What I like about winter in MN

"That'll be a short blog," Tim commented upon hearing this title.

 Actually, I have a number of things I like about winter.

First, no weeding.  In fact, no garden work at all.  I am not nearly as excited about Year 2 of homesteading as I was about Year 1 because I've earned some humility to go with my ignorance.  As long as the weather stays below zero, I tell myself I can be in denial about spring.  Above zero, thinking begins.  Above freezing, working begins.  So, I'm savoring my last subzero days for all I'm worth.  I am perhaps the only Minnesotan praying, albeit under my breath, for below average temperatures through March.

Second, sleep.  We have an eastern exposure in our bedroom which makes waking up to beautiful sunrises a pleasure.  Except in high summer when those sunrises come at say 4:30 a.m.  Preceded by enthusiastic crowing an hour before that.  Also, we have a skylight strategically located above our bed.  Again lovely in theory.  In practice, I'm only in my room while I'm sleeping or trying to sleep with sunshine beating on my eyelids.  Winter, however, is great.  Not only does the sun rise and set at conducive hours, the skylight is encrusted with snow, further setting the mood. 

Third, rest.  Tim first approached me about moving two years ago last week and I'd pretty much been in hyper-drive thereafter.  I started feeling my exhaustion last October, began thinking about slowing down in November, applied the brakes in December, and came to a full stop on Day 3 of my stay-cation in January.  I know the kids have chafed from too many cancelled plans, too many snowed in days, too much togetherness, but, dang, have I ever been grateful.  After feeling deeply relieved when my plans for the day were snowed or chilled out over and over, I began to perceive that I've been trying to create a sustainable lifestyle in a most unsustainable manner.  As my friend Megan pointed out, frenzy is not a true path to peace.  This winter insisted that I hold my plans loosely and be prepared to come to a halt.  I hope that I can remain more peaceful when I'm not being snowed and frozen in.

Fourth, physical labor.  Hiking up and down my driveway, I no longer have to stop part way up for a break.  I may be panting but I'm stronger.  Who needs a personal trainer when one has The Hill?

Fifth, leisure.  Movies on the big screen.  Popcorn.  Whole tv series on Netflix.  Long discussions about said series.  Novels.  Doing art.  Blogging.  Talking.  Story telling.  Entertaining.  Eating out.  Snuggling under blankets.  Eating hearty soups and fatty treats.  Aren't dark, cold nights wonderful for indulging one's fancies?  And with our environment being so hostile and unrelenting, don't we feel righteous in some indulgence?

Sixth, gratuitous learning.  I love learning.  I've been on a practical kick the last two years, reading hundreds of books and websites on various homesteading topics.  I was like a kid in a whole new candy shop and I'll blog about what we've learned in Year 1 later.  Loved do-it-yourself stuff for a change but I've hit my saturation point with practicality.  This winter, I've really enjoyed getting back to learning for its own sake.  CD's on How to Listen to Great Music.  DVD's on The History of European Art.  Astronomy.  Geography contests.  Middle Ages literature.  Learning about cathedrals and stars and madrigals is pure pleasure.  I don't have to do a single thing with any of it but follow my interest and indulge my curiosity.  I don't have to make a plan to shelter it, figure out how to finance it, or get uncomfortable to manage it.  Heck, I don't have to do anything but learn.  What a treat.

Seventh, bracing breeze.  I do like a good breeze and am particularly fond of stiff, cold ones despite how uncomfortable they can be.  Idiosyncratic quirk.

Eighth, quiet.

Ninth, beauty.  I walk down the driveway with Tim at 5:40 a.m. several times per week to go walking with my neighbors. Wow.  The full moon beaming like a spot light, casting blue shadows on the expanse of snow.  The white moon through blackness of bare branches.  So still.  The landscape so open the limited light reflects and bounces everywhere.  On the mornings when there is no moon, the stars show brighter in the deeper dark.  Big Dipper.  Orion.  Cassiopeia.  Pleiades.  Milky Way.  The moon over the corn field glinting off the snow- some patches shiny with ice, others dull with drifts.  Then there was the morning the crescent moon and Venus rose together in the middle of a breath-taking pink sunrise.  Wow.

Tenth, limits.  The more it snows, the more work we have to do on the driveway and the less we can drive elsewhere.  The more extreme the day, the more water refills the chickens need, the harder it is to psyche ourselves up to go out there at all, and the more important it is that we do.  The longer it has been frigid, the more I enjoy those isolated warm days to get out, do chores, and take walks.  The colder the air, the brighter, clearer, and twinklier the stars are.  The twinklier the stars, the more I want to linger and the less time I can tolerate outside.  This delightful push and pull, supply and demand, limited resources becoming more valuable intrigues me.  I have a hard time respecting my limits as I'd always like to have and do a little more.  But Minnesota winters don't care about what I like and they don't negotiate.  I can't always get out of my driveway so I appreciate when I can and revel in a good snow day when I can't.  My plans fall through so I enjoy the miracle of the ones that come together and learn from the relief of the ones that don't.  I never get my fill of star gazing so I always look.

The end of deep winter is coming soon.  I draw strength for this spring and summer and fall by looking ahead to the rest and beauty of next winter.

I'm going to bundle up extra well these upcoming last few cold nights, turn off the lights, breathe deep, and look up for as long as I can.

It'll never be long enough.

Isn't that marvelous?

Uncharitable thoughts

While I've been hiking up and down my driveway in all kinds of unfortunate combinations of cold, wind, and wet over the last several months, I've had many opportunities to regret all the uncharitable thoughts I've ever had about people who complain about the cold winters in Minnesota and especially about those sensible folks who move away to somewhere warm.

Please forgive my lack of charity and good sense.

I've done my penance, I swear.