To begin, a brief context of contributing factors for my Winter witterings: Came into Winter tired from our Fall travels and walking, my knee/hip asking for some careful rehab (it’s almost back to normal); colonoscopy in early December (and learning I’ll need another next month); 5-day visit to see Vancouver Island family and friends; Christmas prep and all the Christmas hosting and gathering and visiting with all our family (our Italian crew and the Victoria gang all in town at once); New Year with the expectation of new starts, resolutions, etc. while we coughed and sniffled and slept our way through the first part of January; weather challenges (see below!); and an increasingly — impatiently! — keen desire to get back to sketching, to language study/classes, knitting projects. . . and to the fitness level and the walking distances lost over the last five or six weeks.
We’ve just come through a period of cold as deep as we tend to get here in Vancouver — a low of -14C was recorded one night (apparently, going back through Vancouver weather history, the lowest ever recorded here was -18C). And as soon as that Arctic Outflow (which also comprised winds gusting up to 60km/h) ended, another storm system brought in warmer temperatures . . . and precipitation, in the form of SNOW!
The snow was pretty while it lasted (see my post on Instagram for a snowy evening walk), and we unravelled the scarves we’d wound around our faces in protection against frostbite (yes, the rest of Canada laughs at us; a price I willingly pay for our normally milder climate). . . but, as generally happens here, it was all too quickly followed by rain . . . and temperatures just a few degrees above freezing. Temperatures that allow accumulated snow to begin melting. . . but then that same accumulated snow is able to hold enough cold to re-freeze the melt.
And we Vancouverites, the very Vancouverites who will be complaining about our rain in, say, less than a week from now, we become impatient for rain, impatient for it to rain in such quantities as to wash our sidewalks clean of the slush and ice that have curtailed mobility for — what? a week or two? We’re possibly not so good at hunkering down!
Beyond generalizing about my fellow citizens, though, I’ve also been thinking about the effect this weather has been having on my moods, thoughts, emotions — and how much that effect is influenced by my age. I was in my 40s, I think, when I first articulated to myself a perception that Winter is when people die. I’m not sure how I arrived at that notion — my brother died in February the year he was 19 and I would turn 23, but otherwise, I don’t have personal statistics to back up my accusation against the season.
So. I’ve been thinking, this week, about my changing relationship to Winter over the years (as I write this, I suddenly remember that I wrote, last July, about how my Summers have changed. Something about turning 70!). And as I wandered my way into this post, I found myself outlining something of an Anatomy and History of My Winters. There were bullet points and sub-headings and margin notes, and after I slowed down and looked at the mess I’d unfurled, I had to admit I’d unpacked far more than I can tidily fit in one post.
As well, I remembered a post I wrote not even two weeks ago, before the cold and snow, when I was feeling quite content with Winter, feeling the fresh possibilities of the new year and seeing signs of Spring wherever I walked. That post included a photo (posted again, just below) of the second sketch I’d managed in an intended series, Houses in My Neighbourhood (I’d posted the first on Instagram a few days earlier).
Our post-Christmas coughs and fatigue were hanging on longer than we liked, but we had good books to read; I had a knitting project and some engaging language study (a new online French course; the challenge of picking up a bit of Portuguese; my ongoing Italian) . . . and despite the rain and the grey skies, I got out for walks and managed more outdoor sketching. The wet, grey days rather suited a protracted cold — at least being “under the weather” wasn’t keeping us from long walks or winter cycling or snowshoeing adventures we weren’t yet well enough for.
But then the weather got colder — cold and clear and sunny, at first, and then snow replaced the rain, and I pushed myself out the door one more time with my minimalist sketching kit in my bag and an after-sketch Ramen date with my husband as added incentive, and I accepted the encouraging invitation of this well-placed bench . . .
