What prairie winters taught me about the holidays

Somewhere between the Buy Now! shopping, the animatronic elf hats that sing (what?), and the years of bad school Christmas concerts in even worse costumes, the whole holiday spirit thing sort of skipped me over. There are things I love, of course, like the lights, the baking I grew up with, that indefinable feeling that probably stems from getting ten days off school and a bunch of surprises in bright paper which gets translated as ‘Christmas spirit’. Most of it, though, just washes over me in a haze of bells and sparkles and twee sentimentality.

Then I moved to the prairies.

In the five years I’ve lived out on this very vast, very non-mountainous landscape, in which winter lasts approximately thirteen months of the year, I’ve developed a whole new appreciation for December and the prospect of celebrating in the dark when it’s -40C (not including the wind chill) outside.

The World is Not Coming to an End

You know that old thing about the nights getting longer, and early peoples growing fearful that this year, unlike every other year, the sun might just vanish altogether and spring will never return? Yeah, I can totally relate to that now. Winter is coming. Out here, that is every family’s motto. We spend the entire summer telling ourselves how we have to savour the days, make the most of being outside…because heaven help us all when the leaves start to turn. From there, it’s only going to get worse. In the bleak heart of winter, when the sun goes spinning around the house and never over top of it, the prospect of lights burning in windows or over frigid ice-slick streets suddenly means so much more. It looks warmer, it feels warmer (it isn’t), and we have something to help us hold on until that longest night of the year passes and things start to grow brighter again.

The only problem is we don’t keep the lights going the other twelve months of the winter.

Life Endures in the Void

While driving along on a prairie highway under a new moon sky, with a haze of cloud covering the stars and no street lights around, with nothing but the endless black for miles and miles around and your heat cranked on full to keep your tiny 100 km/h bubble of shelter habitable, there is nothing more uplifting than seeing a house. A solitary house way off in the distance, decked from roof peak to snow-covered yard with lights. There’s someone out there, someone other bubble of life out in the ice-crusted space of the prairie at night. It’s a beautiful sight, and it makes the landscape seem just a touch warmer. Also, it means if the car breaks down, you know which way to go before you get frostbite/die.

Gathering With Loved Ones is Serious Business

Loved ones on the prairies take on a new meaning. We’re not talking those ‘friends’ who drop by for the free booze at parties, or the relatives you can’t stand who also can’t stand you but come because it’s the holiday season and we’re supposed to do things like that. It’s freezing cold outside (sensing a trend yet?) and snow is blowing sideways. You can’t see your neighbour’s car. Heck, you can’t see your own car! Despite all that, though, a handful of people have braved the roads and wind and countless layers of long underwear to spend an afternoon sharing your company. The winter out here has a way of whittling things down to their bare essence, and leaves us with the people worth spending time around, whose company is a joy, and who truly care enough to come. Oh, and also those who really really like chocolate mousse.

I was lucky enough to enjoy such a gathering this past weekend, with a wonderful bunch of authors who’ve made the dead, bitter winters I’ve spent in this province full of warmth and laughter and good food. I sincerely look forward to their company every chance I get. They are the bright spots in the night for me on this wide, empty landscape, and I’m thankful to them all for making this raincoast girl feel like less of an outsider on the prairie.

What made you stop and appreciate the holidays this year?