The solstices have always been, are now, and forever shall be, important times. The winter solstice, in particular, serves to remind us of our true nature as creatures that are totally dependent on light.
In ancient of times, midwinter was a very dangerous time for hunter-gatherers in the northern hemisphere. Game was scarce in the cold season, right when people needed it the most. Wood could be hard to come by to feed the fires that kept the darkness at bay. And depending on the success of the previous year’s crops, there could either be a bounty of grains and vegetables stored to get a clan, family or tribe through the harsh season — or not. Don’t forget, it was not unusual for these groups to either starve or to merge with others. As the days got shorter and shorter and the nights got longer and longer, a dark fear may have settled on the land, to be dispelled only by the knowledge of the elders, who knew that right when it seemed that the sun would never come up again — that it would.
Many different peoples of the northern hemisphere had rituals that would help them get through this time and those that counted the days, who watched the sun and the stars would know that beginning from the time of the solstice that the days would very gradually become longer — it would be only a hundred days until their seeds could be planted, until the advent of glorious spring-time. So there is a plus side of this dark time, but still a hundred days seems like a long time. The other positive product of this period is that, as much as it is a time for inner reflection of the individual — for introspection on one’s last cycle around the sun and how to apply that experience and knowledge to the coming year — the darkness draws communities and families closer together, as well.
Shadows lengthen, darkness rules
As the arctic winds race down from the ice-cap, having swept across frozen tundra where caribou hunker down to escape the blowing cold, and after unleashing their lake-effect snows on the frigid Finger Lakes, those same winds force their way through the protective peaks of the southeast Catskills, howling through the deep mountain cloves — winter finally comes to Waghkonk. If midsummer is the high tide of life, then this cold, dark time must be its low tide, when our region comes closest to resembling a desert, albeit a frigid, snowy one. And like most deserts, while the frigid landscape might seem lifeless, it is not, but life is hidden — one just needs to know where to look. Hiding under bark of tree, shingles on house and barn, buried half-frozen in muck of pond and bog, napping in hollow log and burrowed into banks of earth, life is here, yet dormant. Some, like the lively small birds — bluebirds, bluejays, cardinals, chickadees, juncos, sparrows, various woodpeckers, wrens, are with us all winter, showing us what true hardiness is. The hawks and owls that didn’t migrate hope for the small rodents — moles, voles and assorted mice to become prey. Local bald eagles will spend time fishing on the Hudson as they also neaten up their huge nests, readying for mating. Wild turkeys will — like the deer — be hiding from the winds (and the eastern coyotes) in the shelter of thickets of white pine and eastern hemlock.
So yes, life is still here, with all of the drama that accompanies the natural world as it deals with another northeast winter.
Helping each other
As the lady dons her snowy mantle for the season, and the northern part of earth tilts away from the sun, with darkness dominating like the closing of an eyelid, let’s all remember what a stressful time this can be for many of us — some more than others. Please be patient with each other as we would want others to be patient with us.
May the dark days ahead be filled with light. Please stay safe and warm. Thank you all. “Ranger” Dave Holden | 845-594-4863 | woodstocktrails@gmail.com / Dave Holden on Facebook / rangerdaveholden on Instagram / www.woodstocknytrails.com.
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