Katherine May Archives - Bob on Books

Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, Katherine May. New York: Riverhead Books, 2020.

Summary: A memoir exploring the importance of winters in our lives and the importance of the inward turn and care for ourselves in such seasons.

In the autumn of a recent year, in rapid succession, Katherine May’s husband faced a long recovery from a burst appendix. As he recovered, Katherine got sicker with worrisome intestinal symptoms of her own. Meanwhile, her son’s struggles with school became so severe that he refused to attend. With all this, Katherine gave her notice at her teaching job. She realized this was a time of wintering, not only as autumn turned to winter, but a winter of difficulties settled into their lives. Out of this experience, as well as a formative earlier “wintering” experience of depression at seventeen, she wrote this book, arguing it is not only our physical world that needs winter but that wintering can be formative in our lives:

“Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season in which the world takes on a sparse beauty and even the pavements sparkle. It’s a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishments, for putting your house in order” (p. 14).

May’s book was published February of 2020, when many of us were facing the long winter of the COVID pandemic. Her book gave words to the inchoate experience of many trying to understand what had been happening and could happen in their lives during these experiences. The book traverses seven months from September through late March. The struggles leading to this onset of “winter”, the forced rest of her condition, the re-centering of life around home, including cooking to occupy the hands as well as to eat. She realizes the tension she has lived under that may be coming out in her body. She has time for books waiting to have been read. She rediscovers sleep and even the first and second sleeps with an hour or so of wakefulness between, the longer hours of sleep in winter, mimicking the hibernation of other creatures

She also discovers the life of winter. She takes saunas as part of a cruise to Iceland. She delves into the pagan festival of Samhain, at Halloween, this liminal moment between light and darkness, living and dying. With the turn to November, Samhain gives way to Cailleach, the hag deity who freezes the ground until Brighde takes over in spring. In all this she becomes newly aware of life’s cyclical character–the dropping of leaves and the buds already present for the new year. She celebrates Saint Lucy and the lighting of candles in a Swedish church. She rises early to watch the winter solstice sun rise at Stonehenge and considers the earthward religion Christianity replaced and develops both practices religious and secular to mark a pagan counterpart to Christmastide. January takes them to Norway and the northern lights. She considers the significance of wolves in nature and literature, including Lewis’s Narnia Chronicles. She describes the powerful effect of swimming in cold water with friends, even for three minutes. And as spring emerges she draws lessons from observing the merger of two colonies of bees in a hive when the queen of one is dying. She describes the re-emergence of her lost voice and her ability to sing once more under the care of a voice teacher. She speaks of how wrong it is to tie singing to talent:

“The right to sing is an absolute, regardless o how it sounds to the outside world. We sing because we must. We sing because it fills our lungs with nourishing air, and lets our hearts sour with the notes we let out” (p. 228).

May faced the onslaught of winter. Her encouragement is not to evade winter but learn from it. Take time to query our unhappiness. Slow down to take care of oneself with sleep and food and fresh air. Learn from winter in the world about us. Discover the richness in winter.

There is much of beauty in this book. I also found it a striking reflection of a turn from Christian faith while retaining its language of retreat and rest. The author recognizes what Christian spiritual directors have long known of how the liminal space of spiritual winters refine and renew, a knowledge I find many Christians trying to evade. I cannot commend the turn to pagan gods and rituals but the recognition of seasons and the importance of the practices that remind us of the story in which we live is worth reflection. For those who come across this book post-pandemic, it may offer language to reflect upon that winter in our lives. Winter comes to all of us, for many of us multiple times. Will we be spiritual “snowbirds” who flee it or will we lean into its lessons, bundle up, and grow resilient?

A wintry night around Christmas of 2022 shot from my front step. © Robert C. Trube

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:

I wanted to make it really clear that, although a lot of Wintering is about my love of winter and my affection for the cold and even the dark, that wintering is a metaphor for those phases in our life when we feel frozen out or unable to make the next step, and that that can come at any time, in any season, in any weather, that it has nothing to do with the physical cold. So it was very useful from a narrative point of view to be able to start with what indeed happened, which was, on an unseasonably sunny day in September, just before my 40th birthday, when my husband fell very suddenly ill.

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…