Winter
In the global North, winter offers us a poetic reminder of stillness as a necessary catalyst for renewal. A mirror of our own timing, like a river’s surface that appears unmoving while her underbelly roars with persistence. Winter gives us a hope of newness; an understanding that even when things feel stagnant, there is an unfolding yet occurring. One that is nourished by deep rest, introspection and stepping into the sequence.
In February, our hearts crave what warms us from the inside out. Stews, stories, cacao, and company. We seek ceremony in the form of candlelight, sipping spirits, integrating the new year and releasing the past; an opportunity to re-evaluate what we have chosen before, and what is possible for us now. Nature knows when record is required, thus pushing us inside to take inventory. Certain things will always feel different in the winter—the full moon, moments fireside, poetry, hot water. If we begin to witness each season as a reflection of our own cycles, we can better honor our needs and deepen into our intrinsic relationship with nature. When she contracts, we follow.
The time between the Winter solstice and Spring equinox in the Canadian prairies are, for many, not an ideal time to forage, plant seeds or find solace outdoors. She is sparse, naked and often unforgiving. Our relationship with her becomes different too. It is no longer about what she can give us but about our acceptance of her, in each of her phases —especially in her darkest.
When it comes to eating seasonally, winter in the North can leave us with a guttural fear of scarcity. We find comfort in the accessibility of buying avocados year-round and coffee at our fingertips. But largely do not consider the true cost of this convenience. We tend to avoid difficult questions, like does our comfort take priority over the harsh working conditions of farmers; the long-term effects of monocropping and amassing soil degradation? And who are we trusting to answer when we call for systematic solutions?
If we look at Winter as a metaphor for scarcity consciousness, we’re reminded of the archaic story that we must compete with one another for our survival. We must devour, make the land our property, hoard what little resources are left. But the beautiful thing about Winter, is that she is consistent. The rest of nature acknowledges her inevitable coming, knowing to gather, store and preserve food long before.
True food sovereignty is preparing for her arrival, so that a lack of stocked shelves, increasing prices for fresh produce and supply chain shortages don’t affect our ability to feed ourselves. We must remember the ways of our ancestors and embody the seasons, plan the harvest in the spring, store our crops in the fall and save seeds for the following year. Doing the groundwork like building root cellars, organizing community seed exchanges and reskilling in the world of preservation methods like fermentation, canning and dehydrating that extend and increase the life force of our yields all year long. We can rest peacefully knowing that our pantries are abundant with the foresight of tending our soil, long before we sow it.
