I love hiking with [my children] and listening
to their stories and imaginings, but sometimes
I need to be alone with the silence of the trees.
~ Andrea Lani, Uphill Both Ways
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We usually celebrate the Winter Solstice with stringing popcorn and cranberry garlands and birdseed ornaments on the spruce tree out front followed a walk into the woods and a small fire on the bank of the Eastern River. Sometimes we take Christmas cookies and a thermos of hot chocolate to enjoy by the fire, and once we had a picnic of cheese pasties. This year, though, the turn from darkening days back toward the light passed with barely a notice in our house. The boys were off on a last-minute shopping adventure and I was on a conference call. Such is the pull of capitalism and obligation that the rhythms of the earth get shunted aside. This is nothing new--back in those hot cocoa and cheese pasty days, we often practiced "Solstice, Observed," as if it were a federal holiday landing inconveniently on the calendar whenever work or a school concert or an ice storm interfered with the actual moment the earth turned back toward the sun.
The arrival of the shortest day of the year, however slight was my notice of it, did clarify for me why I've been so tired lately (other than, you know, the apocalypse); it's the time of year for burrowing, for hibernating, for settling into the subnivian zone with a cache of seeds and avoiding owls. It's not the time to scramble to finish my "21 in '21" list or to endlessly shop to fulfill an open-ended Christmas list. A cashier asked me yesterday if I was "almost done" and I answered truthfully, "I'm never done, I just keep shopping until Christmas." Much of that comes from having teenagers who can't think of a thing they want until a week before Christmas, but the rest I can attribute to an anxiety around not being enough, not "doing it right." Oh, yes, and a slight problem I have with buying myself a present for every two I buy for other people.
When I'm not out single-handedly propping up the economy, I try to get into the holiday spirit by watching cheesy Christmas movies on Netflix. I don't know who got the idea that Christmas was somehow an ideal setting for romance (I suppose Bing Crosby in White Christmas was the first culprit), but it is a thing, and most of the movies in this genre are painfully awful. I did, however, enjoy Holiday in the Wild, in which the protagonist (actress I didn't recognize) goes to Zambia on her second honeymoon--alone, because her husband leaves her the minute their kid heads off to college. (There's a recurring theme in these movies of characters planning elaborate, expensive trips without the buy-in or knowledge of the other person involved; see A Very Brady Christmas.) Once in Africa, she develops an attraction/antagonism for a bush pilot played by Rob Lowe. She ends up working on an elephant preserve and staying through Christmas. As far as the storyline goes, it was almost as cheesy as other holiday romance movies. But there were elephants. And Rob Lowe. And it wasn't the romance that fixed her life, it was the meaning brought to it by doing important and valuable work. It makes me think there's another, better way to do the holidays. Like rescuing orphaned elephants.
But unless tickets for an elaborate and expensive trip to Africa that's been planned without my knowledge appear in my stocking Christmas morning, I don't think baby elephants are in my future. I probably wouldn't be all that good at taking care of them anyway (I have issues with poop). But perhaps there's some other way of turning off the money spigot and finding meaning not only in this season, but in life in general. Maybe I'll start with a "Solstice, Observed" hike into the woods with my family, after the ice storm, were we can sit in the dark and listen to what each other has to say and what the trees have to tell us.
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Once a month until Uphill Both Ways: Hiking toward Happiness on the Colorado Trail comes out in March, I'm giving away a matted 8x8 archival art print of one of the book's illustrations to a subscriber of this newsletter. If you you're already subscribed, you're automatically entered. If a friend passed this newsletter on to you, you can subscribe here. If you know of anyone who you think might be interested in reading Uphill Both Ways, please forward it to them.
This month's giveaway is Ponderosa Pine Cone (right), and I'll draw the winner on January 1. Last month's winner is Sue Kistenmacher. Congratulations, Sue!
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Book News
My book, Uphill Both Ways: Hiking Toward Happiness on the Colorado Trail, is now available for preorder!
Before I left for my trip, I reviewed the page proofs, which are layed out exactly how the book will be, with the margins and the fonts and the illustrations in place, and let me tell you it's going the be beautiful! Be among the first to see the real deal by ordering today!
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Now Reading
Just finished Shrill by Lindy West, a memoir-in-essays about this young humor writer's experiences fighting mysoginistic and fat-phobic internet trolls (among other things). It's funny and inspiring (she actually effected change), but also depressing. How are be so many terrible people out there who get off on anonymously saying horrid things to women?
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Enjoy your extra minute of daylight today, friends, and take good care of yourself this holiday season. Burrow, hibernate, and settle in beneath the snow if you need to.
~ Andrea
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