In mid-November, a friend of mine randomly said, “I have a book I think you’d like.” If you’ve ever been the recipient of that kind of statement, you may understand the slight bristling that I initially experienced. How does she know what kind of book I like to read? I thought, while also gamely writing down the title to be polite. “I read it every winter,” my friend continued, “but I also keep giving away my own copy to people who I think should read it.”

I was intrigued. It’s one thing to casually spout off book recommendations. There’s no real skin in the game if the reader doesn’t like a title. But to repeatedly part with a book that you annually re-read: that demonstrates a different level of intentional investment—both in the book and in other people.

A week later, my own copy arrived—very generously sent by my friend. Perhaps not everyone would appreciate such a gift; but as a lover of books, I felt very seen and cared for, even if I was still skeptical that the book itself would be a fit for my tastes.

Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May did not sound like something I wanted to read. It’s not that I’m against rest or retreat; I’ve taken multiple personal retreats over the past few years and fully reaped the benefits. I just wasn’t feeling that I was living in a “difficult time” at that moment. Nor was I super interested in nonfiction titles in this season. The Wednesday Wars had only recently dragged me out of a reading rut and I anticipated sinking into more fiction for a while.

But again, my curiosity was piqued that someone thought they knew what I might want (or need) so much that they paid money to send me a book. So, in honor of Megan’s simple act of kindness, I opened to the first chapter with an open mind.

Wintering proved to be a lovely book of reflective wonder. Written from a season of life in which the author was going through multiple levels of difficult times (a sick husband, personal illness, homeschooling a child, quitting her job), the book leads the reader on a journey of quiet discovery. Katherine May writes very pragmatically, but not in a dry or sullen sense. As she embarks on a quest to understand winter (a trip to Iceland, interviews with Nordic neighbors, cold swims in the sea), May unpacks her understanding of what it means to actually embrace a season of crushing cold, limited light, rationed resources and minimal energy. Rather than letting herself be conquered by the circumstances, she surrenders to the fact that things were different. She permitted external changes to happen instead of fighting them and in return, she experienced inward growth.

Though there was no real plot (or even a firmly defined resolution) Wintering flowed well and kept me wanting more. As I read, I found myself curiously hungry for the information, comfort and peace found in the book. May’s point of view as a self-declared “secular mystic” is likely different from my Christian perspective, yet I found plenty of common ground with her observations of humanity, nature and self—both profound and extremely simplified.

In some ways, I wish that I had drawn out my reading to span the entire winter season. Not that I sped through the book; I still savored its warmth and light. I think I probably needed to read it all at once this first time, early in winter, so that I could proceed into these darker days with the reminder that the season (literally and metaphorically-speaking) is not only essential for the cyclical nature of our physical forms, but also for our inner being. Winter is less about surviving the bitter cold and more about the graceful evolution of self through both communal and solitary practices of rest and retreat.

I can see why my friend constantly gives her copy of this book away. Wintering well is something we must do on a regular basis so that we can spring, summer and harvest in equally successful measures. And sometimes, we need someone else to kindly remind us to do so.

“Here is another truth about wintering: you’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on. And in return, it’s our responsibility to listen to those who have wintered before us. It’s an exchange of gifts in which nobody loses out.”

This book may be for you if you also like: other titles by Katherine May; winter; hibernating animals (such as the dormouse or bats); Norway, Finland, Denmark, Iceland, England; candlelight; hygge; feeling cozy; nonfiction; essays; self-reflection vs self-improvement; sitting quietly; cold swims in the ocean; Aurora borealis; motherhood; honesty; rest; personal retreats.

Buy the book

https://bookshop.org/a/109412/9780593189481
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SDG

LMB #33