Christmas 2009
Dear Family and Friends,
I hope that December finds you looking forward to the holiday celebrations that are coming soon, surrounded by people you love, and feeling cozy in houses of warmth and light. I’m sitting here in Northern Florida, in the middle of December, dreaming of and looking forward to spending a white Christmas in Minnesota at Wildrose Farm. The weather patterns have been so strange here. The temperature actually drops down low enough that I have to turn the heater on, but then the very next morning I wake up sweating, and it is hot and humid outside and I think of turning the air conditioner on. I’m really looking forward to returning to a cold place, as strange as that may sound to my friends and family that are reading this in sub-zero temperatures. Don’t get me wrong—I have a great appreciation for the sun and warmth of Florida. There are some mornings that I’ll be running outside and I will think of how incredible the sun feels on my face, arms and legs. I’m definitely getting some much-needed vitamin D here, after having lived in the Pacific Northwest for 6 years. But I am craving to return to the cold I grew up in (for a while at least)—to feel the cold slice right through me—to have my breath taken away—to wake up—to remember what it feels like to walk in the snow on a winter day. I am excitedly awaiting the smell of chimneys in the cold air, the sound of snow crystals crunching beneath my feet, seeing peoples’ breath dancing around their mouths, being in the stillness and quiet of the cold, seeing snow resting gracefully on the branches of Pines, Firs, and Spruce, and snowflakes falling softly to the ground, having ice crystals form on my eyelashes, feeling a warm cheek and embrace welcome me in from the cold outside, and experiencing the body thaw that occurs upon entering a house heated by the warmth of a fire.
I hope that December finds you looking forward to the holiday celebrations that are coming soon, surrounded by people you love, and feeling cozy in houses of warmth and light. I’m sitting here in Northern Florida, in the middle of December, dreaming of and looking forward to spending a white Christmas in Minnesota at Wildrose Farm. The weather patterns have been so strange here. The temperature actually drops down low enough that I have to turn the heater on, but then the very next morning I wake up sweating, and it is hot and humid outside and I think of turning the air conditioner on. I’m really looking forward to returning to a cold place, as strange as that may sound to my friends and family that are reading this in sub-zero temperatures. Don’t get me wrong—I have a great appreciation for the sun and warmth of Florida. There are some mornings that I’ll be running outside and I will think of how incredible the sun feels on my face, arms and legs. I’m definitely getting some much-needed vitamin D here, after having lived in the Pacific Northwest for 6 years. But I am craving to return to the cold I grew up in (for a while at least)—to feel the cold slice right through me—to have my breath taken away—to wake up—to remember what it feels like to walk in the snow on a winter day. I am excitedly awaiting the smell of chimneys in the cold air, the sound of snow crystals crunching beneath my feet, seeing peoples’ breath dancing around their mouths, being in the stillness and quiet of the cold, seeing snow resting gracefully on the branches of Pines, Firs, and Spruce, and snowflakes falling softly to the ground, having ice crystals form on my eyelashes, feeling a warm cheek and embrace welcome me in from the cold outside, and experiencing the body thaw that occurs upon entering a house heated by the warmth of a fire.
I think that different places bring out different parts of our selves. And so I think it is interesting to try and live in contrasting places that introduce us to different sides of our selves, and to all kinds of other things, but it is also important to remember and return to (if possible) the places that shape us and help us to know and remember who we are, including the places that gave us our roots. Minnesota is the place that gave me roots—It is the place that grounds me—it is the place in which I first became acquainted with the world. It is the landscape that reflects to me my most authentic knowledge. It was in this landscape that I was able to act, feel, know, and see before the world could react and cause me to be inhibited, embarrassed, hurt, protective, and to realize my limitations. It is a place of innocence and wisdom in the same rite. It is a place where I am still free to shout out for no reason across farm and field, knowing there are no nearby neighbors to hear me or think it strange. It is a place where the materialistic laws of the world don’t seem to apply (at least in rural Minnesota, where my parents live). It is a place of comfort and quiet. It is a place to think and to “just be”.
Even though I love having a place such as this to return to—a refuge of sorts—I have also really enjoyed my time away from Minnesota and have learned a lot from living in Alaska, Oregon, Washington, and now Florida. Living in the South the last 7 months has been a very interesting experience. I have learned a lot about a new part of the country, seen new and beautiful landscapes, been introduced to new creatures I had never seen before, become a part of a thriving music community, met some really neat people, and lived alone for the first time in my life. I feel like I have learned and am learning a lot.
It is truly beautiful here, and the birds, animals, reptiles, insects, swamps, savannahs, springs, trees, plants, and the natural history of this place astonish me every single day that I am here. What a wild place this is. It is teeming with life and mystery. There is a celestial golden light here, that was especially present in the fall months, and magical and vibrant sunsets that compete with those in the Midwest, and may even surpass them in beauty. The light shines down on giant oak trees, filters through the Spanish moss hanging from their old branches and highlights shiny-leaved banana trees nearby. Lizards scurry across fallen tree trunks. Alligators slowly slip into the rivers, yet keep their eyes on you. You can look out onto a Savannah and see hundreds of beautiful birds and butterflies and turn the other direction and see endless river swamp, giant spiders dangling from the trees and snakes slithering by. I have seen owls up close and heard them calling, “Who cooks for you?” more often in the last 7 months than I have in my whole life. The biodiversity is absolutely amazing here. I feel lucky to be experiencing the beauty of another incredible place and to have the memories of other beautiful landscapes I have known still living inside of me.
Even though I leave a part of myself in each new place that I live in, I feel like I soak up much more than I leave behind. The landscapes we live in become a part of who we are. I feel lucky to be exploring a new part of the country, though I don’t know how long I will be here or where I will go next. I hope that all of you are getting to know new landscapes and remembering and reconnecting with ones you’ve known in the past. I look forward to hearing about your explorations. I also hope that the coming year is a beautiful one for you, full of hope, joy, and adventures.
*Merry Christmas and Peace and Love throughout the New Year,
Love, Caitlin