I have yet to annotate this page, with my journal scribblings, although I’ve added paper ephemera to my sketch. I’m quite happy with the effect, although I had thought I might do more with those winter-bare trees. I’m remembering, now, the woman who stopped to chat a minute, admiring what I was doing although she wasn’t able to see the page from where she stood. It was too cold to continue our conversation long, and I packed up soon after because even with the (fingerless) wool gloves, my hand was stiffening. . .
And that was my last outdoor sketch of the month. (So far. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find a break in the rain to add another house.)
Because first it was just too cold to stay still and sketch . . . and meanwhile, our energy was returning. We bundled up well and walked to a favourite cafe, finally stretching our legs, relishing the activity. From our window seats as we waited for our breakfasts, I sketched . . .
and then just as I was feeling good about getting into a groove, fitness returning, sketching habits solidifying around New Year’s non-resolutions. . . .
It became too cold to go out for long, even bundled up and walking. I’d had that one long walk and was content enough to sketch my terrace garden from the kitchen table . . .
And then . . . That snowfall. Which kept me home from my first training session in a month, a session I’d been counting on to nudge me back onto the fitness track. I still had my daily at-home yoga (modest 25 minutes or less) and walking in the neighbourhood, but — as transitional as the winter weather — I was suddenly restless with the cozy slowing-down that I’d enjoyed for the first part of the month.
The snow turned to rain, the rain turned to ice, the sidewalks became perilous, and walking to the dentist the next day (a 3.5 km walk — 7km round trip I love to do) was a ridiculous proposition. In fact, any walks I managed during those 3 or 4 transitional days were spoiled by psoas muscles tightening in Fright or Flight responses to each slip of my boot over a patch of ice or a sloppy slide on slush. I felt even more of an Old Lady when I had Paul chauffeur me to the dentist and then, the day after, to the gym for a rescheduled session (I don’t mind driving in the snow, but I hate trying to find parking in it. Easier for him to drop me off).
Stuck at home, I lost interest in my sketchbook, although there were household objects to draw. I did manage a quick, loose sketch of our compost bucket
but I was approaching full-on Cabin Fever when, yesterday morning, the sidewalks were finally clear enough (as long as I avoided the hilly side streets) for me to walk to my Italian class, to be out of the house for a full five hours!!
If you’re still reading — Thank You! — you might remember that many paragraphs ago, I talked about a brainstorming outline I’d begun that showed me I had too many Thoughts about Winter to “fit tidily into a single post.” As you’ve undoubtedly noted, there’s nothing Tidy about this post. And I wrote most of it AFTER putting that outline aside.
I’m not done, in other words. I’ve decided I’ll give myself (even) more space to reconnoiter my personal Winter Landscape, now and then and why and where. Unless I get diverted (which has happened before), this will be the first of a short series of/on Wintry Throughts.
Anything here you can relate to? Does anything about Winter cold (if you experience it) make you feel cranky, old, vulnerable? Or are you gung-ho every snowy, icy day? Or enviously wishing for colder, snowier weather, even booking holidays where you can glide down slippery slopes and gaze on snow-clad fir trees from a cozy fireside seat (I’m looking at you, @LoveSwitzerlandSnow ;-)) Do you find your enjoyment of Winter’s activities compromised by more susceptibility to seasonal colds or fear of injury or awareness that you’d have a tough time pushing your car out of a snowy rut?
We have a solid week of rainy days and temperatures ranging from 4 to 11C, so I’ll likely be complaining about that by next week, but at least mobility should be restored, and I hope to get a few more houses sketched before month’s end. And perhaps you’ll distract me with your comments.
xo,
f
Your icy photos are lovely & you did well to manage sketching in the freezing cold . My fingers would have lost all feeling . Serious weather brings restrictions especially as you get older . Our winters here in York are not too bad . We sometimes have the odd day of -6 in a winter but usually the little snow we have soon melts . Wet & windy is more usual , especially this winter with storm after storm . The latest one has just blown over & our poor old honeysuckle has taken another battering from the strong westerly wind . Flooding is a real problem for many as our river takes on the deluge from the Yorkshire dales but we are way above river level & the city has worked hard on their flood protection programme . Icy pavements are scary . They are not gritted by the local authority now & my sense of balance is definitely not as good as it used to be . I have a hardy friend in her 60s who was wild swimming last week & she had to break the ice before she got in ! I turned down the invitation to join her , saying it would be wildly drowning for me .
