Hello Darkness

Finding light in a Montana winter.

Lady winter sneaks in, and she sneaks in quick. In the blink of an eye, we go from strolling trails saturated in golds and reds, to a cold duochromatic season of white and blue. Our fingers and toes sting, our windshields and sidewalks ice over, and we shiver to think that it will only get colder.

Some of us bundle in puffies, watch our exhalations turn to cold smoke, and await spring’s warming return. Others in this mountain enclave embrace the white fluff as an invitation to explore. We brave the frigid embrace without batting an eye. We awaken skis and snowboards, skates and axes, and a plethora of other winter toys from their summer hibernation, into a season of snow-play.

We cram our feet into ski boots, don helmets and thick gloves, pour gasoline into our sleds, and take off for the mountains, fueled by the thrill of floating atop fresh snow. Some endure the traffic up Bridger Canyon, while others swear off the crowds and head for lesser-known powder stashes two or three hours away. We hoot and holler as we peel off our climbing skins and carve turns until our legs shake. We breathe in the exhilaration, ready to do it all over again, and again, and again.

Here in Bozeman, we’ve established traditions of our own when darkness falls.

But soon, the sun sneaks away. Earlier each day, we watch the bluebird sky turn to a painted horizon of orange and pink, and then—blackness. Every year, the shortest day, and longest night, falls on December 21st: the winter solstice. Here, a smidge above the 45th parallel, that means nine hours of light, and 15 hours of pitch black.

Once the darkness descends, the ski boots are unbuckled and the sleds parked, we are left with the vestiges of the winter season—a reminder of what we’re willing to endure by calling this snow-globe home. But in those bleaker moments—when our backs ache from shoveling snow and we make coffee before sunrise—we can crawl away to mope in the darkness, or we can celebrate it, as our human ancestors have been doing for centuries.

The ancient Romans commemorated the solstice with games, feasts, and gift-giving. The Japanese soaked in hot springs or drew hot baths to combat colds, cultivate good health, and celebrate the harmonious balance of darkness and cold with warmth and light. Meanwhile, the Persians celebrated the victory of light over dark. People gathered to make wishes, light fires, and perform charitable acts. They read poetry, ate festive foods, and stayed up through the long night to welcome the sun in the morning. Closer to home, the Blackfeet reveled with song and dance, their tipis facing east to welcome the return of the sun.

Let us smile up as the snowflakes tumble down, leaving our faces damp and cold. Let us revel like the ancient people in the darkness.

Here in Bozeman, we’ve established traditions of our own when darkness falls. We cross-country ski with headlamps, play pick-up hockey ’til the lights shut off, and congregate around wood-fired stoves. The climbing gym and yoga studios become our second homes. We ignite our right-brains with documentary screenings and art classes, and we drink our weight in beer as we occupy ourselves with games of pool and trivia. Some of us cling to the old ways, with midnight homages to Ullr, complete with ceremonial chants and skis burning in a bonfire.

This winter, when the darkness descends, let us embrace it, rather than dread it. May we find comfort in our bundles of jackets, and in the warmth of our families, friends, and pets. May we raise pint glasses to the wondrous change of seasons, to solstice traditions new and old, and give thanks to those beautiful white crystals falling from the sky. Let us smile up as the snowflakes tumble down, leaving our faces damp and cold. Let us revel like the ancient people in the darkness. After all, we have all spring to recover.