Happy Solstice, Y'all

I am not a winter girl. I am a summer girl. In fact, I am so much a summer girl, that spring is my favorite season – because I get to look forward to summer all through spring, and then I get to actually experience summer during summer, so spring is like double summer.

I love the heat - bring on the 90-degree temps! I love sundresses, I loooove swimming, paddleboarding, bbqs, camping, hiking, wine on the deck, sunsets at 9 p.m., outdoor concert series, dining alfresco and not needing a sweater. You get it. I love summer.

Winter just isn’t my jam. Until I met people who actually, truly enjoyed winter sports (my husband being one of them), I thought the entire “fun winter sports” thing was a farce. I thought it was a ruse. “Ah well, I guess this whole frozen tundra for four months sucks, let’s strap some slippery boards to our feet, slide down a mountain, and pretend that’s fun!”

I didn’t think people actually enjoyed crap like that. I thought they were biding their time until the good season, summer, and trying to amuse themselves as best they could, working hard to convince themselves that things like skiing and ice skating were fun. That is how much of a summer girl I am.

Then about nine years ago I accidentally moved to Alaska.

In that lifetime, I was an actor. I was cast in a play at Perseverance Theatre in Juneau. In December.

I was living in Los Angeles at the time, and I thought I would grit my teeth and muddle through this challenge. I’d take my sun-kissed skin and my blood that couldn’t stand temps below 70 degrees without a parka to the land of ice, and return with a tale of difficulty and hardship to share with my fellow Californians.

But instead, I met my future husband four days after arriving, and spent the next five years in this strange, snowy land.

And I loved every second of it. Well, almost. First I cried for weeks on end.

It took some adjustment, moving from 340 days per year of sun to 340 days per year of some mixture of rain, sleet, and snow. But I adapted. And I am better for it.

One of the things I really learned to appreciate was the changing of seasons. In Los Angeles, surrounded by the constant glow of city lights, it is nearly impossible to connect with and acknowledge the changing of summer to fall, fall to winter. Not to mention that there aren’t really any seasons to even speak of. There is hot and hotter, and maybe a few days of slightly cooler in January, and that’s about it.

In Juneau Alaska, the seasons scream at you. They are impossible to ignore.

First, there is the light. Which is WILD. There are about six days a year during which the light seems “normal” – the day of the spring and fall Equinoxes, and the days just before and after. Outside of that, the sun is either setting at 2:30 p.m., or hardly setting at all.

This is a hoot in the summer, when you eat dinner at 11 p.m. because it feels like mid-afternoon until about 9 p.m., but the winter darkness can be…challenging.

Then there is the weather. You may have heard that Alaska has negative 50-degree temps regularly throughout the winter, but this is only true for certain parts of the state. In Southeast Alaska, where I lived, the weather is a bit more temperate. Still, there are many days in the winter with temps below zero.

The lakes freeze, the wind howls, the snow dumps. Winter definitely announces itself clearly and intentionally.

Then there are all the changes ruled by the seasons – when the fish are running (mid to late summer for salmon, a little earlier for halibut), when the blueberries and salmon berries are ready for harvesting (mid-summer), when the high bush cranberries are bulging with juice (early to mid-fall), when to look out for bears (mid-spring through fall). So much is ruled by the seasons, and minding the changing of the seasons is essential.

If this all sounds a little idyllic, a little mythic, a little over-the-top, I suppose it is. As is Alaska. They don’t call it “The Last Frontier” for nothing. And this big, mythic space taught me so much for which I am grateful.

In Alaska, I finally learned to use this time of darkness – for reflection, for planning, for rest. I learned to get cozy, wear wool socks, snuggle up, eat soup. I learned to slow down, look inward, pause for a God damn second. For the first time in my life, the Solstices and Equinoxes meant something. They were important. They needed to be acknowledged and celebrated.

Humans are animals, and, like it or not, we are affected by the natural world. We should be guided by this, at least to some extent. But for most of my life, I tuned these rhythms out. I flat out ignored them. Alaska won’t let you do that. Not if you’re paying attention.

Now, even after leaving Alaska, instead of dreading the darkness, I look forward to it. I know I can use the time to rejuvenate, and that this downtime will fuel me into the next year. The rest will energize me. The reflection will prepare me for what's to come.

Today I live in Utah, just outside of Salt Lake City. I certainly don’t have salmon runs to mind, or cranberries to harvest, but Winter Solstice is one of my favorite days of the year. I have found new ways to appreciate and celebrate.

Every year, a dear friend has a small gathering of close family and friends. She makes the evening special with a warm stew, some mindfulness activities, and doing all of this by the glow of only candlelight. It is magical. And I look forward to it each year.

While I love summer bbqs and wine on the deck, enjoying the company of wonderful friends in a cozy glow of firelight is pretty great too.

Thank goodness for the darkness. The darkness helps us to appreciate the light.

Happy Solstice, Y’all.