the lost art of hunkering down

 

Today would have been a perfect day to hunker down against the massive winter storm that has been working its way across the country for the past couple of days...except it never got here. In keeping with the current trend in climate change, it fizzled out somewhere over Tennesee, leaving behind a path of destruction and heartbreak instead of fluffy white snow. We got a little rain.

I wish...

The art of hunkering is something I learned as a child growing up in the snow belt south of Buffalo. In fact, my hometown made the news last week because of the heavy bands of snow that blew in off Lake Erie and blanketed the area. In the good olde days, when 30 inch snow falls and temperatures in the -25 degree range were commonplace, we learned to hunker down for weeks at a time. We laid in supplies and food. Dusted off the snow shovels. Ordered in extra coal for the furnace. Often we were stranded for days on end because the plows couldn't get through.

"I wonder if the snow

loves the fields and trees,

that it kisses them so gently."

~Lewis Carroll~

So...hunkering down is easy for me. It brings back happy memories of a warm, cozy house and a welcoming kitchen, evenings spent reading or playing Scrabble, and heavy kettles of homemade soup.

Not that we spent much of our time indoors as children. Bad weather never kept us inside. We built snow forts and tunnels. We filled the yard with snow angels. We struggled through the drifts hauling sleds up the hill. We tested the ice on the creek. There is nothing quite as sweet as hunkering down for bad weather and then going out in it...

...because it sets you up to enjoy it as an adult.

Today I filled the bird feeders and counted three deer and a couple of gray foxes in the woods out back. I mailed Christmas cards and sent off a couple of packages. I finished decorating inside and out. I started "Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine" by author and theoretical physicist Alan Lightman, and, as well, a book of poetry by Mary Oliver.

"The snow began here this morning

and all day continued,

its white rhetoric everywhere

calling us back to

why, how, whence such beauty,

and what the meaning."

~Mary Oliver~

I would have preferred hunkering down for a good old-fashioned snow storm, but we didn't get one. 

The point is this:

 

If you write, you need to be able to hunker down with it. For me, this means stocking up on coffee, good red wine, and dark chocolate. It means turning a blind eye to the dust bunnies when they take over the house, and it involves letting the laundry pile up. It may require missing lunch with friends and backing off at the gym. It definitely means long hours of solitude punctuated with frustration, impatience, and insecurity...long hours of reading and writing in silence. Long hours of peace and quiet.

"I pray this week

be gentle and kind,

a season of rest from

the wheel of the mind."

~John Geddes~



...which is why I'm glad I know how to hunker properly. I'm working on a book.

 

Do you have a routine you follow to prepare for bad weather? Do you enjoy your solitude? How do you get ready to start a new project?

"So you see, imagination needs moodling--

long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling,

and puttering."

~Brenda Ueland~



Hunkering and moodling. Good stuff.

jan