OK. When I wrote this yesterday, I really didn’t expect that the first snow would come the day after I posted! But here it is:

The last forget-me-nots are reminded of the white stuff.

In case you think this fall was just a brief, ah, flurry, it’s still falling! 

Autumn really gets the short end of the stick, you know?  Spring technically doesn’t start until late March, but it really comes early, when spring training games begin in Florida and Arizona.

Summer is not supposed to start until late June, but Memorial Day weekend always feels like the beginning of the summer season. (Unless you live in New England.)  

Autumn doesn’t start until late September because—although Labor Day weekend might end trips to the shore, Indian summer days keep reminding us of warmth. So autumn starts on schedule, unlike those other two seasons.

And then it ends early. It’s supposed to last until December 20th or so, when the winter solstice comes. But after Thanksgiving, everyone’s mind is on upcoming Christmas or Hanukkah, and all thoughts of autumn drift away, like the fallen leaves carried by the breeze. 

So, even though it isn’t officially winter yet, this post-Thanksgiving, non-leftover Friday recognizes that autumn is done and thus calls for another of my seasonal “top 10” lists: the 10 things I like about winter. (Which, since I really don’t like winter very much at all, was pretty hard to come up with.) 

10.       February hopes. February offers three signals that a new season approaches— buds on the Big Maple out back turn red, readying themselves to burst forth; days grow noticeably longer again; and, of course, pitchers and catchers report to spring camps. Nothing, but nothing, speaks hope more profoundly than that!

             (And yes, starting the list with signs of the end of winter shows just how I was scraping the bottom of the barrel for ten good things to say about the season!)  

9.         Bundling up. It’s fun to bundle up in heavy coat, scarf, knitted cap, and gloves. A few times. Then it gets old. 

8.         Cozy fires and a hot drink. Weekend mornings taste extra delicious when spent reading something by a fire while sipping hot chocolate, warm cider, or a café con leche. These pleasures are good in the evening, but there’s something specially indulgent about enjoying them during the day. That means you’re really relaxing.

            Or thawing out from needing to bundle up one time too many.  

7.         Icicles. Ice isn’t fun to drive on, and the only time I was ever scheduled to go ice skating in my life, I fell on the ice and smashed my nose before we even left home (which I was willing to accept as a fair warning to stay away), so ice doesn’t have too many charms for me once it strays from a glass of gin and tonic. But icicles are pretty cool: stalactites, without the darkness. They even make interesting shadows, and they shine so beautifully in the sun. 

Ice at Taos Pueblo 

6.         Snow. Three snows are good: The first snow of the season is a treat (as long as it’s not too heavy). The first snow reawakens the awe we felt as children seeing snow for the first time.

            The big, nasty blizzard can be good as long as you’re inside as it happens (and don’t have a heart attack digging out from under it). The power of nature, but less furious than a hurricane or tornado: a blizzard stops ordinary life and reminds us that we are still creatures of nature.

            Gentle night snow charms, as snowflakes drift down through a black sky, shimmering in a streetlight or the headlights of a passing car. Better—no cars, the only sound the murmur of the fluffy whiteness as it slowly drops past your ear. The world becomes hushed. 

           I'll give you one more: snow on trees, whether it is puffed up on top of evergreen branches or the thin edge, the slice of snow, that magically clings on a bare oak or maple branch. 

5.         Tree skeletons. Winter let’s you study the structure of trees. It’s like the opportunity to gaze at the naked body of a beautiful man or woman (preference yours): you see something elemental and strong, powerful and poetic. 

Our Big Maple in winter 

4.         Christmas decorations. Lights on the tree, wreaths on doors, bulbs and crèches on tabletops, all the decorations bringing light and gaiety into a time of growing darkness. The decorations—some from my childhood, some from Mrs. P’s parents, some that we have gathered over the years—also carry stories with them, and those stories help them glow.  

3.         The Christmas Carol with George C. Scott. In 1984, IBM sponsored a made-for-TV movie of the Christmas classic starring George C. Scott as Scrooge. Gruff, as Old Sourpuss should be, Scott also made Scrooge lively, a quick thinker, and with an arch sense of humor that gave the classic a fresh feel—and lessened the Maudlin Potential. When he trembles over his ultimate fate, Scott’s Scrooge carries the quaking fear inside all of us.

            We recorded it and have watched it every year since—a Pilgrim family tradition. The tape is now old and fuzzy, we have to fast-forward through the IBM commercials, it’s can be distracting to remember that David Wayne is Bob Cratchit and not a Klingon ambassador or a scientist helping Ninja Turtles, and I really hate the cute little kid who plays Tiny Tim. But, God, I love this movie. 

2.         Christmas carols. Yes, I like the traditional ones. A lot. But one of the pleasures that Mrs. P and I enjoyed in our years in Boston was listening to Early Music—the music of the Middle Ages and Renaissance, when viola da gamba, shawm, and sackbut accompanied small vocal groups. Boston was a center of Early Music and boasted a superb group, the Boston Camerata, founded by Joel Cohen (he is now director emeritus). We looked forward each year to the Camerata’s Christmas concert, each year centered on the music of a different place and period, and bought several records, and later CDs, of this group and other Early Music groups.

             There is something about this music, often echoing the words of the Bible in telling the Nativity story, restoring poetry to the events, or using simple but powerful language to express wonder and joy, with haunting tunes and small ensembles (rather than overpopulated choruses) that speaks Christmas to me with honest, noncommercial, beauty. These songs and these performances are faith and hope—the true hallmarks of the season—as art.

             I found a video of a more recent Camerata concert. It is not one of the classic tunes Mrs. P and I have loved over the years, but does reveal Cohen’s showmanship, musicianship, and joy in music. Give it a try. (For some reason, the video would not embed, despite repeated tries, but I will supply the URL.)

1.         Christmas with the family. It’s precious to gather and celebrate family love, to see the new generation growing and learning, to catch up on the months gone by, and to share memories of past times and build new ones. The fact that all these pleasures take place while eating large amounts of pernil and black beans makes it a double blessing.  

Words and pictures © 2009 AtHome Pilgrim.

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