vinter sjel • winter soul

If you happen to be around me when it's snowing, you will find out that I have a favorite season; no matter how much I love the others, Winter takes the cake. Perhaps I am influenced egotistically by my Christmas Eve birthday. Or perhaps growing up in the harsh winters of Minnesota forced me to find the good in the cold, snowy fate awaiting us from November to April.

I recently read this and learned that the Norwegians have an expression for their fondness for the cozy, happy aspects of winter in their near-Arctic communities: koselig, a word for which English is really lacking a counterpart. I should coin something to express how I feel about the sweet stillness of winter nights, the crisp way the air brightens your cheeks on a walk, the perpetual-twilight made by the reflection of snow in the night, the warmth of the oven filled with good things to eat, the crackling fire that mesmerizes you as you converse with friends, the clean freshness of each new snowfall, and the drowsy comfort of a warm bed in a chilly house. What word could encompass all that and the countless other little emotions tied to a festive season of tucking in together and giving thanks for the year's blessings, in hopeful expectation of the new gifts to come with Spring? Maybe in English one word can't unify all that, because English speakers are scattered throughout every climate and don't have that same shared experience that would allow just one word to make sense to all. I should have been born in Norway.

I sat here in front of this screen trying to come up with a word anyway. Failure. If you can think of one, please share. I got nothin. 

When I talk about this with friends and neighbors in this cold Midwest, most of them don't get it at all. The only shared experience of winter for them is a mutual hatred of cold, impatience with the tedium of snow, and enjoyment in commiserating about it. I am sorry if you feel that way; I think you're really missing out on an entire season and the joys it has to offer.

The joys of winter are here already in these parts. Friday brought the first snow of the year in a decisive way. No sooner did the last trees shed the leaves of their peak autumnal glory, than a foot of snow fell to close the gap of fall and winter. We're half a week away from thanksgiving and I have already had my minivan snowed-into a garage stall, got the family all geared up in full snowsuited glory, and trudged through snow banks in rural South Dakota.

Saturday morning we went out to a friend's farm with the dual purpose of foraging greens for a wreath and affording my hunter husband a chance to bag a pheasant. He didn't get a bird, and I didn't get a ton of greens on the farm (I did end up getting some really lovely juniper clippings from some rural ditches on our drive home) but it was a lovely morning in the fresh, deep snow, and it was Roger's very first interaction with snow. He wasn't amused when he fell over in his thick snow suit and didn't know how to get up, nor when he got snow on his wrists inside his mittens and realized how very cold it is. It was just a little too deep for him to walk through, so either Dave or I carried him most of the time. 

The gathered greens were really horrible to work with, as they were not the soft fir or cedar I would have liked to find, but the wreath turned out pretty nice, I think, in a rustic way. The juniper smells so nice and there are even a few blue juniper berries. I posted a snarky photo of myself making the wreath on the floor of my bathroom Saturday night, because I never get craftsy and when I do it's SO not the idealized, Instagram-worthy kind of craftsy where all my organic clippings and tools scattered in my workspace have a nice, natural aesthetic that screams #livefolk. Ha. You'll notice I didn't include the floor of my bathroom (or the pine-cluttered tub) in the photo. 

After the wreath was hung, I used the rest of my greenery to decorate on shelves out of Roger's reach. We probably just won't even mess with a Christmas tree this year... Our's is so little and wobbly, Roger would destroy it in about two seconds. But I like our tiny apartment's Christmas decor as it is, and I'm happy it's done so we can get right into a festive spirit next weekend when we return from Thanksgiving travels in MN/WI. 

