Come Sit By My Fire

In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts whose windows and door are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends. ~Henry David Thoreau~

Old Man Winter, a bit of a johnny-come-lately, has lumbered in with a brusque peck on reddened cheeks and settled in comfortably with jarring cold to paint the skies in awe-full wonders at sunrise and sunset. As my trusty wheelbarrow and I keep the woodpile replenished, I’m reminded of another quote by Thoreau that talks about firewood warming you twice. The other morning, I looked across the field to see if my neighbour had hung out laundry in this biting cold (because I figured she would be more adept at assessing these things than I) and, lo and behold, there was a line of diapers waving surrender to the deep freeze. I proceeded to hang out some sheets to the same fate (it appears freeze drying really is a thing). Less romantic is the task of thawing the water pipes at four in the morning (ask my husband – I admit I was snug in bed).

A recent Saturday evening, in the midst of Old Man Winter’s attempt at bluster, had us gathered around the dinner table to revel in the the delights of shared conversation and laughter, good food and warm hearts, and the gift of old, old friends. With raised glassed, we toasted a friendship that is long, seasoned, and rich in history and story. There has been much light, and there has been shadow, there has been wine ever-flowing and M&Ms a’thrown, but always, always there has been a knowing that, come what may, this friendship will be a mainstay. Our paths as a group don’t cross often, but we have intentionally made a point of intersecting our lives a time or two a year.

Then there was that cold afternoon that found me curled up in an overstuffed easy chair across from another old, old friend in her cozy library nook. Cups of tea and bowls of popcorn were at hand, as we reminisced, reflected, and laughed and laughed at our shenanigans in days of yore. We talked art and repurposing among other things and drew inspiration from encouraging each other in our various projects as we sat in the company of shelves and shelves of books.

And then too, there is this old, stone farmhouse with the cookstove at its heart, pumping warmth into its old bones and keeping us gathered in the kitchen. Most days our farming sons have their lunch out in the office, but for various reasons they ended up in here the other day. The fridge was raided for leftovers, and they sat at the table eating and giggling over some video on a phone. Grandbabies were underfoot and toys were strewn about. After school our granddaughter joined the fray and whistled absently as she worked on a puzzle with her aunt. At the other end of the table, crocheted bunny parts were being pieced and stitched together. I took it all in as I tried to ease the chill from my back at my usual perch next to the fire, and I saw that it was good.

On New Year’s Eve, my guy and I finally felt the breathing space that comes after the harvest and the Christmas season, and we settled in with a celebratory dinner of spaghetti and meatballs and started a Netflix binge fest (“This Is Us” for those of you wondering). As the weeks of this new year have gone on, we’ve found slots of time, made popcorn, eaten clementines and leftover Christmas cookies, and watched the drama and dynamics of our show family unfold, grateful for the change of pace that Winter offers.

Winter in our neck of the woods makes us insular as we bundle up, adding layers to ourselves. It is a time when we need to take special care of the very old and the very young in our midst as well as the commuters navigating the snowy roads with us. It is a time to remember that the long darkness can add to despair. It can also be a time to burrow down and linger in the darkness, a time to light a candle, a time to relish the isolation and wrap our hands around another hot drink while losing yourself in the pages of a book. Like the dormant fields and hydrangeas outside my window, we can rest and wait and hurry less. Winter also beckons us to open our doors and invite others in from the cold, laying aside their wraps, to gather around our tables and our fires, to share our meals, our cups of tea, and our warm spaces. There is an intimacy to these winter gatherings with the wind howling and the snow swirling outside that is sweet and sacred. Old Man Winter, put your feet up and stay awhile. Tell us your stories. Because soon enough the sap will be dripping…

In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts whose windows and door are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends. ~Henry David Thoreau~