“The winter solstice time is no longer celebrated as it once was, with the understanding that this is a period of descent and rest, of going within our homes, within ourselves and taking in all that we have been through, all that has passed in this full year which is coming to a close…..

And yet the natural tug to go inwards as nearly all creatures are doing is strong and the weather so bitter that people are left feeling that winter is hard, because for those of us without burning fires and big festive families, it can be lonely and isolating. Whereas in actual fact winter is kind, she points us in her quiet soft way towards our inner self, towards this annual time of peace and reflection, embracing the darkness and forgiving, accepting and loving embracing goodbye the past year.

“Winter takes away the distractions, the buzz, and presents us with the perfect time to rest and withdraw into a womb like love, bringing fire & light to our hearth”.

 The above quote is from Venice Wyatt on Facebook, and shared with me by my friend and mentor Mary Jones.

Oh the rich wisdom in this quote!  For years, I have struggled with winter.  I always attributed it to being born in a warm, sunny climate.  Yet as I was reading back into my old journals, I realized struggled with winter even in the south.  The humid cold, the clouds, the rain. Here it’s the inversion, the dryness, the snow, the ice. It’s just winter.  It happens every year. So why do I have such a hard time with it?

I’ve done a lot of research on Seasonal Affective Disorder, and it is real.  I advise anyone struggling with depression in the winter, or any time, to seek help. The darkness and fatigue can be quite frightening. This is where I started.  I realized I need more light, some activity, and a change in my vitamins. This season, these things have helped.

However, I still felt down and empty.  I missed going outside. I was so tired when I got home from work.  The more I fought it, the more tired I became. I am usually in tune with nature, but I couldn’t hear her song amidst all of this ice, cold, and my waning energy.

When I read the above mentioned article, I felt I could give myself permission to take a step back.  It was the time and the season to rest. I’ve always felt it was important to “discern the seasons of your life “ (Thanks Rob Goyette, this one came from you!)  So I have decided to find the balance between one of the busiest times of the year (especially for musicians, parents, everybody really), and the need to do something of a hibernation.

As much as I would love to go to bed or at least go to Arizona for the next 4 months, life doesn’t stop just because I’m tired and cold.  However, I realize I can rest, even if it is in spurts. Some quiet time in the morning, even if it means getting up earlier. Curling up with a good book instead of my phone.  Stretching my tired body. Letting go of some perfectionism. Spending time with friends, family, and those who could use a friend. And the occasional treat of the a Sunday nap!

There is no need for me to speed head on into the new year without some reflection of the one past.  What am I thankful for? What do I need to change? Who do I need to nurture? What do I need to let go?  So in between the shopping, the practicing, the cooking, the teaching, and the running, I will be breathing.  Reflecting. Resting. Taking care of myself so I can be there for others, and accepting this season for what it has to offer. It is wrapped in a package I have often rejected and frankly hoped someone would take off my porch. But I will unwrap it, one icy layer at a time, and see the magic it has to offer.

 -The Bridges of Jacksonville, FL,  By Julie C. Fetzer.  Used with permission.

       When I went home to Jacksonville recently,  it was like looking at a map of my past. Watching out of my car window  I saw hundreds of memories float by on the Trout River. How many times had I driven or ridden over that bridge?  From sitting in a car seat to driving my first car I had watched that brackish water. That bridge took us to my grandma’s house, where there was always a smile, a sandwich (cheese and tomato, my favorite), and a friend.  I have gone over that bridge crying more times than I can count, seeking the quiet peace I knew I would find there. We would curl up on her 80’s velvet couch as both of them softened the world’s rough edges.

          I took other bridges that led to different times in my life.  I thought about this as I caught the soft wind blowing over the St. Johns, sitting in the shade of the Fuller Warren bridge.  I had navigated this bridge as a scared 16 year old, going full speed ahead to chase the life I wanted. Having no sense of direction (literally), I would drive over this bridge despite the traffic, because I knew it would always get me home. It was my go-to in case of bad weather and missed turns.  Just get to I-95 North from Jacksonville, Mom would say. You’ll get home eventually. If you end up in Georgia turn around!

   Jacksonville is a city of bridges, and you have to know how to get to your destination by at least 3 of them. The easiest way to get to my high school was the Acosta.  The one that lights up the skyline at night, and weaves close to Riverside Avenue. For me, the heart of the city is Riverside. I was born there, and somehow it got into me and never left. I go visit the Cummer Arts and Gardens, where I see pomegranate trees like my great grandfather used to grow, incipient spring about to burst into bloom . I rest in the shade of an oak older than anyone I know.  My roots go down like this tree’s as I find myself deep in the richness of its history.

         This bridge dropped us off in the arts district, where my sister and I would dress in our funky best and shop vintage clothes and cappuccinos.  Where my best friend and I bought quirky ’70’s outfits and changed immediately, because we just couldn’t wait to be those people. Those people that would rent their prom outfits from a costume shop on Margaret Street so they would be unique, and take pictures  that afternoon in the graveyard because the light was perfect.  

