Winter’s Wisdom
February is a tough time to live in Maine. Although it is the shortest month, this year especially it has felt quite the opposite. The high temperature, for most of the month, stayed well below freezing and three back to back snow storms felt like we were swallowed whole by winter. This being my first real winter in seven years, I started to think that it would stay cold and snowy forever. I forgot how warm 40 degrees feels when it has been freezing for so long. I forgot how sweet the songs of birds sound when you haven’t heard them all winter. I forgot how energizing it is to wake up to the sun instead of the dark and for sunset to finally be later than 5pm. So yes, I forgot how tough winter can be but I also forgot how beautiful the slow transitions between seasons is and how the cold dark days allow me to better appreciate the warm sunny ones.
Winter, with all of her wisdom, has told me to slow down. To turn towards community, towards contra dances, spending long hours eating and laughing with folks around the table, towards reading and talking about what I am reading with others, and towards planning for spring and all the busyness it will soon bring. I think too often we’re caught up in trying to be productive all the time. Sometimes we even tie our self worth to our productivity. With what is left of winter I would challenge all of you to slow down, to savor the snow, and to accept that sometimes patience is the best form of action we have.
February on the farm has been all about patience. Waiting for piglets to be born, waiting for the germination chamber to heat up, waiting for the snow to land so that we can shovel it and waiting for the wood stove to heat the house in the early morning. As each day inches us closer to spring I have looked to the animals and plants to see how they are reacting to the unhurried end of winter. The cows simply stare out at me from under their snow sprinkled bangs and wonder what the rush is. There is plenty of water, fresh hay, hills to roam and good company to do it with. The seedlings we have started inside the house look greener than anything I have seen in months and although I cannot see it, every second they are growing into something new. Spring feels like it will change everything and it will, but equally true is that even the changing of the seasons will never shift the things that truly matter. There will always be contra dances to attend, food to grow, good books to read, and friends to share it all with. This winter I am happy to have learned that the sweetness of life does not need to depend on the arrival of spring.
I think the perfect ending to this blog is a poem written by Holly this month.
Wake-Up Call
Dull, dawn came. Dead-grey, the trees,
Land obscured by slump and drape of snow.
The news: unbearable.
What spirit, then, nudged my hand
to undo the lock, take hold
of the handle and turn, until--
with a small gasp--
the winter-cold wood
admitted a draught
of late February air?
And then, what song?
Unseen, the singer. Only the thrill,
spilling through the window,
and I, too unschooled
to know the singer's name,
yet the words were clear:
"Suh-weeet! Suh-weeeeet!"
Oh--gift most rare!
The world is hammer-hard.
The ice still hangs like daggers,
and this is also true:
Countless wonders are moving through.
We may yet witness them.
Oh, life is sweet, sweet, sweet!
Holly Morrison 2/25/2025
