| December 22, 2020
Solstice
Yesterday I celebrated the winter Solstice. The winter Solstice is my high holy day. I mark it by rising well before there is any light and walking until official sunrise has occurred. Of course, I could not see any sun rising yesterday, but just being outside, walking, waiting, knowing that light would arrive was magical.
I celebrate the return of light because it promises March and the return of gardening season. It promises that once again I will be able to be outside all day, every day, nose in dirt, hands on plants, wind in hair, sun on face.
Last week an early storm dropped over 20” of snow on our roads and pathways and plants. Drifts piled up in front of our doors to window height, making it impossible for us to open them and get out. We were house-bound until our snow blowing service could get to us. There has not been such a snow since I have lived in this house. It triggered panic. My mother often told me that one of my first words was “out,” and that my very first sentence was, “I go out.”
I could not get out Thursday morning for my usual walk. No snowblower appeared in afternoon or evening. Looking out the porch door, I searched for rabbit tracks. “Sara,” I cried, “what if the rabbit is trapped under the deck and can’t get out? How will we get out to let her out?” No snowblower came Thursday during the night, though I rose frequently to check.
By Friday morning I was a mess of melt down. Rising in the still-dark, I switched on the lights that illuminate our back deck and saw rabbit tracks across the porch. “She’s out,” I shouted to Sara who was still upstairs, “but what if she can’t find any food?” My voice cracking into the range of hysteria, I insisted, “We’ve got to put out some food for her. I’m opening Tanner’s kibble.”
Sara did a quick check on the internet and came downstairs with the news that one should never give a rabbit cat kibble. Cats are carnivores, rabbits are herbivores. Why didn’t I think of that? I could have hurt her in my effort to help her. Redirecting my panic, I grabbed a shovel, opened the garage door, and began digging a tunnel from driveway to road.
When I came in some hours later, Sara pointed out a patch in the garden we could see from the kitchen window where the snow had been pawed away and plant material exposed. The rabbit had found some food, and all worries about rabbit damage to plants got lost in my relief that she was not starving. I was out and she was out and my panic receded.
On the Solstice, the sun did come up, the light did arrive, my belief was confirmed, my faith rewarded. I know that each day from now forward will bring me a little more light. The darkness that scared me on December 20 became my friend on December 21. On the Solstice I could celebrate darkness too, wrapping it around me like a blanket, as I watched the sunset.
Sara has just begun to brush Tanner’s teeth. We are hoping to avoid a future expensive and potentially dangerous procedure. Sharing this development with our beloved Dr. G., who gives Tanner acupuncture treatments, I learned about “kitty burrito.” Wrap your cat in an old towel, be sure to get the tail and all four feet contained, leave only the head exposed, and the cat becomes calm. No more scratches or bites at teeth cleaning time.
On Solstice eve, I felt like a version of “kitty burrito,” wrapped in darkness, grateful for the chance to slow down, become calm, take stock, and rest.
After our early morning Solstice walk, Sara and I took coffee to the living room, lighted the fire and the Christmas tree, and shared our Solstice wishes. Recently, a friend sent me a quote from Abraham Lincoln that she thought was very Quakerly. It has stayed with me and become my Solstice thought for this coming year: “I am not bound to succeed,” said Lincoln, “but I am bound to live up to what light I have.” I think if I could live up to the light I have it would be a major success.
Quakers say that if one lives up to the light one has, one will be given more. Perhaps if I did succeed, I might get more light. Perhaps I might make some progress if I thought of modelling my life on the return of light.
The solstice is a gift I receive from the universe. It gives me light, it gives me outside, it gives me the promise of another season in my garden, it relieves my panic. In turn, I like to give gifts on the solstice. “More than anything I must have flowers, always, always.” Monet, who believed his garden to be his greatest painting, needed flowers. Would you accept the flowers in the photos below as a Solstice gift and perhaps consider sharing just one of them with someone else? They are in order: Columbine, poppy, tree peony, hibiscus.
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