Author
Thanks, Wendy!
We do more “wet and windy” than cold and snowy, as well — I saw quite a few large branches below some of the street/boulevard trees on my walk the other evening — would have given someone a serious clunk on the hand! I can imagine all that rain racing down the dales to the river — glad you’re well protected.
I’m with you on the wild drowning! I like swimming and I’ve considered this trend of year-round plunging. We’re a ten-minute drive from beaches and there’s always someone out in the saltchuck — usually with a colourful buoy bobbing nearby to warn off motorboats (gasp!). These are almost always wearing wetsuits if they’re doing a distance, but there are others who bare more skin and stay closer to shore — I might have liked to try it a few years ago, but I don’t think I could stand it now — ice-breaking?! NO!!! đ
I used to feel impatient and gloomy in winter but now I prefer to accept the limitations – daylight, weather – and do little. Health interventions have enforced this and I am doing practically nothing at the moment, apart from being stuck in Edinburgh as storms have stopped all trains. So been cleaning my daughterâs flat, watching tv and drinking tea. It makes me feel my decades. And then I go and scrub the bathroomâŚ
Author
Accepting limitations is always a wise goal. . . but I do indulge myself occasionally in impatience and gloom!
And I have to say that never, ever, ever would scrubbing the bathroom be an antidote to those, for me. Brava if it works for you! And how lucky is your daughter!!
Dearest Mater, after years of being as they, a lurker, this is the post that propelled me into writing a comment. As a soon to be 80 year Old Lady, your perception/association of Winter being a time when people die struck a chord. As beautiful as She can often be, the frigid temperatures (7 degrees F here in New England this morning), the ongoing cycle of snow falling, accumulating, thawing, becoming dirty, soggy, refreezing and a real danger to old crones inevitably brings up thoughts of death and dying, certainly for me. And the isolation, the stuck in the house and no where to go because every place is closed. Thank god for books. I’ve recently finished Katherine Mays “Wintering” which you may know. If not, I highly recommend her beautiful writing.
With luck, we’ll make it through.
Author
Welcome, Lurker Frances! We need all the Old Ladies we can get in the conversation here đ
Oooh, 7Farenheit is cold! and yes, for me it has a whiff of mortality!
Thank God for books indeed — I very much enjoyed Wintering. A book to turn back to again — I’ll have to dig out my copy.
We are in the same weather pattern and live on top of a hill, which is traveled infrequently. I have spent my time reading and working on my art in nature project but I am ready for the rain and warm up expected this week and for these 9+”of snow and ice to wash down the hill. Meanwhile, as I wake to 10°F this morning, I know my walking and exercise have suffered greatly.
I am interested that you mentioned changes at 70 as I feel very much the same. Just after the turn of the year, while doing some introspection, I realized I have shifted over the last year, little but noticeable changes to my thoughts. The result is a happier, more peaceful me. The inner critic is still there but in a greatly weakened capacity. Just months away from 71 and I like these years numbered 70 already, although I do like the weather extremes less!
Author
You’ve used the cooped-up time well — I’ve enjoyed seeing your project evolve. (10F is NOT for me! and I’m glad we’re out of our cold snap — but oh, the rain!)
70 does bring some shifts in our self-awareness, doesn’t it? I’m not sure I find myself happier or more peaceful, nor is my inner critic any quieter. . . But I do feel I need to keep working in that direction for my own good and to model possibilities to those coming along behind. Curious to know if you can attribute your positive shift to any particular aspect of ageing — or is there a practice you’ve adopted (books on the topic or on spirituality; yoga; outdoors activities, anything?)
