Small Talk 18 - Winter
It seems like most northerners don't like winter. Or at least winter is their least favorite season. There's a surprising abundance of poll data saying how we feel about seasons—how accurate, I don't know. But I do know that after the leaves fall, and the cold wind blows, and snow dusts our fields, people start to complain. They say, 'I just can't take any more winters. When I retire I'm moving to...' Now, I admit it's alarming to not feel your legs after a walk to the mailbox, and I'd rather not scrape ice from my windshield in a windswept airport parking lot. But still, I love winter. And I feel sorry for winter, with all the abuse it takes, and how so many people want to abandon it. So today's Small Talk is dedicated to the season of the cold and dark.
There is no strict definition of winter, of when it begins and ends. One popular source dodges the issue by saying winter 'occurs after autumn and before spring.' Ah, thanks. But this reminds us that the four seasons are partly a cultural construct. Long ago, the Japanese divided the year into 24 periods, with names like 'Insects awaken,' and 'Greater snow.' The Cree people observed six seasons—the traditional four plus 'Freeze up' and 'Break up.' These days, it's most common to assume that winter is the time of year when average temperatures are coldest, and daylight hours are the shortest. In the northern hemisphere, this is December-February. In the southern hemisphere, June - August is called winter. Generally speaking.
But what about the winter solstice? Isn't that the start of winter? Well, thanks for asking, because I did want to talk about science. You all know that we experience seasons because the earth is tilted on its axis, about 23.4 degrees. As the earth orbits the sun (which it really does! there is proof!), one pole tilts away, and solar radiation strikes that hemisphere obliquely, providing less warmth. It's winter. The winter solstice is when the tilt reaches its greatest extent, relative to the sun. So, naturally, we light candles and dress up like forest creatures and drink mulled wine. Now, what's interesting is that the winter solstice is the shortest day of the year. So you could argue that it's the dead middle of winter (and some people do). But thanks to the thermal capacity of the oceans, we're not quite half way through the cold months. Winter is slippery.
A brief digression: The earth wobbles on its axis, like a spinning top, completing a full wobble about every 26,000 years. This means that the north star changes over this period. Right now, the star Polaris marks north from the earth's pole. But around 13,727 CE, Vega will be the north star. I wonder how much bitcoin will be worth then. This change in the orientation of the pole is called precession, and it's detectable on a human scale. The first recorded observation comes from the Greek astronomer Hipparchus in 200 BCE. But no matter where we are in the cycle of precession, there are still seasons. There is still winter, which is a relief.
There is a strong case that winter is good for you. That's because being cold is good for you. Exposure to cold is a form of 'hormetic stress,' which builds resilience in the body and mind. Strenuous exercise is another example of hormetic stress. But so too is taking a walk in the woods on a cold, sunny day. Your body burns more fat, your mind is stimulated, inflammation is reduced, and ultimately you sleep better. And even if you still don't like the cold, when you come inside and leave your wet boots on the mat, and make a cup of tea, and warm up by the fire, you benefit from the 'contrast effect.' This is when we experience relief from discomfort and feel a sense of elation. As many philosophers have argued, there is no true pleasure without pain.
Winter is, of course, the cozy season. My Danish cousin recently emailed me this: "Saturday I went with a group to Blokhus up north by the sea. We had our Christmas lunch in an illuminated park. We walked around the small seaside town where shops were open. We stopped in for warm chocolate and cookies. The weather was nice, a little layer of snow. It was very hyggeligt." That is the nicest bit of small talk I've had for some time. Tusind tak, Lisbeth.
In winter, nature abides. Trees drop their leaves to conserve water, and convert starch to sugar to prevent freezing. Birds grow a heavier coat of plumage--they fluff their feathers as insulation. Some animals hibernate in burrows, slowing their heart rate and metabolism. Bees cluster in sheltered places, producing warmth together. Humans make fires, and blow into their hands, and sing.
One of life's pleasures is making the best of circumstances. We might think we want comfort all the time, but comfort numbs our senses. When we face challenges and endure, we feel the most alive. Change is the only constant, so when we embrace change, in the turning of the seasons, we feel at one with our world. The only true measure of time, atomically speaking, is the transfer of heat. As warmth ebbs and flows within us, we mark each moment of our lives.
This all can seem a little sad, especially in winter. Emily Dickenson wrote, "There's a certain slant of light, on winter afternoons, that oppresses, like the weight of cathedral tunes." Many years later, Sufjan Stevens sang, "Oh my friends I've begun to worry, right where I should be grateful, I should be satisfied. But my heart is returned to sister winter. But my heart is as cold as ice." They are describing a wonderful, wistful sadness. I wouldn't want to live without it.
And if you're still not convinced, if you still curse the cold and dark, I can reassure you: The one sure thing about winter is that it ends.
I wish you and your family a happy, cozy season.
Have a good one,
Kipling Knox
