I fell into a bit of an ephemerals hole for a minute there, the Round-lobed Hepaticas look like little explosing stars! Your self-portraits are a big favourite of mine, Jason. As you know. And a big Amen to Spring fulfilling “the promise that death makes to life, and awakens the promise that life makes to death. Our singing is part of a much larger song.” So beautifully said.
Ephemerals are a wonderful little world to inhabit, Chloe. They sparkle up the forest as it transitions from winter into spring. And they range from the meaty strangeness of skunk cabbage (which Bryan Pfeiffer just wrote about) to the delicacies of bluets and trillium.
As for the songs that death and life sing, those are lessons I'm learning in good measure from your great writing. Thank you for that.
You're welcome, Erica. We're all living in layers of what-used-to-be, in scales from the local to the global. That recognition, and feeling trapped in it all day every day, is a big part of what got me into this writing. So we find our respites where we can. Or make them.
Thanks for the reminder of winter's beauty at the end of the season when I generally can't wait for spring to come and to get my hands into the garden soil again!
It will be nice to be in the garden again, Ruth. For us, that's veggies rather than flowers, but it will be great to see the first peas and greens coming up.
I love this post, Jason. I saw the photos and thought, that looks like Maine! I'm originally from Gardiner and we spend a lot of time at Biscay Pond in Bristol
I agree. Fortunately, I am just a visitor and will be able to return to my home in Seattle but at least I get to be out in the desert, one of the landscapes I love most.
Thank you. Starting my day with a hot coffee and your essay allows me to ease into the day reflecting on what is important and how I used to enjoy those long solitary winter walks through the Vermont landscape. I just finished an energetic conversation with my friend,partner and spouse who starts her days deep in the news, local and beyond, and what a contrast it is to setting the tone of the day. I am content with my approach. My only complaint is that if I allow myself to follow the path you laid to so much other good and meaningful writing I would still be sitting here at dusk with a cup of cold dregs. But thank you still.
Thanks, Glenn. I'm glad I could contribute to your peaceful morning. And if your reading list grows through the day, you can always warm up those dregs...
Thank you for capturing how I feel about winter! The quiet, the beauty, the excuse to be inside, the insect-free hiking, and the recharging, reviving, resting. We had two warm days this week in Virginia - in the 80s - and there was such a racket of machine noise outside. So many people poised with their chainsaws and leaf blowers and power washers etc. I wish they all would take up kayaking.
Happy to hear from another winter lover, Stacey. And yes, too many people turn early spring into an excuse to run their machines. Good luck with your kayaking campaign. Spring run-off is such a good time to be on the rivers.
Consider this a thank you note, Jason, for the lovely gift I received in the mail. A beautifully written, heart filled wave goodbye to winter. My very soul belongs to winter. For me, it is a camaraderie—a kinship with the forest and mountain pass I know so well. I’m with Heather. Because winter. Please tell her the love note in the snow and your acknowledgment brought tears—is another shared reason why immersing ourselves in the outdoors on a familiar path—especially with your best friend, is forever life enhancing. My mom loved hearing about all our outdoor adventures, especially backcountry skiing. She used to say; ‘now go outside and make memories’. I have spent my life following her orders. It made me who I am today.
My father used to tell us to go outside and play in traffic... But he was an outdoorsman his whole life and made sure we were out there too. (And we never lived anywhere with traffic.) I still have a pair of his big pickerel-style old-school snowshoes, with new bindings, and they work well.
I'll pass on your regards to Heather. Thank you, Lor.
I fell into a bit of an ephemerals hole for a minute there, the Round-lobed Hepaticas look like little explosing stars! Your self-portraits are a big favourite of mine, Jason. As you know. And a big Amen to Spring fulfilling “the promise that death makes to life, and awakens the promise that life makes to death. Our singing is part of a much larger song.” So beautifully said.
Ephemerals are a wonderful little world to inhabit, Chloe. They sparkle up the forest as it transitions from winter into spring. And they range from the meaty strangeness of skunk cabbage (which Bryan Pfeiffer just wrote about) to the delicacies of bluets and trillium.