As I reply, I find myself frustrated because I cannot seem to get on “film”, my art project as I see it in my mind. The mostly silent inner critic has now sprung to life with, “quit, you do not have the skills for this!” Sooooo, I am trying to give myself a little time and space to think through the process and examine whether my end result goal is worth the angst. I think it is, but I need to
know it is. Meanwhile the more fragile material I have gathered from nature dries up and breaks apart. Sigh!
Clearly, I have not conquered all of my demons, they just don’t seem to surface as often. I think daily walks have provided open space to process thoughts. I also believe self-talk about my efforts being meaningful (to me) has been important. I spend less time comparing myself to others and more time trying to remember that I am seeking my way of self-expression, not someone else’s. These days, most days, I wake up content and happy and I like the way that feels.
Author
I missed seeing this when I should have — it’s not about eliminating the dips, the demons, the downs, is it? But rather knowing that we can manage them, and remembering how good we sometimes feel about what we’re doing. Knowing how much mood and energy levels change. . . and that we can be patient with ourselves while we work our way back to a happier equilibrium. Thanks for reinforcing all of this!
I personally love your watercolour sketch a lot, as well as the cafe one!
And Portuguese,wow!
Same weather in Zagreb,Croatia. A lot of snow,with low temperatures (-10° C) afterwards,slush ,ice and freezing rain forecast for today evening!
Here,everybody knows how I’m whinning every winter about snow in the city
But,I was young once,we’ve had a lot more snow than now and lower temperatures,too – I’ve adored walking through empty streets or parks with my than boyfriend. My university was on the hill-I remember wearing kitten heel shoes (with leather soles) and a short jacket during the winter( because I’ve prefered it so). Trudging off through the deep snow after the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve from the Cathedral to my house-such a bliss….Much later,my son and me,we were first out,on the nearby hill, sledding even if it had been late in the evening-just perfect! I was walking through the snow to my work if there were closed streets (7 km) and no public transport. Nordic walking from Nassfeld Austria to Italy (not far :)) for an italian coffee (or tea in Krvavec Slovenia…..or hotel Marshal- named after Marshal Tito- on Bjelasnica near Sarajevo ) Falling from time to time,as well
But,with time,falling became dangerous,snow and ice became dangerous….and things rapidly changed,fractures occured….so,yes,I don’t like snow,I’m afraid of it,it means a lot of problems for me,always colliding with my plans….So,on last Friday,snow was falling, I’ve cancelled classical concert in Lisinski Hall and ,after some shovelling,I’ve started to enjoy being at home,with nowhere to go for two days
I like low temperatures ( but without snow and not under -15 °C!), crispy winter days…..there are all kind of warm clothes now,down coates included
Dottoressa
Author
This is such a thoughtful and interesting comment, K — and it brings so many parallel memories to mind for me. And I can just picture you, in those kitten heels and the short jacket, so stylish — but now, to imagine wearing leather soles in the snow!!
Sorry you had to miss that concert, but I would have done the same — it’s not worth it anymore, being out while snow is falling unless I’m just out for a walk in my neighbourhood with really good footwear (even when much of the snow was gone this past Saturday, and I walked to my Italian class, I packed my retractable walking poles in my pack, just in case there might be slippery patches!). . . . I’m thinking now that you’ll have even more to contribute to our next book chat! đ
Your Waiting for Breakfast sketch is so reminiscent of John Minton’s work, and especially with the colour wash. I do love the direction your art is taking – it has such a happy, shades-of-Sorrento and carefree 1950s about it for me. It may appear as something completely different to you – I’d be interested to know. You do seem to be having a very tiring and trying winter – I am sorry about that. The run up to the Solstice and the still-dark days of January are a sort of primeval struggle (perhaps that might make you feel better, a mite heroic perhaps, to know you’re engaged in primeval struggle?). Ursula Le Guin expressed it so well in A Wizard of Earthsea, about the days of the waning moon after Sunreturn (the Solstice): “It is an unlucky time for travellers and for the sick; children are not given their true name during the Fallows, and no Deeds are sung, nor swords nor edge-tools sharpened, nor oaths sworn. It is the dark axis of the year, when things done are ill done.”
