Packing Up Winter

Did you feel that collective sigh? A few weeks back when we shifted to Daylight Saving Time?

It was almost audible - a slow, satisfying exhale. The rare moment when an entire country happily agrees to lose an hour of sleep.

Because, it turns out, we are all quietly hungry for the same thing — a little more light at the end of the day.

Something to be celebrated. Maybe this year more than ever.

We sprang ahead…happily.

Essentially, we have packed up winter into a suitcase, and we are preparing to ship it off for at least nine months…if we’re lucky.

When I pack, I am meticulous. I carefully line up clothes — day and night — and try to stay within one color scheme so pieces can be worn more than once. I pick out appropriate shoes, toss underwear and a bathing suit (if the destination calls for it) into a packing cube, then roll and fold everything neatly into my carry-on.

Yes, you read that right. A carry-on.

Impressive, right?

I have a packing list which I consult, more than once. It gives me a false sense of security - the comforting illusion that I am completely in control of the situation.

Still, I am bound to forget something.

So, what goes in with winter?

Historic blizzards and record-breaking snowfalls. Black ice. Brutal blasts of bone-chilling Arctic cold days of below-freezing temperatures. Unplanned snow days, for which we always seemed unprepared.

The shrinking daylight. The sidewalks dusted with sand and salt. The enormous, soiled snowbanks in grocery store parking lots that somehow linger until April.

And my own personal winter effects:

Snow boots - the ones that definitely earned their keep this year. Heavy coats. Gloves and hats, long johns, and scarfs. Salt-stained shoes by the back door.

And, if we’re being honest, a certain seasonal grumpiness.

But winter has a way of collecting other things too.

The early darkness that arrives before dinner. The long gray afternoons when motivation feels just slightly out of reach. The weeks when the sky seems permanently the color of wet wool (and seems to perfectly match the tint of our skin).

And maybe a few poignant things as well — small frustrations, worries that grow larger in the dark, the isolation caused by countless hours indoors, the heaviness that sometimes settles in when the world feels colder than usual.

One afternoon in December, I joined our family on a ski slope in Vermont. We protected our faces behind thermal fleece masks. We employed hand warmers and feet warmers and heated vests - and still we felt the chill. The wind was so fierce that the chairlifts were swaying wildly. And I remember wondering, shivering on that cold metal chair, “Will we ever be warm? Will we ever get to the top?”

Those things can slip into the suitcase too. And believe me, I am using the largest bag I can find. The oversized one that comes with extra charges.

Checked luggage, baby!

But I noticed the shift the other afternoon when I stepped outside in only a down vest.

For a moment, I stood there waiting for the familiar sting of cold air — the reflex we’ve all developed after months of bundling up.

But it never came.

Instead, there was just a soft breeze and the quiet warmth of the afternoon sun on my face.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily from a melting snowbank — that unmistakable sound of winter finally loosening its grip.

It felt small, almost insignificant. And yet, somehow, it felt like the beginning of everything.

Crocuses pushing bravely through the cold ground. Neighbors lingering a little longer on their afternoon walk. Mornings on the back porch with a strong cup of coffee.

Smiles. An unexplained joy.

Of course, the seasons have always known something we sometimes forget, that there is beauty in contrast.

The light feels brighter because we have lived through the dark. The warmth feels softer because we have known the cold.

Without winter, spring might slip past us almost unnoticed.

Eventually, the suitcase closes, with winter — with its storms and shadows and howling winds — tucked carefully inside.

A tender reminder of something the seasons also know all too well - this too shall pass.

We are often told that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, and perhaps that’s true. But I sometimes think I’m strong enough already. I’m not here for the strength training - I’m here because I like experiencing the seasons.

Or at least I think I do…

For now, though, the days stretch longer, the air feels gentler, and happy anticipation floats through an open door.

And maybe the real gift of spring isn’t simply that winter leaves.

Maybe it’s that we remember how to step back into the warmth…and stay there a little longer.

Like someone who just came in from the cold.