In Defense of Winter

If you're cold, you're wearing the wrong clothes

"But Alaska is so cold," they say. "And Texas is so hot," I retort.

Growing up in the flat, piney woods of southeast Texas did not afford me many opportunities to experience real winter. It's not uncommon to sweat it out in your ugly Christmas sweater on an 85 degree December day. The few times a decade that it does snow, it melts just as quickly as it falls. Of course, that won't stop a zealous Texan kid from putting on every piece of clothing they own and running outside to play until their hands freeze.

When winter first arrived in Alaska this year (circa mid-October), we quickly realized how little we owned to keep us warm. So, we did the most Alaskan thing we could think of and headed to Costco. Three pairs of gloves, several multi-packs of fleece socks, a few base layers, some puffy jackets, and a giant block of cheddar cheese later, and we were set (the cheese was just for fun).

I had spent my whole life believing the cold was miserable and unmanageable - but as it turns out, I just didn't own the right clothes.

SuBzero and loving it

It's not just that winter is manageable, it's actually enjoyable.

I'm convinced that there is a direct correlation between colder temperatures and indescribable beauty. As the temperatures fell, winter froze every river and draped every tree branch in frost. Snowflakes settled onto every rock and mountain and the snow grew deeper and deeper by the day. And almost overnight, everything around us had been completely transformed. There is an unmatched peace that comes from walking through the woods when sounds are absorbed by blankets of snow. And watching the white world around you glisten during golden hour has to be one of life's most glorious simple pleasures.

It is true that somewhere below zero your nose hairs start to freeze (it feels like something akin to breathing slushy through your nose). And at around -20F, it burns a little when you take a deep breath. But if you can put on a balaclava, fill a thermos full of hot chocolate, and grab your warmest warm layers, then you are in for a TREAT. Some of our fondest winter memories were made on the coldest days - hiking through absolute stillness while frost formed on our eyelashes, watching no less than 30 bald eagles soar between trees with a sunbow shining over (I'm not kidding, it was spectacular), sledding down a hillside above a cloud inversion at sunset, falling all over ourselves while hiking back from a frozen waterfall without our shoe spikes (my tailbone may never forget this).

On very regular occasion, I have stopped to ask myself, is this real life?

Let's hear it for the dark

No blog post on Alaskan winters would be complete without describing the darkness. On its shortest day, south central Alaska sees just under 5.5 hours of daylight. This one thing - months of shortened, darkened days - leaves many feeling sad, tired, and reliant on Costco sized bottles of Vitamin D. But without the darkness, there would be no light.

No Big Dipper, no moonbow, no light pillars, no aurora borealis.

Seeing the northern lights dance overhead is something like a drug - and chasing them quickly becomes an addiction. I find myself stalking space weather pages (which I understand very little of) and sitting in dark places for hours just for the chance of glimpsing the lights. One night Shep and I sat in the car for 3ish hours just *waiting*. It was the perfect opportunity to talk - mom to son, son to mom - about life and hardship and happiness and all things 9 year old boy. Sometime after midnight, as our eyes grew heavy, we prayed that we would see the aurora soon. And then, when she did appear, green across the sky, we danced and hugged and laughed and cried (ok, only I cried). Shortly after, he drifted off to sleep as we drove home in total darkness. Who knew night could be so wonderful.

It's April now and we are headed back into our season of all-night sun. And while I do crave the warmth of sunshine on my skin, I also know I'll deeply miss the giant shadowy mountains and the 9 am twinkling stars. But mostly, I know the lengthening days mean the end of winter.

And I think I'll miss winter, most of all.