Do you need a warm, loving hug?
I’ve got something for you.
I read
’s book Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times in the winter of 2020. It was one of those books that presented itself to me at exactly the right time.Today, the book feels as relevant as ever.
A lot has changed since I first read it, yet I feel much the same today as I did then. As I’ve been contemplating the idea of wintering, I revisited an essay I wrote about it after first reading the book. To underline the persistent relevance of wintering — both the book and the practice — I’ve reworked some of my previous thoughts and am sharing them with you today. I think we could all use some of Katherine May’s perspectives this winter.
But first: a winter story. This Halloween, as last year’s Halloween, we in Minneapolis saw our first traces of snow. It’s impossible to experience snow on Halloween in Minnesota and not reminisce about the famous Halloween blizzard of 1991.1 That night, 8.2 inches had accumulated in the Twin Cities. By the end of the blizzard, another 20 inches had fallen.
My memory of this historic blizzard? Enchantment. But I was a kid who got to wade through shoulder-high snowbanks in my aquamarine snow pants; I was not an adult who had to shovel her way out of the house or unbury the car. I didn’t have to figure out the mechanics of trick-or-treating.
Soon, snow was no longer a merrymaker for me. As my responsibilities grew, I began to see snow and first think about the conditions of the roads and whether I had to drive anywhere. I saw below-zero temperatures and wondered if I’d need to move my houseplants further from the windows. For many years, the beauty of winter was lost on me. But then I had children and witnessed the fireworks in their eyes as they watched snow blanket the streets.
How could I forget about snow? Why did I let the mundanities of life — shoveling, salting the walkway, heating the house — dampen the absolute miracle that is millions of individual sparkly snowflakes?
Winter is magical. I’d forgotten, but Katherine May hasn’t.
“When it’s really cold, the snow makes a lovely noise underfoot, and it’s like the air is full of stars.”
In Wintering, May talks about snow and cold and darkness as the time to rest, rejuvenate, and nurture ourselves. She uses this type of winter as a perfect metaphor for the other winters she speaks of; the personal winters, or seasons of difficulty in which we must nurture ourselves and our souls to come out better than we were upon entering them. Sometimes these winters are in the summer. Other times, like in 2020, they begin in March and last for an unforeseeable number of months.
We may be stepping foot into a collective winter right now.
But:
“Wintering brings about some of the most profound and insightful moments of our human experience, and wisdom resides in those who have wintered.”
This season is a time to welcome our hardships and give ourselves the space we need to get to the other side. She talks about the transformation trees in northern climates undergo during the cold months: “The changes that take place in winter are a kind of alchemy, an enchantment performed by ordinary creatures to survive.”
Like trees do during the cold months, now is a time for us to transform. We as a whole need to hunker down and heal. And when we’re ready to emerge, we must do so slowly. “We must test the air and be ready to shrink back into safety when blasted by unseasonal winds; we must gradually unfurl our new leaves. There will still be the debris of a long, disordered season. These are the moments when we have to find the most grace: when we come to atone for the worst ravages of our conduct in darker times, when we have to tell truths that we’d rather ignore,” May says.
Books will help, too.2
“Winter is a time for libraries, the muffled quiet of bookstacks and the scent of pages and dust.”
Throughout Wintering, May delights in the season we in the northern hemisphere are entering currently. She resuscitates the childlike merrymaking of the 1991 Halloween blizzard, and over and over again, she applies the practices of making it through a cold, snowy winter to the concept of wintering through hard times.
I received a holiday card when I was first reading Wintering. I loved the quote on it so much that I framed it and I keep it safely wrapped with my Christmas decorations. I pulled it out this week and displayed on a shelf for the fourth year in a row.
“Kindness is like snow,” the card reads. “It beautifies everything it covers.” This quote by Kahlil Gibran demonstrates the specific beauty we can find in winter; a beauty we can also access when we let ourselves transform.
This winter, I intend to let the darkness magnify the beauty all around me. Because, despite all odds, there is beauty. There is joy. Let’s seek it out and share it with one another. It’s the most powerful thing we can do.
Hugs,
What are you reading? Have you read Wintering? Did you think it’s as transformative as I did?
What I’m reading: Kate & Frida by Kim Fay
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Do any Minnesotans want to share their memories of the blizzard? It’s such a joy to hear about everyone’s different experiences with all that snow.
Thank you. With immense gratitude, thank you. This was much needed today.
Thanks for this, Kolina. This might be the year I re-read Wintering. I, too, found it to be such a transformative read. I'm embracing slower, quieter days right now. Would welcome the beauty of snow. 💜