It feels like April has flown by. I can’t believe we’re midway through spring already.
I see winter as a quieter, more restful time. I’ve had friends in warmer locales joke that we must hibernate because it’s so cold. Of course that’s not true—there’s still a ton to do. My spouse and I often go snowshoeing or do the First Day Hikes on New Year’s Day at the State Parks. I’ll go to museums or take art classes or we’ll have game nights with friends. We don’t hibernate, but our activities go along with the quieter, calmer rhythm of the winter, with the dark and the cold and the snow.
It’s a resting season.
This First Day hike happened after a snowstorm and driving into the park felt like driving into Narnia. It was magical.
That feeling was disrupted a few years ago when in we were wildly warm and dry. Winter activities were canceled due to lack of snow and ice, and I could do my daily walks wearing a lighter jacket and without any spikes on my shoes. But the winter also felt duller and darker, because there was no blanket of snow to reflect back the late winter light. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources called it the “Lost Winter.”
After that winter, getting into the spring season was difficult. Everything felt off. Like the world was askew.
This year it feels like we skipped from November to March. This winter was snowy and cold and it felt like winter—except we didn’t get that winter rest.
ICE’s activity interrupted everything, including the most minor routines of daily life. Events and activities were canceled due to safety concerns, and I kept our blinds closed, missing out on the bright sunlight glinting off the snow. When we met with friends, the conversations were staunchly centered around politics. This winter was protesting and keeping up with the news and shivering candlelight vigils and walking with whistles and waving at parents keeping guard by the school.
It was winter, but there was no rest.
This marsh is definitely resting under that blanket of snow.