“Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time”
Greetings friends,
The circle of time has landed us back into the depths of January. The season where the landscape is composed of all shades of white, brown, and grey. I look out my window and the “striking” pop of color I see are the picked-through rich, rusty, merlot red clusters of Staghorn Sumac that the birds have left. Holding on from October, the hue is muddied from weathering the cold, wind, rain and snow all these months. Further in the distance, the soft ridge lines of the Green Mountains form an ombre of a stark, deep petrol blue to a hazy, dusty hyacinth blue/purple. The darkest and closest layer is Raven’s Ridge (~4 miles), and the haziest, furthest range with Camels Hump is ~40 miles, both due east. The final color I notice is the freshly painted electric golden lines on the road, making the blues and reds of the mountains and sumac seem closer to the grays and browns of the surrounding landscape. It’s all relative. My daily search for color is sparse.
Our daughter is in a Cat Stevens phase, so we’ve been listening to Tea for Tillerman on repeat lately. On a particularly grey and dull morning a few weeks ago, while listening en route to school, we reached “Miles from Nowhere” in the track list. I’ve heard this song hundreds of times over the years (being introduced to the wisdom and genius of Yusuf/Cat Stevens at a young age thanks to my own mom- and particularly that of Harold & Maude , which sent home my love for his music). Unlike every other time I’ve listened to this tune though, I found tears streaming down my cheeks- as if the opening line struck an arrow into my heart and soul. Come deep winter, we wrestle with “fleeing” and the instinct to “just get out”. We look out the window and pray to see bulbs showing us their horns popping up through the thawing earth, once again letting us know warmth, sun, and light are near. We wrestle with stillness- shedding layers and grieving what “once was” (the depths of this perhaps dependent on how far “in” we go).
One of the things I have come to actually LIKE about winter, is the challenge of building a toolbox to settle into this dark, stillness. There is a comfort, an excitement, in “hunkering down”. It’s something I’ve come to see I’m good, if not thrive, at. Maybe it's from growing up here, so this is my normal, or perhaps it's just how I was made (summer, on the other hand, is the season I struggle in...with the heat and pace feeling impossible to keep up with).
I come to you today after having listened to this song on repeat, letting it soak into the bones of my body, with a plea to join me in questioning the meaning of the so-called destination we so longingly seek. Yusuf/Cat Stevens sings,
”Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there
Look up at the mountain
I have to climb
Oh yeah, to reach there.”
He reminds us that when we find ourselves in the unknown (perhaps a season we want to fast-forward through, a life transition that feels like it’s never going to end, a crisis of identity…), it is the power of “taking our time” that will get us through. When asked about the meaning of this song, he speaks about the ways in which we build a foundation of our identity, thus life. We are nothing without it- like a house cannot stand solid without one. Later in the song, he hints at our physical body being solely a vessel for our soul/spirit, which is ultimately what carries us. This song is a celebration of grief. It is also a potent elixir, inspiring us to embrace the undesirable. “Survival Skills 101” teaches us a similar methodology: if you find yourself lost in the forest- don’t start depleting your energy by pacing through the woods as fast as you can to get out. Chances are, you will sprain our ankle, loose steam (and on a technicality- sweat too much, causing your clothing to be damp while the temps drop at night, leaving you at risk of hypothermia), or (most likely) find yourself more lost and turned around than you were before. I absolutely love the image of being miles from where we are hoping to be, so it’s the exact reason to pause and acknowledge that the road ahead will be long, but we will be okay. Like not flailing our body/struggling against a strong water current if we get stuck in it.
“I creep through the valleys
And I grope through the woods
'Cause I know when I find it my honey
It's gonna make me feel good, yes”.
Our spring will come. It’s how the wheel of time turns; through the seasons of the year and in the seasons of life. German Philosopher Walter Benjamin (by way of Rebecca Solnit’s book, “A Field Guide to Getting Lost) writes “to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery." To be lost, is to be present. Does that mean that to be lost, “miles from nowhere”, IS the goal?? Is the concept of a “destination” or having control of our place in life is just an illusion, keeping us forever dissatisfied with where we are in the moment? Or maybe it implies that if we don’t stay present in the face of being lost, we won’t be led (or lead ourself) to the “honey” Cat Stevens talks about- to find all that we are capable of. In the process of trying to get away from where we are and go to where we think will be a better place, we miss out on our life...the *living*. A piece that keeps coming back to me is this notion of seeing (or discovering?) who we really are, beneath all the layers of the identity we "hope" for, when we find ourselves lost. What kind of company are we going to be for ourselves when we're stranded? A practice we can begin anew each day. I’ll be ruminating on these musings the rest of my hibernation. Maybe you will too…
Without further ado, here are some pieces from my cold-climate wintering toolbox to share with you, in no particular order. Components that do not involve an escape somewhere warm, or really anything you must buy:
1. Rhythms. Having things I do each day to provide a sense of structure. This is a big concept with young children- but I think it is soothing and helpful for all ages. Grounding myself with a (realistic) set of things I do each day is deeply therapeutic and the days go by with a little more WD-40 on them, so to speak. I go through life with about 6 working to-do lists at all times, but time blocking is a newer time management strategy that is working SO well. Planning my days in advance (esp when lethargy sets in), is very beneficial. Structured is an app I have liked- but a good ol’ pen and paper does the trick too.
