I looked up at my chore list yesterday, and found it … empty.
The sense of relief was overpowering. “Oh my goodness,” I realized, “it’s finally winter.”
After a blitzkrieg season of harvest, and preparing everything in and on the grounds for winter, planting plums and cherries and saffron bulbs, disconnecting hoses, pickling the last of the cabbage, rigging a waterjug thaw pad for the chickens, and so many other hatches-battenings that I didn’t bother to keep track of them after completion—I’m done.
And so draws to a close the “outwardly directed” spring, summer, and fall—outdoor chores, outdoor work tasks, active hobbies, community strengthening events. Three seasons during which you never sit down.
And so begins the long-awaited, inwardly directed winter. The sun sets early, and I may read. I invite friends over for eggnog, and we discuss quietly near the fire, and think. The precious season of reflection, and of personal growth.
I may not sit down much during the silent transition from “outward” to “inward”—deer season. (Outdoors before sunrise until sunset, but not moving, not breathing audibly, with most of my perception at the interface between the outward and the inward—my frost-nipped cheeks.) But once I’ve fully adjusted my perception, I aspire to pick up the clip at which I produce blog posts, after these early sunsets. It will be a wonderful time to ask questions.