After less than nine hours of daylight, the sky reaches down, touches the earth and the two seal up like a clam—leaving us in the premature, murkiness of night.
For those who need the light, the quiet weight of darkness can be crushing. To maintain wellness during these shortened days, I look for light elsewhere—in the glow of a fire, the sunlight catching snowflakes, the smile of a child.
Outside in the prairie’s pitch blackness, winter's silence is broken by the howls of coyotes alerting each other to their whereabouts. The nighttime predators, from cats to skunks, slip through the shadows mostly unnoticed in search of their next meal. And the buffalo are on the move, grazing to stay warm and nourished—sustaining enough calories to get them through.
For us humans who live in sub-zero, winter temperatures, it is difficult to get excited about going out and about. Perhaps if it were necessary to find our next meal, there would be more incentive. This is when I’m perfectly happy to stay pent-up, grateful for the modern conveniences of food in the larder, and the appliances that house and heat the food.
During the deep winter, I no longer try to fight the darkness—instead, I give into it with a winter hibernation sleep pattern and go to bed early. Early to bed means early to rise and the coffee is made long before there is any sign that time has moved forward, even though ten hours have passed. 
On the cold, lightless, weekend mornings when the rush to start your day isn’t necessary, the aroma of coffee beckons the accompaniment of sausage and a stack of pancakes with real maple syrup. The warm, golden elixir glows as it's poured over the cakes, swirling with the butter before it drips over the edges like a slow-moving waterfall. I like my pancakes thin, with crispy edges and a creamy, malty flavor. The first bite is instant pleasure and it lingers all the way to the last mouthful of the sausage that mopped the plate of any remaining sticky goodness. I am happily satiated by the time daybreak's show begins.
A crack in the seal appears in the form of a thin red ribbon, prying the sky loose from the earth. A new day is dawning and each following day forward will be a little earlier than the last. 
On some mornings the seal doesn't crack, winter clouds loom heavy and low, changing the darkness to a shroud of whiteness. It is beautiful though, as the light seeps through, spotlighting only the things that can touch it. 
It is also magical—and in the magic of it, we know it will disappear, we just don’t know when. So, we cope with the weight of winter the best we can, although that coping is different for each of us...
I personally recommend hibernation sleep, time with family & friends and “weekend” breakfasts of sausage and pancakes covered in golden maple syrup. That’s how the light gets in.
Photo credit to Jill O'Brien
25 comments
I always like your stories and photos, esp. these!
As it has been bitter cold in Iowa this December and January.
I am not fond of winter! Seeing these photos, helps me!
I do not think I have ever read another author’s words that were more realistic in the description of what they wanted to portray. I truly do not believe anyone else ever could come as close to making me feel, taste, see, smell, and experience the emotion of what you were describing. Your words are amazing; beautiful. I wanted to shiver, snuggle under the covers that I have already left behind this morning, sniff the air to check for the aroma of coffee, and then rush to the table to watch that syrup pouring over the crispy pancakes. Thank you for sharing those delightful moments with us as we watched for the dawn to break through and reveal the heavy white blanket covering the ground. LOVE IT!
Thanks for this Jill-makes me feel warmer just knowing that there is someone else in the wide open (I live in rural Indiana) who has a love/not so much feeling about this season, especially with the -11 & 35 mph windgusts of this morning! I will think of your photos & words when I turn in early tonight!
I love your products and your business philosophy. I just received the January bundle and it looks amazing. The only thing missing was Jill’s pancake recipe. Looking forward to a long relationship, and that recipe. ?
Your essay of this morning reminded me of my time in Alaska! Then as I read the comments and I got down to Toni Stimmel’s comment regarding Robert W. Service and The Cremation of Sam McGee I remembered a wonderful artist who would stand in the lamplight at a tourist spot outside of Fairbanks and recite poems of Service… one of my favorite quotes is
“Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark;
I thank God for the Night The healing dark”
Winter is my favorite season—for nature’s beauty that you capture in words and photos. I agree with the hibernation, too.
You have a way with food and words, Jill.
One visit to your ranch lingers afresh like this morning’s pancake with your photos and words. Thank you.
Reminded me of Robert Service,
“And speak of your cold,
through the parka’s fold,
it stabbed like a driven nail.”
Re: Cremation of Sam McGee
Thank you, Jill. I can see and hear and almost feel your winter and definitely smell those pancakes, syrup and sausage. Time to order some for me. Take care.
I look forward to these photo/written word essays so much, Jill, and forward them far and wide. An Adirondack Mt. childhood left me with a love of winter and your work here has given me a welcome taste of it here. Much needed as our below freezing temps of last week and the foot of snow have left us as temps climbed to 61 last night and inches of rain are about to fall. With temps falling below freezing tonight! Winter is Greater Boston leaves much too be desired, at least by me!