   Along this street my aunt and I would walk for hours, amid antiques and sepia toned treasures.  The smell of incense and sparkle of crystals has always beckoned me. “Come in and escape into another world for 20 minutes. Come read ancient quotes that carry new ideas. Take this little handful of happiness back to the world and make it a more beautiful place.”  

    New bends in the road took me to new bridges.  I watched as the Dames Point Bridge brought progress but swept away our way of life in its wake, leaving just a shadow of the town my 4th great grandfather Henry Von Balson built.  Under this bridge I ran with my cousins and fished for flounder until the sun went down. I listened to my aunt and Grandpa talk for hours in a cloud of coffee and cigarettes, while we drank tea made with sulfur water and sweetened with sugar, all caked at the bottom of an ancient orange Tupperware pitcher. We would play outside until the mosquitoes ran us in, their bites more annoying than the lure of hide and seek in the woods.

   I drove across this bridge brimming with hope and excitement, ready to start my first year of college. There were a lot of firsts that year. Most importantly, it was the first time I really felt like a part of something, my college choir. I belonged, and I was good at something. Something that would give me some of my best memories.

   Sometimes the anxiety that constantly battled with the excitement would try to stifle me.  Some days it won, some days I did. As I watched the sun rise and set on the St. Johns River, I learned that no matter how bad a day had been, there was another one tomorrow. A new beginning, another sunrise to let hope swell within me again.

      I left the city of bridges for a different world.  One where the altitude is measured in miles, and snow stays on mountain peaks long into spring. Where water flows down and then stops, soaking into a parched ground that never gets enough.  Where it rests in reservoirs, turquoise blue and protected like some secret treasure. But towards the middle of spring, I ride up into the mountains as far as I can, and watch the snow turn from a tiny stream into that rushing river. I look down into its fearless flow and once again, the river has found me. And I am the bridge.

Thanks to Julie C. Fetzer, my favorite Jax artist,  for allowing me to use her amazing artwork. 

http://www.palmartsandphoto.com

Fall has always been my favorite season. For Southerners, it is a break from the incessant heat.  We can finally go outside and enjoy being outside. We watch for any slight color change in the leaves, hoping that this will be the fall that we always read about in children’s books. Usually we just go back in and turn the air conditioning back on.

I always felt somewhat of a disconnect with the rest of America (or my perception of it) when it came to seasons.  Our birds didn’t fly south for the winter. Everybody else’s did. We didn’t get brilliant colors of gold and scarlet, just a tease of yellow on brown and green leaves. And rain. A lot of rain.  We just didn’t get fall. Life was not fair.

Now that I live in Utah, I realize that we DID get fall, or at least a version of it.  That slight drop in humidity and subsequent coolness was the start of something special.  The afternoon light took on a different look, pouring gold on everyday surroundings. Mornings brought out dusty cardigans and sweatshirts, slightly musty from being in a plastic bag in the attic for 8 months.  I could finally wear THAT sweater.

Most people go to the beach in the summer, but I headed for the ocean as soon as the temperature went down.  Walking on the beach on an autumn evening, I didn’t have to worry about bugs or heat exhaustion. Since we lived on the east coast, we didn’t get the brilliant, lingering sunsets.  Our sunsets were a reflection, an echo of the neon streaks of color our western neighbors saw. Purple and perriwinkle blue would be shot through with threads of pink and gold, turning the water to a shimmering opal.  My worries seemed to float away on that precious gem and disappear with the sunlight.

For me, fall also holds a lot of personal connections.  Fall meant going to Grandma’s and watching Gator football.  I had a Gator shirt from the time I can remember, and spent many happy Saturdays cheering with extended family way before I ever understood football.  However, I did understand that we did NOT cheer for the Bulldogs, unless they were playing a non-SEC team. Even the it was tentative…….

If it was fall at my house, hunting season was close. For me, hunting season wasn’t about personally shooting deer (although if somebody did that fried meat sure was good).  It meant being with my daddy. Getting up at the crack of dawn, I learned to eat my eggs runny and my coffee black. It meant riding in the pickup truck with dogs in the back, the smell of gasoline, tobacco and the morning all rolled into one. For hours I would tromp behind him in the woods, watching for snakes, listening for dogs, and just happy to be outside with him.

It also brought Thanksgiving, the low- stress holiday that was just about food and family.  No worrying over gifts or money, just load up whatever you committed to bring and to Grandma’s house you go.  Oh, and don’t forget the empty Cool Whip and Country Crock bowls to put those leftovers in! Candied yams, homegrown beans, and a complicated secret dressing recipe were just some of the wonders of which we partook.  After dinner, when we could finally move, my cousins and I would dutifully wash out the Red Solo cups my grandma had kept for the past 15 years. We did this until one of them snuck in a new package.

Now that I live out West, I can see a rainbow of leaf colors and carve pumpkins that won’t rot in 2 days.  Snow starts up in the mountains in October, and sweaters come out in September. I see flocks of birds flying, you guessed it, south.  I still watch the Gators play and dutifully don my hat and shirt. But sometimes I miss the rarity of those cool days, and the times I only needed one sweater and one coat. I live for the days when the sun comes from behind the clouds and warms me, body and soul.