Image: Nina Bisognani
On Wintering
For years I looked forward to winter and didn’t realize why some others dreaded it so.
I remember going outside for hours on a cold winter day during my preschool years wearing a winter jacket, hand knit woolen mittens and hat and a pair of army green gumboots. The boots had no lining, just thick layers of wool socks. When I came inside my boots were full of snow. My toes and fingers felt frozen. But after warming them up I was fine; ready to go out again the next day.
Then I grew older and less able to tolerate the cold. Making forts and giant snow people was no longer an integral part of a winter day. After a ski accident and resulting knee operation, my doctor told me to stop skiing. Around that time, in my late twenties, I began to notice feeling depressed during November when the air temperature and available light both began to decrease. Winds and rain eventually stripped the trees bare of the last vestiges of faded fall color that still clung to some of the oaks in my yard. My activity level dropped considerably. I was wintering. It wasn’t until late April or early May that I would feel alive again.
What is wintering? For some animals who live outside it is storing food, hibernating, and often hanging on to survival by a thread. For people, wintering can happen at any time of year. It can be a time of darkness and often withdrawal following personal loss: loss of a job, a loved one, even a pet. According to author Katherine May in “Wintering,” p139, “wintering is the active acceptance of sadness…allowing ourselves to feel it as a need…courage to stare down the worst parts and commit to healing them the best we can.”
This year, when the arrival of winter shriveled my soul, I found refuge in a church near where I am staying. The church is where my healing began. I now think of snow as a liminal space, where magic can occur. I watch the cardinals outside my window and listen to their song. Full-throated, from the depths of cold, there is light in the distance.
The grace of God brought me here.
– Nina Bisognani