2. Music as a form of transportation. I present to you, my Reggae playlist. On the most mean of cold days, I put this on and teleport somewhere warm and far away. In the days of yore in college, we'd host a tropical party with pina coladas (and all things tropical) come deep winter. Maybe I’ll start that up again…
3. Warming rituals. Tea all day. Hot water bottles at night. Soups and stews. Drinking broth. Foot baths (seriously, an herbal foot bath is a grounding, glorious, and very underrated way to end the day- lots of benefits for the body as well). Ginger and lots of chai simmering on the stovetop. Make warming your body the goal of the day, in as many ways as you can, like drinking water while sick. These are also things that Lloyd Kahn might put in a category of heating your BODY before the house (a little more on that below…).
4. Get outside when it’s “not fun”. Dressed appropriately, there are few weather patterns we cannot be outside for at leasttttt 30 minutes in. I’ve found that sometimes the “worst” times to be outside have been the most fun! Freezing your ass off every so often while going on an adventure is good for character building, right? And good for the chi to be invigorated by our surroundings! I fall into the “comfort” trap that our modern western culture encourages. It’s fruitful for us to step outside of that and push our limits, no? Just remember the x-y graph where “preparation” is on one axis and “fun” on the other. The more prepared we are, the more fun can be had 📈. If you’re going to go on a trek in very cold weather, be prepared so it can be all fun!
5. Gather. A few years ago I took a class series on ancestral and bioregional traditions in the winter seasons with Megan McGuire. She spoke about how in the days before cars as our primary mode of transportation (esp. in rural areas), winter was the high time of gathering and communing. With sleighs on snow and/or frozen ground, travel was fast and pretty easy. In the shoulder seasons (and even summer), road conditions were not great- with wooden wheels getting stuck often, and roads would wash out and be trashed, making it even more of a challenge. I love this reframe of winter- and how much of a 180 it is now. The cultural norm is to stay inside and hole up in our nuclear family units, when THIS is the season we need community most. Don’t hole up all the time! Co-hibernate!
6. Have things you only do in winter. While I drink lots of tea in all the seasons, I get hardcore about my loose herbal tea nightcaps in winter. Ginger, rosehip, lemon balm is a favorite. Also ginger & echinacea. There are also certain foods and spices I celebrate more in winter (cardamom and nutmeg being two of the big ones). What are things you could do to make this time special? We get fixed on Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa, and then they're over and we struggle through the rest of winter. What could you do to take this approach for the rest of winter, too? Maybe gather with your self, family, or friends and make your own “holy days” and traditions. What do you want to worship in the cold dark?
7. Keep lights and wreaths up outside. This goes along with the one above. In our rural neck of the woods, many people keep wreaths and lights up outside their home. The first winter we landed back in Vermont, my daughter was 6mo. Our dog Piper needed a walk everyday and the rural dirt road we lived on had winds that whipped like no other. We would walk every day she tolerated it, bundled up with nothing but our eyes showing-sometimes with the stroller, sometimes with her strapped onto my chest, buried in my massive coat. Our neighbors down the road had a charming old barn with a wreath and lights they kept up until the true end of winter. It was amazing how morale-boosting this scene was when we’d pass by. And still, driving around at night in these parts, there are lots of lights still up outside- it’s cozy and festive. Not in a “Christmas” way, as much as it’s just adding some light to a dark time we weather together.
8. Restorative movement. Rest is good, Stagnancy is the thing we don’t want. Turn up the music and dance and shake (literally, it’s so good for your body and lymph system). Stretch. Lift weights and feel your strength and inner hearth at work. Climb a mountain on a cold day (you won’t feel cold anymore!). I love Lloyd Kahn’s approach to our body being the source of heat in a home. Does your house feel cold? Warm yourself up before touching the thermostat- stay limber and stay warm!
9. Lastly, I have found the dark months of winter to be a time I decide what my "studies" for the year are going to be. There is extra time inside, and naturally, more time to read and learn. The past few years have been these deep dives into the matrescence (naturally...home birthing, breastfeeding, cloth diapering, postpartum depression, chronic sleep deprivation, being a highly sensitive parent w/a highly sensitive kid...), but this year it is the first year my blinders feel like they are lifting off a bit. I am feeling overwhelmingly excited to learn and self-study topics unrelated to parenting and motherhood. In the past, these deep dives have been primarily about herbal medicine, sourdough, and fiber arts. This year I am feeling called to find a landscape watercolor class (ideally one via zoom?), go deeper into Donald Judd's writings (pending a trip this spring to western Texas??...), and study a few other artists/art movements. I am curious about my own "next chapter" as an artist (not away from pottery, but having gone through a major life/human change), and thus I enjoy reading about how many lives some artists live- a reminder there is never "one path" or "one identity" as an artist. Anni Albers, Beatrice Wood, and Elizabeth Catlett are three I am feeling called to right now- people I know quite a bit about as it is...but I am craving to go even deeper into the context of their work. WHATEVER your thing is, our spirit is lifted by doing and learning new things that don't fit into the category of "work" and "home". Be a sponge. Knowledge shares like Herban Cura, Domestika, free Harvard Courses, or even Rosemary Gladstar's awesome Herbal Medicine course are great jumping-off places :)
Wishing you warmth and light on your journey ahead,
Amelia
“Miles from nowhere
Not a soul in sight
Oh yeah, but it's alright”
excerpt from the January 2025 volume of Wheelside Rambles.
