Wintering. I came across this word for the first time today in a book I’m reading, The Spacious Path. The author quoted another work that I think I want to read, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May. In an interview with Krista Tippett, she described the book like this:

May describes the significance of wintering both in terms of the rhythm of the meteorological seasons and also the seasons of life. Many creatures hibernate, storing up food. Readers often store up books and find the early sunsets and long evening hours conducive to working through their To Be Read stacks. In cold climates, winter kills off some of the insect population. The processes of dormancy are crucial for both animals and plants–think of all those flowering bulbs!

There is evidence that people need some dormancy as well. Some experts suggest that rather than fight the urge to get extra sleep, we follow it–strengthening our immune systems and catching up from sleep deficits. In a variety of ways, winter can be about rest and slowing down. After cleaning out gardens, fall feedings, composting, and mulching, gardeners use the winter to sharpen and clean tools, to read their garden journals–what did well and what did not and why, and then plan for next year. There is the fun of going through seed catalogues, starting seeds under light, growing in cold frames and getting ready for the right planting time.

Winter is a reminder of our need for healthy rhythms of work and rest. In this, and so many ways, we try to circumvent those rhythms. I know many snowbirds who go south for winter. I won’t criticize that choice but I love the slower rhythms, the respite from outdoor chores (other than shoveling snow!) and watching the world around me both go into dormancy with the beautiful fall colors, and the emergence of renewed life in the riotous burst of spring.

May writes of wintering as a metaphor as well, of the dark seasons we face in life. In the quote above, she mentions the sudden illness that hit her husband, a burst appendix, that was followed by intestinal problems of her own, diagnosed as Crohn’s disease, and then severe emotional problems with her son. May describes winter in this way, as she reads from her book during the Tippett interview:

“It’s a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment, for putting your house in order. Doing these deeply unfashionable things — slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting — is a radical act now, but it’s essential. ”

The book describes how her family allowed itself to winter in these ways to heal, regroup, and get their son the help he needed. They homeschooled. She describes winter as “not the death of the lifecycle, but its crucible.”

It makes me think about “winter experiences” in our lives. There was no way to get out of them, much as we wished. No way to hop on a plane to warmer climes. Growth seemed to come as we accepted that there was no other way than to go through, to allow the season to do its work on us.

May’s book came out in February of 2020, on the eve of the “long winter” of the pandemic, and for many readers she helped them make sense of what was happening and how they might respond. I think of some of the things we learned:

• Better self care, rest, food, exercise.
• We learned to treasure close relationships
• We leaned more deeply into our faith.
• I discovered the joy of losing myself in Louise Penny’s Gamache books!
• We gave more thought to “the nest” and deferred remodeling projects

I can’t think of any of these things I would want to stop–the winter was precious, even as it was hard. While I’m glad we have moved into a different season, I do not want to forget. Nor do I want to make light of the traumas, both physical and emotional, that the pandemic created for others. While we are eager to move on. It is important to remember those for whom it is still winter and allow them the rest and retreat they need.

I’ve grown up with winters all my life and I recognize the rhythms they bring, and the unique joys as well–the animal tracks in the snow, the bright sun after wintry greys, the crisp cold of some days that make one feel uniquely alive with the tingle of the cold on our cheeks. But perhaps it has become ho-hum and the word “wintering” makes me think afresh both of this season in the year but the “wintering” times of our lives.

And like the reader I am, I think I may get that book…