I’m back at my writing desk today, after more than a week away. My husband and I went to visit family in Florida for the Thanksgiving holiday, and coming back made me feel I’d missed a step somewhere. We left on a warmish autumn day with leaves still falling from the trees and piling up in the gutters. We returned to winter. Not that the temperatures have been unbearably cold, but the trees are all bare and the sky has the low-hanging gunmetal colored clouds that make me think of snow.
For some reason, the most important thing I could think of to do on my first day back was to wash the windows. We recently had the house painted, and the windows were filthy as a result of all the scraping and sanding that entailed. Tuesday turned out to be quite warm and I thought I’d better seize what my last chance to work comfortably with the windows open. Washing windows is one of those chores I hate to do, but love to have done. It gets done only once or twice a year, usually in late fall. Something about facing the prospect of a whole winter looking out through dirty windows just bugs me. I think it has something to do with the look of the bare trees and empty garden. The coming of winter makes me want clarity wherever possible.
I’m very happy to move indoors for the season. I’ve already written about how glad I am to take a break from the garden at the end of a busy season. It isn’t just about stopping the hard work of managing a large collection of flowers and vegetables. I actually enjoy the dark and quiet evenings of the deep winter. I have an ample supply of firewood and every intention of using it to the hilt. I’ve laid in a good supply of candles, cozy blankets and soft pillows for the sofas and chairs. Even better, I have a stack of books that I look forward to reading. I’ve just become infatuated with two novelists who are new to me, and I happily anticipate spending the winter catching up on the works of Guy Gavriel Kay (Tigana, The Lions of Al Rassan) and Lian Hearn (Tales of the Otori).
And then there are the pleasures of winter food. Soups and stews, roasts and root vegetables. I love all those slow-cooked dishes that take hours of simmering on the stove. And this is absolutely the best time of year to bake, since the heat of the stove in the kitchen is so welcome. In summer, when I can’t face the thought of heating up the kitchen, all we eat are quick pastas and salads. Now I’m craving rye bread, baked butternut squash, roasted lamb, and coq au vin.
All through December, I revel in all the coziness of winter life. The winter holidays bring so much outward-looking excitement along with the quiet introspection that comes with the long nights. My pagan little heart loves all the ritual of tree and lights and Yule log. Isn’t it wonderful that we bring the wildness of mistletoe, evergreens and holly berries inside the house? Best of all is sharing a cup of cheer with good friends. Even though it gets hectic juggling activities and events, I wouldn’t miss any of it. Besides, soon enough will come February, when any one of us would kill to go to a party and the bare ground is starting to look sad instead of restful.
