Wintering

Nothing burns like the cold…  George R.R. Martin

I see the foxes every day now, their russet fur flashing against the deep snow that has transformed the contours of the land behind my home. They are a pair and appear to be in excellent health - thick, bushy tails, sturdy bodies moving with keen, quick steps. I like to think they are a mated pair, toughing out this winter together, and if all goes well, maybe there will be a litter of kits come spring. A group of foxes is called a skulk, the female, a vixen, and the male, just a dog. I challenge you to find better entertainment than watching fox kits playing together - a jumble of furry bodies, rolling, leaping, sparring and wrestling - practicing their moves.

I’ve been cursing the snow and ice as it lingers, unchanging these last bitterly cold weeks in January and on into February. Current temp? 12 with a “feels like" of -5 with wind gusts of 33 mph. Enough already! But the snow has revealed things to me - the foxes for one. I think now they likely frequent the marsh trails regularly, patrolling their turf, but can only be seen so easily now against the snowy backdrop. Perhaps they are hunting farther from their den as mice and voles must be harder to find - I’m not sure - but it is a gift to be able to study their movements and behavior.

Have you noticed all the footprints the snow holds, revealing otherwise unseen visitors? It’s easy to see where deer pass regularly - narrow, measured, vertical slashes - their weight breaking through the crust of ice. Atop the snow, dainty little feet with claws, like tiny snowshoes. Squirrels maybe, raccoons? And so many bird tracks, crisscrossing in crazy quilt stitches. I am inside under blankets, a hot cup of tea nearby, yet the snow reveals a veritable highway of activity.

We are all “wintering” as best we can. Wintering is a verb attributed to Katherine May, the author of the eponymous book published in 2020.

May writes about learning to embrace winter, yes, but also any period of our lives that demands we slow down, turn inward and reinvent. I call it cocooning, like the stage in the lifecycle of a moth or butterfly. A ruptured appendix forced me into my own cocoon this month with a lengthy stay in hospital and an ongoing stage of convalescing ahead. Life came to a screeching halt, so many plans canceled. The inner life suddenly mimicking the outside - all systems forced to shut down and hibernate.

You know where this is going. It’s hard not to lean on the obvious “when life gives you lemons…” metaphor, but a reset can be powerful medicine! 

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.” (Wintering, by Katherine May)

Winter is the time when we gardeners delight in the arrival of seed catalogs in our mailboxes. Nothing says hope like planning a spring garden. And we can see our gardens in winter with a clarity not found in other seasons. Seed heads and stalks from perennials highlighted against the snow provide winter interest - not to mention vital food sources and habitat for birds and over-wintering insects. Cardinals rest on brush piles at the edge of the yard - magnificent and stately, red against white. I’m using this time to assess my evergreen shrubs, an essential aspect of any design.

Are your evergreens working their winter magic? Maybe hungry deer are doing a number on your screening shrubs. What plants are wonderful in winter? Now is the time to assess your winter garden. Evergreens will be the subject of another blog post soon, but I’d love to hear what’s inspiring you in your winter habitat. 

Winter marches on and I am surrounded by books for inspiration and design ideas, building my plant knowledge. I’m looking for my foxes and hoping they have enough to eat. And I am healing and feeling grateful for this opportunity to be present while carefully daring to plan for the future, because I know winter is just a season and spring will follow.

Further reading: 

• The Fox & I: An Uncommon Friendship by Catherine Raven, Spiegel and Grau 2021

• Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May, Riverhead Books, 2020