The long pull up and out of winter is starting here – a glimmer of light in the sky at 8 am this morning. I am certainly not gung-ho for ice, ever since breaking my coccyx cross-country skiing in Norway. There seems to be something about the way I walk, because if there’s a patch of ice to be slipped on I will slip. Unlike my at home on skis husband, who is sure-footed. He has started trying to tell me how to walk differently on ice, which as you can imagine leads to a certain amount of…friction. We seem to have much more ice now. Even here in the north, we only have a few days of snow, then it’s thaw, rain, re-freeze, which is lethal underfoot. I am with you on the Old Lady feeling of being chauffeured, as my husband is driving me just now as I wait for a cataract operation. All I need to do is avoid getting ill beforehand and having to postpone the op, which would be especially annoying as I haven’t had a cold or anything like it for 5 years now.
Author
Very flattering comparison, Linda, Thank you! And for the Ursula Le Guin quotation — makes me feel downright heroic just to be surviving đ
We’ve noticed the days lengthening here as well — and, of course, now that the snow’s been washed away, the fragrance of those winter-flowering shrubs is working its magic again.
I’m very sympathetic to your resistance to being schooled on how to walk — Would not be welcome here either!
Good luck with the cataract operation — I’ve seen it be transformative for many, and I’ll be checking at my annual review next month to see if mine are “ripe” enough yet.
I have to send myself back 30+ plus years to think about living in serious winter weatherâafter graduating from
college in Southern California, where I grew up, I went with my boyfriend/husband-to-be to live in Minneapolis (his hometown) for ten years. I remember loving the beauty of fresh snow (and the novelty of that) for the first years, and even the brilliant sunshine that accompanied the days and weeks below zero (Fahrenheit). Then we chose to move near my family, in Tucson, Arizona, where the opposite happensâone gets stuck inside in summer at least during most of the day, to avoid the intensity of the sun and the heat.
At the moment, my husband and I are finishing up our second week in the Mexican state of Oaxaca. Mostly we have been at the beach in Zipolite. I have to keep reminding myself that it is winter, because it is warm here, not far north of the equator. But as long as one is in the shade midday, itâs not too hot.
Youâll be happy to know that I have been drawing in my travel pages at least once a day. I keep trying especially to capture the sunrise and sunset colors in the sky and on the water. Very tricky. Easier to draw the tropical vegetation and palapa roofed structures.
Author
So interesting for me to contemplate living, as you have done, in severe weather — both cold and then hot — for so long. I’ve always lived on the west coast of Canada, where we have historically had moderate temperatures.
I’m delighted to know you’re drawing regularly — Even when you’re finding your subject “very tricky” to capture, you’re observing it carefully and learning more and more about what it takes to express it on the page. Brava!
Popping in quickly to say I love the energy in your sketch from the window seats in the cafeâŚthe buildings, trees, traffic. Beautiful!
Author
Thanks for taking the time to pop in, Genevieve. Encouraging words much appreciated.
A fabulous post, gorgeous photos and charming sketches (especially the one with the high-rise building, which I think is very fine). I will re-read it in a couple of days when Iâll need respite from the two 35C days weâre being promised. Tomorrow will be a âcoolâ 30C.
Your winter witterings are like a missive from far, far away. It never snows here, and what we call winter is no worse than your autumns. I have almost no experience of living through such cold weather, one skiing trip many decades ago being the exception. It is hard to be confined indoors, as we all learned during Covid. It affects mood and well-being, but you seem to be managing well. Iâm in awe of how much you fit into your weeks and such fabulous activities too!
Iâll be 70 in 2 days and am fitting in a a few activities myself. My birthday festival started with a lovely, outdoor Devonshire tea in our historic Rocks area last weekend, continues with a fancy dinner tomorrow night, lunch on the day, and another lunch in about 10 days, after a friend returns from overseas. Being able to get out easily is one of the nice things about a mid-summer birthday.
