blue knows that. How much harder for those of us who don’t have a dependable warm place to stay, or sources of food. An important reminds that winter is not something we do alone, but must do in community for all to make it through. Even the beavers know that.
Winter is not an absence of summer, it provides important balance for our eco-systems, and for our spirits. As Author Katherine May writes in her book Wintering: “Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season in which the world takes on a spare beauty and even the pavements sparkle.”
Winter slows us down, whether we like it or not. Sometimes the plans we made in the light and heat of a September day need to be changed when the wisdom of winter begins to settle in. The response of my body to winter is not something I want to fight, but something I try to notice and allow. May writes, “It’s a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment, for putting your house in order.”
In our productivity-oriented culture, having a season that slows us down can be an important balance. In this congregation I generally don’t plan any extra business meetings or classes in December, not only because preparing for the holidays takes time, but also because our bodies move at a different pace when it is cold and dark. If you are like me, all the busyness of the fall has worn me out, and like the bulbs I moved to my basement to give them a couple of months rest so they can bloom again in spring, we cannot bloom in spring without the restorative rest of winter.
Sometimes that quiet, that rest comes unbidden -- when the roads are icy, the internet goes out, we stay home with a cold to keep from infecting our community. But most of the time “wintering” benefits from our conscious attention. In this time of electric lights and 24 hour grocery stores that sell strawberries and asparagus in every season, we could choose to ignore winter, to keep our schedule, our habits, our diets unchanging season to season. So setting an intention to notice winter, to listen to the natural cadence of our body and our ecosystem is a choice that helps us benefit from the wisdom of nature’s rhythms.
Even the birds that brave the snow to come eat at my feeder flit less, sing less, sit still like a statue puffed up in their down coats. They show up to sit in a patch of sun much later in the morning.
Author Sidney Eileen [v] who describes themselves as an “animistic, polytheist witch” notes “Hibernating animals nestle down in their shelters to sleep out the winter, often giving birth during those lean months. The sanctity of darkness provides a nurturing place where life can shelter from inclement weather, and be fully prepared to burst forth when conditions are more favorable.”
This is a powerful image to me, that even in the still, cold winter, new life is entering the world, in the “sanctity of darkness.” We need the protective darkness of the womb, of den and cave. Our spirits need a retreat from noise and crowds, protection from the storm, the privacy and intimacy of those who shelter with us.
We need winter.
As it is with our bodies, so it is in the seasons of our souls. We long to be summer people all the time- full of abundant life growing so thickly it overgrows our lawns, our gardens, our hiking paths. Winter is a necessary reset, paring us down, allowing the new growth of a fresh spring. The same wisdom that helps us survive the cold, quiet season of our ecosystems, can help us with the winter seasons of our soul. Our UU faith honors as one of our sources “Spiritual teachings of earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature.” We find wisdom not only in our human stories and traditions of the season, but in the cycles of life. When we are in seasons of grief, of fear or discouragement, of burn out, we probably don’t have the energy, the drive we have during those sunny seasons where joy and hope are easy. These dark seasons of the soul are a natural part of the cycle of life, and though we wouldn’t choose them, we have an inner wisdom for how to navigate them, and not just our personal wisdom, but the wisdom of community, of our wisdom traditions. Just as we have special alchemy built into our DNA for surviving winter and receiving the gifts of this cold dark season, so our spirits have the power to metamorphosize, and like the critters who birth their young in the dark shelter of winter. But for the metamorphosis to happen, we may we need quiet, time apart, the “sanctity of darkness” for our hearts and spirits to heal and grow. I suspect most of us in this sanctuary have lived through hard times, and you know that those times require a different pace, a different rhythm. And I bet if you think back, you will notice that those hard times transformed us into the people we are today.
There will be time enough to talk about maple syrup, and daffodils, and new lambs emerging just as grass to feed them emerges. But here at the start of winter, let us take this time to simply notice how it is with us, body and spirit, to witness this change of season, to allow the beauty and wisdom of winter to teach and nourish us. Just notice what comfort, what beauty, what wisdom the season of resonates with your spirit, notice what gifts you are able to receive this year in the beauty and challenge of wintering.
Notes:
[i] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/search/research-news/19673/
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/what-are-the-chances/202302/seasonality-in-human-behavior
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK232852/
[ii] https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/body/24015-brown-fat
[iii] https://www.vitalground.org/winter-wildlife-beavers/
[iv] As Katherine May wrote in Wintering: “the full glory of natures’ flourishing in lean times.”
[v] https://www.patheos.com/blogs/agora/author/sidney/
