THE JOY OF A WINTER SLOTH

At midnight, December 31, 2025 the Wild Blueberry Ball plummeted from the bell tower of Kennebunk’s First Parish Church, launching the new year. Within days, my Christmas trappings were stashed, the brittle pine needles cascading from a beribboned fireplace mantel decoration (thank you, Louise Hurlbutt) were vacuumed up and, oh yeah, the digital scale in our bathroom beamed unfamiliar new numbers, later verified when attempting to wedge myself into into leggings that encased me like sausage-casings.

Winter is the blessed Quiet Season here in this southern Maine seaside community that buzzes 24/7 all summer long and into the fall. I love it. The quietude is a soothing balm, even though many of our favorite restaurants are shuttered, various shops are only open on weekends, friends with wood-burning fireplaces are digging deep into their shrinking woodpiles, and I note that Garrett Pillsbury is making near-weekly deliveries of propane for our hearth.

I cherish winter, welcome the snow, and believe in the words of author Elizabeth Camden:  “It seems like everything sleeps in winter, but it’s really a time of renewal and reflection.” I’m reminded daily that it’s a total joy to be slothful. 

On numbingly frigid mornings, I stay in my flannel PJs for hours, replaced later in the day with cozy LL Bean polar fleece pants. Yesterday the thermometer read 20 degrees but gusty winds adjusted that to 0 outside. But it was cold everywhere. When I checked my iPhone for Palm City, Florida temps, I saw it hit a low of 38 degrees. My pal Susan texted it was 22 in Pinehurst, North Carolina. Aberrations, not everyday weather down there, but still …..

Tourists and snowbirds have fled to warmer climes and year-round homes. Dock Square is deserted. I get Rock Star parking at CVS. There are plenty of available tables when meeting a friend for coffee at Mornings in Paris. Even at the Lower Village Laundry, attendant Christine confides, “It’s quiet but so nice to not be tripping over all those bags from the hotels and inns like I do in August.”

The slothful joys multiply! I stretch out on the couch and read THEO OF GOLDEN and NOBODY’S GIRL, and maybe drift into a satisfying afternoon nap. I dig into my yarn basket to knit a warm hat for Regan. I experiment with different and complicated recipes, like Chef Kevin Garvin’s Cassoulet. Late each day, Mr. Wonderful and I sit in our chairs by the fire and listen to books that are too heavy to hold. (Currently, we are hearing Ron Chernow’s WASHINGTON: A LIFE, a fascinating biography about our first president.) 

Someone once wrote: “Surrendering to the fact of winter is a relief. I am grateful for these lingering days of cold. They offer me a few more weeks of quiet and slow before spring emerges, the wheel picks up speed again, and the sound of its exciting spinning fills my days.” Yes!

Purrrrrrrr.