How I Learned to Winter When Life Wouldn't Let Me Hibernate

My Winter Remedy Guide

I’m Jo, a maker, grower, musician and artist, nurturing a life-long devotional practice of weaving nature and ritual into the everyday. This is a place for seekers of untamed edges, the imperfect and the meaningful, with twice monthly tales from the woods, garden and hearth. Gather in, rest and deepen your relationship with the beguiling beauty and feral corners of the natural world.

A few years ago, I started writing a Winter Remedy for myself, a manifesto of sorts. It was part love-letter-to-winter and part survival guide. But not a survival guide for the season—I actually love the winter—but a guide to get me through the perpetual expectations of continued productivity when the urge to rest or reduce the pace at this time of year feels innate.

I love January for its hazy, matte light and simplicity: a soothing respite from the glittering roar of December. If I could I would retreat to my winter quarters and hibernate until early March, taking heed of what my body is silently yearning for. But until I’m able to do that (one day…) I continue to bring out my Winter Remedy, so I can add to it and remind myself of what I can do to find some peaceful repose.

It starts with a boiled kettle, the clouds of steam breaking up the chill of the morning kitchen air.

Tea made in my favourite mug. Tatty and chipped, but still the perfect size and shape for all my fingers to wrap around and absorb the warmth.

Woolly jumpers form an inbuilt hug, layered under cardigans and shawls, without a mirror in the vicinity to chastise the rounded edges.

Enough boiled water left in the kettle to fill the hot water bottle. Then slipped up underneath my warmest jumper, the soft yarn covering pressed against my skin for extra comfort.

Breakfast by candlelight 

Hot buttered toast

Outside a hoar frost and not a breath of wind. The previous week’s snow still frozen on the ground. The first of the bulbs that were peeking through the soil now in suspended animation. All dried stalks and evergreens covered in feathery white beards. There's so much beauty being outdoors. And there’s so much joy coming back indoors to get warm again.

When the sky is felt grey, soft pools of amber lamplight bring succour to watery eyes.  

Soft landings on the sofa with a pile of thick woven blankets, fluffed up to cocoon stray extremities.

A pot of steaming tea next to the sofa and a stash of biscuits to dunk.

Lip balm in every room and pocket to soothe when the wind has been unkind.

Socks warmed on radiators then slipped around frozen toes. Slippers that swaddle and hold in the freshly acquired heat. 

Vitamin D, faithfully. 

Thick hand cream with essential oils for smoothing and circulation. 

Furry collaborators seeking gaps in layers in exchange for extra body heat.

Low lighting with warm tones and absolutely no ceiling lights allowed. 

Chilly starlit evenings in the garden, with spiced hot chocolate in my best mug. A chiminea smouldering close by.

Peace, quiet, calm and slow breathing for even just part of the weekend. 

As for weekdays? I’m still learning to winter on the move.

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I’d love to know how you winter? Is it something you endure, or something you embrace? What helps you through it?

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