Winter

The book I just finished is titled: Winter. Because this book was written with such eloquence and simplicity, the author, Rick Bass, is now one of my favorites. Like many of my favorite authors, he is a naturalist. He writes with such lucid reverence for the ‘natural’ world, that at times I felt myself sigh as I read his prose. This nonfictional account of Rick Bass’ first winter in a remote valley of Montana, not only gave me an escape from the warm, congested city life of San Francisco, but it also brought about reflection on what winter meant to me.

Raised as a cold season gardener, winter has meant one thing to me: waiting. Because I come from a place where frost covers the land three to six months out of the year, winter is spent indoors, by the heater, anticipating the green season to come.

Although I have lived in California for many years, first San Diego and now the Bay area, I guess I still have yet to acclimate to the year-round garden. Even though the weather is warm and the ground is anything but frozen, I still find myself snuggled tightly under a blanket during winter, waiting for the symbolic red-breasted robin to magically appear to let me know that spring has sprung. I find myself waiting, when no waiting needs to be done.

This winter has not been much different from the years past. In fact, if I think about it, I have been waiting much longer than just this winter. Yes, I had a small vegetable garden last summer, but the waiting I am speaking of is not in reference to me gardening. I have been waiting in other aspects of my life.

Almost two years ago, I found myself waiting for the new life which began inside my womb to enter this world. My daughter was born, and I still found myself waiting for her grow beyond her baby ways. Because I always envisioned having a toddler, not a vulnerable infant, I patiently waited for her to roll-over, sit, stand and finally walk. Now that my toddler is here, I look back and wonder if I was waiting, when no waiting needed to be done. What I’m getting at is that maybe my waiting was preventing me from being in the present and enjoying every minute with my daughter. Although I didn’t miss any of her milestone moments, I can imagine appreciating them more if I wasn’t so focused on what she would do next.

This realization about my relationship with my daughter saddens me slightly, yet I must learn from it. I must remember to walk in the present with my daughter with no future expectations. We both deserve nothing less.

The other aspect of my life I have been waiting on is for the perfect job to come knocking on my door. As I write these very words, I wait for the phone call or email from a perspective employer, instead of updating my portfolio. My portfolio is long over due for this update, yet I wait, when no waiting needs to be done.

As the sun shines on my back this warm winter day, I have decided that my winter days of waiting have passed. I will do as Thoreau wrote and, “live each season as it passes.” I will cherish each day with my daughter, get to the task of updating my portfolio and build the garden I have been dreaming of throughout these winter days. Rick Bass explains that winter is no time to be timid, and so I move forward with his advice:

Love the winter. Don’t betray it. Be loyal.

When the spring gets here, love it too – and then the summer.

But be loyal to the winter, all the way through – all the way, and with sincerity – or you’ll find yourself high and dry, longing for a spring that’s a long way off, and winter will have abandoned you, and in her place you’ll have cabin fever, the worst.