January Nesting
“The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.”
If I could do as I pleased each January, I would spend the entire month at home, reading, arranging, cleaning, snuggling up with Lily or a good book, or both. This time last year this is exactly what I did. Sleeping in each day until I was actually well rested. Awakening slowly, enjoying a steaming cup of espresso with milk and reading the New York Times. Proceeding through the day with great care, winding from one interest, to another room, to yet another idea.
We experienced two snow storms last year, one which sent the city into a tailspin and trapped my husband on the highway overnight. But these quiet days, with empty streets, long stretches without interruption afforded much time for stillness. The kind of stillness that encourages the mind to ramble. Gather ideas for wallpaper in the bedroom, sign up for a class on human rights, spend time with Mom and Dad going through old letters, prepare dinner by candlelight and snuggle with my babe on the couch. All the things I treasure, and many of the things that I'd neglected during the last few years of crazy distraction.
“Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.”
I nested in my kitchen and researched gardening. I poured over vintage bulb and plant books and searched online. I ordered heirloom seed catalogues and tentatively planned a backyard garden. Sadly I realized that I had been so preoccupied that I didn't even know which part of the yard received enough sun for growing things! So I started with a patch of warmth on the kitchen windowsill, forcing paper whites with shells, water, in vintage Ball jars. Amazing how much I thrilled to the simple joy of watching something grow each day--like a Christmas morning clamoring down the stairs to see the new greenery peeking out like a curious squirrel.
“There are two seasonal diversions that can ease the bite of any winter. One is the January thaw. The other is the seed catalogues.”
In January, I spent about seventy-five percent of my time in the kitchen it seems. Cooking in the winter is so satisfying. All day to let a stew simmer. All day to slowly turn the pages old cookbooks...Lee Bailey, Ina Garten, Gena Knox, Alice Waters, James Beard, Martha Stewart, Chuck Williams, and of course Julia. Lots of root vegetables, pastries and sauces. I enjoyed reading, As Always Julia, The Letters of Julia Child & Avis Devoto. Inspired by their lifelong friendship and passion for testing out new ingredients, new spices, new arrangements, I gave in to all kinds of cooking indulgences. Lily, my constant companion, ever on the lookout for a crumb, just any tiny morsel of goodness would do. Mark too the willing companion on these home cooked culinary journeys. And, cooking in the winter means dusk comes early, so too does a glass of wine or champagne!
“Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter’s evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day. ”
The name January has its beginnings in Roman mythology, coming from the Latin word for door (janua) since January is the door to the year. Fitting then that the door to my new year was inside our home, a door I opened to nurture my soul, mind, heart and body. I happily concentrated on renewing and strengthening my relationships with others, and myself, turning away from outside activities in the cold and snow.
“January is the quietest month in the garden. ... But just because it looks quiet doesn’t mean that nothing is happening. The soil, open to the sky, absorbs the pure rainfall while microorganisms convert tilled-under fodder into usable nutrients for the next crop of plants. The feasting earthworms tunnel along, aerating the soil and preparing it to welcome the seeds and bare roots to come.”