As for the songs that death and life sing, those are lessons I'm learning in good measure from your great writing. Thank you for that.
Grateful to be caught up in the song with you, my friend. Now, off to read about skunk cabbage..!!
A beautiful winter’s lullaby. 🤍❄️
Thank you, Grace.
Thank you for your beautiful and peaceful respite from my grey, wet, automobile-filled land of what-used-to-be-rainforest.
You're welcome, Erica. We're all living in layers of what-used-to-be, in scales from the local to the global. That recognition, and feeling trapped in it all day every day, is a big part of what got me into this writing. So we find our respites where we can. Or make them.
Absolutely stunning writing and a lovely paean to winter. —Jennifer P
So good to hear from you, Jennifer (Jenny?). And thanks for the kind words.
Thanks for the reminder of winter's beauty at the end of the season when I generally can't wait for spring to come and to get my hands into the garden soil again!
It will be nice to be in the garden again, Ruth. For us, that's veggies rather than flowers, but it will be great to see the first peas and greens coming up.
I love this post, Jason. I saw the photos and thought, that looks like Maine! I'm originally from Gardiner and we spend a lot of time at Biscay Pond in Bristol
Biscay is just a few miles away, Paul. It's a lovely place to be.
Writing to you from Tucson, where it's supposed to be 90 degrees day, I am so jealous. And, appreciative of your splendid paean to winter.
Thank you, David. You and Tucson can keep your 90s, please. We hit 62 the other day and we decided that was warm enough.
I agree. Fortunately, I am just a visitor and will be able to return to my home in Seattle but at least I get to be out in the desert, one of the landscapes I love most.
My only real desert experience is Antarctica, oddly enough. Are you seeing some good spring desert blooms?
A few blooms but just being among the stark and pointed plants makes me happy.
Thank you. Starting my day with a hot coffee and your essay allows me to ease into the day reflecting on what is important and how I used to enjoy those long solitary winter walks through the Vermont landscape. I just finished an energetic conversation with my friend,partner and spouse who starts her days deep in the news, local and beyond, and what a contrast it is to setting the tone of the day. I am content with my approach. My only complaint is that if I allow myself to follow the path you laid to so much other good and meaningful writing I would still be sitting here at dusk with a cup of cold dregs. But thank you still.
Thanks, Glenn. I'm glad I could contribute to your peaceful morning. And if your reading list grows through the day, you can always warm up those dregs...
Thank you for capturing how I feel about winter! The quiet, the beauty, the excuse to be inside, the insect-free hiking, and the recharging, reviving, resting. We had two warm days this week in Virginia - in the 80s - and there was such a racket of machine noise outside. So many people poised with their chainsaws and leaf blowers and power washers etc. I wish they all would take up kayaking.
Happy to hear from another winter lover, Stacey. And yes, too many people turn early spring into an excuse to run their machines. Good luck with your kayaking campaign. Spring run-off is such a good time to be on the rivers.
Consider this a thank you note, Jason, for the lovely gift I received in the mail. A beautifully written, heart filled wave goodbye to winter. My very soul belongs to winter. For me, it is a camaraderie—a kinship with the forest and mountain pass I know so well. I’m with Heather. Because winter. Please tell her the love note in the snow and your acknowledgment brought tears—is another shared reason why immersing ourselves in the outdoors on a familiar path—especially with your best friend, is forever life enhancing. My mom loved hearing about all our outdoor adventures, especially backcountry skiing. She used to say; ‘now go outside and make memories’. I have spent my life following her orders. It made me who I am today.
My father used to tell us to go outside and play in traffic... But he was an outdoorsman his whole life and made sure we were out there too. (And we never lived anywhere with traffic.) I still have a pair of his big pickerel-style old-school snowshoes, with new bindings, and they work well.
I'll pass on your regards to Heather. Thank you, Lor.
Glad I brought your Dad’s voice to the surface this morning, as you did the same for me.
You almost made me long for a longer winter.
That's high praise, Leah... Thank you.