Author
Aw, so many kind words here, Maria — thank you! And I like being reminded by readers like you how big the world is and what a marvel that we connect here. My winter, your summer. . .
Happy Birthday! I especially love the idea of an outdoor fancy tea! So indulgent!
(and I agree about the benefit of a birthday with weather that accommodates getting out easily — mine’s in Spring, so also good)
These days I have an ambivalent relationship with Winter. Wanting the cold gray days to end, wanting them to go on forever as they may be my last. I’m fine actually, but at this point no day is a given. Pulling aside the blinds this morning there is a stunning sunrise. I leave them open, telling myself that something else wonderful will appear. They have been tightly drawn these last frigid days to ward off drafts. And there it was, a brown rabbit just outside the glass in the patio. I turn away for an instant, and it is gone, but it is enough.
Author
Darby, I know you’re a few years ahead of me, closer to 80 than 70, I believe — but this is surely part of what I’m feeling. No day is a given, and we’re moving closer and closer to days when another is unlikely and then . . .
So . . . yes, incentive there is to look for “something (else!) wonderful [to] appear.”
I love this comment of yours — perhaps you’ve written a version in your journal — I would! xo
I have a lot to say about winter but (a) I can hardly bear to talk about the weather (we are expecting a record high again tomorrow, no no no) and (b) I was delayed by a little winter road trip.
It was very windy yesterday when I set out, and the snow was blowing across the highway. When this happens I always think of the first story I ever heard about Italy (besides ‘we ate pizza’ and ‘we saw the Colosseum’). I was 15 or 16 and working part time in a highway restaurant. One windy winter night my supervisor’s husband stopped in for coffee. He told us he was reminded of Italy during the war…the blowing snow on the roads in front of them made them almost seasick. This fascinated me (clearly! I have remembered it for almost fifty years!)…the story of the darkness, the wind, the cold truck bouncing and rattling and swaying.
I like the sketch of your fountain very much. The snow looks like snow, and it’s the watercolour that does that!
Author
So interesting! That Italy would have entered your imagination this way — I know Italy has plenty of wintry landscapes, mountainous regions where the snow and wind and ice lock in for months. But it’s not the first association most of us have when someone says “Italy.” Fascinating to me also is that your supervisor’s husband would not have guessed that his experience from early 40s, narrated in the early 70s would have been carried ahead 50 years. . . and you’ll likely be thinking of it for decades more, so that it will persist for a century, at least! I’m thinking he must have been quite a storyteller!
Thanks re the fountain sketch. I like it well enough from a distance đ And I’m happy that I tried to depict snow and learned some things about doing that!
I have not had the winter blues yet this year. But there’s always March. That is when the long months of wearing boots and heavy coats usually gets to me. I think it must have ben you who put me onto Wintering. I bought it for my sister, and she has not read it. I may steal it back when I visit New Brunswick in March. I’ll need to marshal my emotional forces by then.
We just returned from four days cross-country skiing in the Laurentians. And despite Stu’s pessimism about the weather we had perfect conditions. Temperatures around -8, and perfect trail conditions. We left for home today in sunshine, fresh snow, and -5 feeling how wonderful winter can be. I will try to hang onto those feelings later this week when I am attempting to be positive and Stu is moaning about the snow melting and the rain that is coming. I swear that man watches the weather as closely as he does American politics. Sigh.
P.S. Hope the second colonoscopy goes well. Those things are NOT fun.
Author
I read your post and then never managed to get back to comment there — but I was so pleased to see that you’d had good weather. You got in an impressive amount of skiing — really covered the distance, didn’t you?! (of course, I was also pleased that you mentioned our favourite detective series. I wonder how long those books will stay in print; they deserve a long run!)
As for the c-scopy. I don’t mind the process itself (the sedation for mine was very effective) . . . but the week of prep which precludes my regular and much-loved breakfast (oats, berries, nuts — all forbidden) and, of course, those two days staying close to the toilet. . .