Whether I will be punctual in taking down the Christmas decor is another story. February may need a little koselig to keep us in the cozy, enjoyable mood for winter.

today {memoir}

A short (2-hour) workday meant a slow and enjoyable morning, and a free afternoon to share with my tiny human. He awoke from his nap and it was raining and he was grumpy and we snuggled in my bed for at least thirty minutes while he was waking up, and he let me stroke his hair and he touched my cheek and gave me kisses like I'm his only love. When he perked up we bounced on the bed and he giggled and I tickled him and asked him to make every animal noise I could think of, but he mainly wanted to growl like a tiger, and I let him. When daddy got home we went downtown to the diner for fried pickles and a burger and beef stroganoff, and Roger screamed and cried when we made him wait to eat his fried pickle spear because he couldn't understand how hot it was. So we let him hold one and he dropped it and said "hot" like he realized we weren't just being mean but then he wasn't sure it would cool down so he cried some more, and then when he finally got a bite, the pickle slid out and he was scared of the strange green tongue sticking out of it that he didn't expect in these weird too-hot French fries. Then he ate my stroganoff with me and stuck his fingers in my ice water, and we went home and I was overcome with how amazing it feels to be his mother and I scooped him up and told him so and tickled him until I thought better of so much roughhousing so near to bedtime. Then I asked him where his belly was, and his ears, and hair, and eyes, and toes, and fingers, and I laughed and clapped when he knew them all, even his chin. And daddy swept him off to read books and pray and sing and go to bed with his array of stuffed animals and his favorite blanket, and I didn't hear him make a sound when David came out and closed his door because he was probably lying there under his blanket, hugging his buddies, going right to sleep.

This is it. This is the golden era. This is where I want to be. This is my perfect life, fully saturated in what it should have, lacking nothing. This is the fullness of the present that is elusive if not sought, invisible if not looked for. This day has been my reminder of  Providence. Of the adequacy of how much I have and the vanity of what I have not. For right now, in this God-ordained moment, I am fully blessed. Why should I allow my heart to want something else, when I trust the One who has me in His hands and is giving me what I need for each day, and nothing more. So I will eat my manna and praise Him. I will remind my fickle heart to slow down and see what is right before me. 

our sweet October

October has come and gone in a flash of brilliant gold, and like never before I have reveled in its glory. Days nannying have meant the privilege of making leaf piles, snapping a million gold-hued photos, and gathering bushels worth of apples with the little ones almost everyday. Weekends have seen us traipsing about the city, picking pumpkins at the farmers market, in the fields on the sides of roads gathering the last of summer's late-blooming flora for the vase in my little kitchen. I have baked something sweet every single weekend of October. This  has been one of the loveliest autumns of my memory.

My husband is finishing his season of exterior painting. In January he begins his new full time "tent-making" job as a salesman and estimator for the same painting company, while continuing his Sunday pastoral duties as connections pastor. We are both so excited for the opportunities that we believe will come through his new position, and we are both relieved that the season of manual labor is coming to a close. I have felt more of the burden of domestic responsibility while his job has been so physically demanding. Having him back on a 9-5 type schedule, where he gets to do something in his gifting which gives him energy instead of just draining him is going to be such a relief to our day-to-day functioning. I'm excited to both get home from work around the same time again, and have dinner together every night. To have him take over bedtime for Roger regularly again. It's the little things. They add up and make such a difference in quality of life.

Tomorrow is that handsome man's birthday. Since it falls on a Monday, we will both be working all day. So I've made him his requested birthday apple pie this evening, and it's just finishing in the oven now. It will cool overnight and we will pick up some good vanilla ice cream after work tomorrow and serve it on top of warm slices of pie and celebrate together in our little apartment. Roger will probably run around and do cute things and we will have a low-key night together. 

November is starting so well, I can only expect it to be another wonderful month. But don't misunderstand; I can't tell you October has been perfect (or easy!) but it has been good. There are struggles everyday and I could have every reason to be discontented and want this next month to go more smoothly and have less stress, fewer nights of lost sleep and toddler tantrums, a better-kept apartment that is always clean, and all my desires and prayers answered in easy, direct yeses. . . But I am learning how much better I feel, how much more thankful, how much more I appreciate what God has given me in each moment, when I choose to see the good and trust that God has ordained my days and hours for good purpose. I have made practicing thankfulness a habit and I didn't really notice the difference it has made until this beautiful October. And I'm choosing to carry on in that habit and breathe. And notice. And enjoy what's before me in my simple little life.