I have always been a daughter of the sun. I love the sunlight, and have always taken full advantage of the long days of summer. Being a gardener, I celebrate the return of longer spring days and warmer weather after a long, bleak winter. Once the bustle, charm, and stress of the Yule season is over, a long winter looms here in the Midwest. The cold sharpens and settles in, with random periods of 50 degree weather that make you long for an early spring.
But this year I am learning to love the long nights and the beauty of the cold darkness as well. I see more of it, and am growing to appreciate it.
I get off work shortly after the sun rises, and the whole, diminutive winter day stretches out before me. I hurry to do the animal chores, both to beat the chill and the march of the short daylight. If the day is extra cold, its good to bake, being sure to make enough to share with the elderly neighbors. My freezer is full of apples from the neighbor’s trees, raspberries from our canes, and pumpkins that grew on the edge of our field. Friends, an overflowing freezer, and the cold are excuses enough to bake sugary, stodgy treats that we would never eat when there are fresh raspberries on the bushes. But an apple pie, some bread pudding, or rich pumpkin muffins slathered in butter or cream cheese seem like perfect January foods to share.
While out, surrounded by the colors of winter- the toasty golds of cornstalks in the snow, rich greens of fir trees, the pale, watery blue of a clear sky, the snow glitters, and stray breezes lift and throw the glitter through the air. The mornings are mauve, pale pink, and full of pastels that linger. Shadows are indigo, and feel colder, somehow, than the gray summertime shadows.
Back home, the house greets me with the ghost of spices in the air, and a still-warm oven open to heat the kitchen to toasty snugness. I peel off my snow pants and jacket, and feel like it is just a little too warm. Such is the decadence to be enjoyed during the short days, cooking, doing family things, going out and coming home again.
Toward evening, the tub gets filled with hot, hot, hot water, soaking salts and fragrant bath oil. The temperature is just right if I have to hiss as I put my cold toes into the bath. I soak in the heat and watch the light leave the sky from the large bathroom window. Warm, inside and out, its time for bed. In the summer, I have to go to sleep in the daylight, but this time of year I can wait until twilight, and go to sleep with the sun. My whole sleep takes place in darkness. My bed is cool, and quickly grows warm and cozy until my sleep feels luxurious and rich, like a buttery soup.
Its time to wake up at midnight, and the night is brittle and cold, often with glittery stars shining. This far from the city, there is minimal light pollution, so the sky is broad and bright. If the moon is out, a person could easily walk this little village with no other light source than the moonlight reflected on the snow. In the car, I alternate between freezing and being too hot, because I don’t want to turn off the heat once it kicks in. By the time I get to work, the heater is going full blast, and my window is down. My cheek is cold, but my feet are warm, warm, warm.
Driving through the area at night, there is plenty of time to let my mind wander. I imagine all the gardens, asleep, with snow blankets, and the soil below rejuvenating with its rest. The decomposers and the frost working slowly, methodically, to make nutrients available to the plants that will start to grow in a few weeks. I take my seed catalogs with me, and think about the tomatoes, green beans and asparagus that will be. I circle seed numbers, and like my garden, dream of the spring that will come, while relishing the cold, bright, night.