Winter Enchantment

The rhododendrons have been having a time of it. This morning their leaves are open and flat in moderate temperatures. A few days ago, they were curled tight in the cold. I wonder if the process is a burden—furling and unfurling, like sailors at sea who have gone below to rest only to be recalled to the deck to reset the sails because the wind has changed? All the energy the plant expended through the growing season, finally setting buds for spring, with the expectation of a winter nap. The rhododendrons are keeping busy with only a week left in January. 

Imagine a place where the leaf action of a spindly plant at the edge of the woods can take center stage each morning out the kitchen window. Such is our place this time of year in rural New Hampshire. We check the rhododendron leaves for the first indication of the weather while we make our coffee in the morning, and we scout for footprints left behind overnight in the snow. A few chickadees may appear to peck the ground, particularly along the edges of the driveway where it has been plowed. A red or gray squirrel may scurry from the base of one tree to another. Any other action will attach to the wind, rain, or snow. 

We had a few generous days of snow last week that made the woods white and warm under its blanket. I felt its protection as I walked the dog down the driveway, each of us making quiet footprints. It buries the seeds and acorns, hides the voles, muffles the hunter, and turns to water in the spring. The dog bounded away, and I stood looking where he went, feeling my voice could reach him for miles, carried by the quiet. 

Here is a thing about me: I like the open country in summer, rolling hills and fields with tall grasses swept by comfortable breezes. I miss the farmlands of upstate New York where I lived for many years. But in winter, give me woods with snow on the trees and over my boots. I know about snow’s inconveniences. They are made up for by the moments of beauty and solitude. You will not get me south for that reason. I prefer what I get by peering into the forest, half hidden underneath a snow-laden bough of hemlock, to idling with the cartop down, nine deep at the traffic light in the Florida sunshine. I can wait for July.

This is how it came up with my son over the weekend: he asked, do you like it here in winter (which may have been code for Are you two fine here in winter?). Yes, I answered, I like it. I get to this point in the year, once winter has truly arrived, and I like it even better than the summer. I said the same thing to the wonderful people who sold us our property when they asked the same question, how do you like it in winter? 

I like it better.

I can see what you mean, my son acknowledged by the end of the weekend, looking at the blowing strands of snow slide across the frozen pond, and diamond sparkles of early morning sunlight pierce through the trees, while I knelt beside the stove to stoke the fire. 

Summer is love. Winter is enchantment. For as long as I can, I will cling to both.

Published in the Monadnock Ledger-Transcript, January 23, 2024