Much of the Midwest and West was blanketed in snow for Christmas this year, but my daughter spent the afternoon of Christmas Eve sunbathing on the porch in shorts and a T-shirt because western South Dakota apparently didn’t get the memo about a white Christmas. Now, it wasn’t actually warm enough for summer attire, but the novelty of saying she was sunbathing on Christmas was too delightful an opportunity to ignore. Meanwhile, in the small pasture beside the house, the sheep grazed blissfully, the chickens roamed freely and a pair of downy woodpeckers squealed and pecked their way around the circle of cottonwoods in the front yard. It felt like spring except for the sun, pitched low against the horizon, which sent long shadows crawling across the gray, dead grass.
Honestly, it was all very weird even though we had the same weather last year at this time. Last year, however, the warm snap quickly shifted to rain then sleet and the dipping temperatures left the prairie covered in sleek ice. The kids spent Christmas Day ice skating in their boots while I attempted to cross the yard to get to the barn and do my chores without breaking a bone.
This year, however, the warmth has lingered. Yesterday, doing my chores in the dark because we’d been busy Christmas singing during daylight, I marveled at the way my breath didn’t freeze in my lungs. I didn’t even need a hat, the hood of my sweatshirt was enough. And walking back to the house, I found two white-and-black tail feathers, gifts, no doubt, from the gamboling woodpeckers. It all felt like a gift though — the starlight, the crisp, dark air, the sounds of sheep crunching hay, the warm glow of the house beckoning me, but in a gentle way because I didn’t need to rush there to avoid frostbite, I could saunter instead of stride.
It’s odd to be sitting here on the precipice of a new year — which will have already happened by the time you read this — and feeling at ease. The holiday season is supposedly one of comfort and joy–or at least that’s what we are led to believe, but does anyone experience that anymore? I imagine there was a time when it was true. The long hours of summer and the hard labor of harvest were followed by the quiet and warmth of the hearth, and that was a welcome shift. But, in modern life, our to-do list gets longer, not shorter this time of year. The pace of our everyday doings intensifies, and it’s made even harder as we brace our bodies for the cold every time we leave the house or battle icy roads and walkways.
Somehow, this year, with the mild weather, I feel like I am getting a window into what it would be like for the holidays to feel easier instead of harder. For it to actually be possible to burrow into the magic of less becoming more, even if just in the smallest ways, like enjoying my outdoor chores without needing to swath myself in the bulkiest clothes possible.
We are about to enter into one of the two seasons the Christian church calls “ordinary time” — the period between Christmastide and Lent — which is also usually the coldest, bleakest time of year here on the prairie. Last night, the twinkle lights from our tree still winking through the window, the presents still shiny and new and the weather so wonderfully warm, I wondered how it was going to feel to re-enter ordinary time. Will this respite of unusual warmth and ease be enough to carry us through until spring without the perennial cabin fever and general lamentations?
Only time will tell, but as usual, I am thankful to have this chance to reflect and to share those reflections with you all. I hope 2025 brings you peace and belonging. Sending you all love from our hearth to yours!
