The Witching Hour
As we continue to be buried in snow here in the Northeast, it becomes more and more clear that people who depart places of dramatic seasonal change for warmer climes do so to simply stay safer and more comfortable in winter. Gods know, I think about this from time to time, as I grow older and shoveling hurts my back and my night vision while driving in snow becomes less acute. But it makes me think about how I define and frame concepts like self-sufficiency, and community, and how these tie into the idea of a pagan lifestyle.
As well, would my lifelong enjoyment of and immersion in the shift of the seasons be lessened if I moved to a place where such drama and extreme weather was not part of my routine? The changing colors and textures of the landscape are indelibly etched on this pagan’s soul, conjuring waking dreams, reminding me of poetry and rituals, nurturing me and healing me with beauty and (sometimes) jolting me with terror. The glittering snow is romantic, but treacherous. The glaring sun is pleasant but also deadly. I am not one to binge watch GAME OF THRONES and order pizza when the weather turns wicked; I am out in it, doing what needs to be done and helping others when I can (snow removal is important to keep the neighborhood accessible to the elderly and infirm). I am grateful for my own knowledge of how to get through weather emergencies, but we all need help sometimes.
We have created such fortresses around ourselves that it’s made us stupid and impractical about the weather; I see people believing their warm cars will keep them safe and they venture forth for an evening out in high heels or flip flops…IN THE SNOW. Do they keep boots and wool socks and blankets and food and flashlights in their cars? I want to shake these people. A tire can get torn up by a pothole so easily; ever tried waiting for roadside assistance in a blizzard? What about an accident on icy roads? What will happen when your smartphone battery dies? Do you know how to prevent frostbite? Our addiction to personal technology means we have become impatient and entitled, but sometimes things don’t happen with lightning speed, especially when the system is challenged by, oh, Mother Nature doing her thing. The ever-burgeoning DIY culture is not all home-brewing and knitting circles. We need to come to terms with the skills we have let slip away, because in a pinch they will serve us well. It seems to me that pagans, who value the lessons of their ancestors and seek to live closer to the earth, are in a really good position to impart the importance of life skills.
But how many of us do this on a regular basis? I have many pagan friends who are very able at camping during festivals, and these skills and practices seem to inform there daily lives. They grow food, make home-brewed beverages, upcycle old furniture, keep bees, make pottery, sew clothes, and avoid Walmart like the plague. But many, many pagans don’t seem to know how to utilize the most basic survival skills, not to mention live a life seemingly in harmony with nature. Growing veggies in the summer is one thing. But how do we live at one with nature when the land is covered in frozen white stuff?
Ya ever notice the zombie apocalypse almost never takes place in the dead of winter? I mean, how would anyone survive, fighting off zombies with one hand and splitting firewood with the other? The notion of “doomsday prepping” aside,* many of us barely have enough food in our larders to get us through next weekend, let alone a long cold winter. Of course the amount of frenzied activity in the grocery stores in anticipation of a major snow event is truly a human phenomenon of shocking proportion. Fresh produce disappears at lightning speed. Toilet paper is down to the highly scented or roughly textured brands. I understand why bread and milk and eggs are in low supply, but why is the Ben and Jerry’s section down to only Red Velvet Cake flavor? (Of course if I were a proper DIY pagan, I’d make my own ice cream out of snow!) Rock salt for melting ice can be impossible to find during long-term snow events; last winter I recall going to four different stores, all of them telling me they’d run out weeks ago. At the last one the clerk said yes, he had some, but one guy that just left had bought the ten remaining bags he had. I nearly cried. Weeks of navigating icy sidewalks can leave one’s emotions in shreds.
The dead of winter is a magically profound time, and can lend itself to great depths of reflection and even creativity (perhaps why so many pagans engage magically with these matters at Imbolc). I can light candles to Brigid and invoke her poetic muse all I want, but not having rock salt is a seriously challenging problem.
So: what about you? Do you have plenty of food in your pantry? Could you cook meals if the electricity and/or gas went out for a few days? Do you have a contingency plan for prolonged power outages? How would you heat your home if your furnace stopped working? How would you fare if your car was disabled in a blizzard? Do you check in on your elderly or disabled neighbors during snowy weather? Are there pets in your neighborhood who are being subjected to brutal cold? These are all questions that we in the Northeast must grapple with every year. But as time passes I notice, more and more, our cultural decline in terms of daily survival skills. It seems to me, things being as they are, that we would do well to try and build these up again, and help others do the same.
*I am not talking here about hoarding guns and ammo and antibiotics for some government-induced social collapse that has a scary number of people in the country planning and even hoping for martial law–that’s for another blog post one day, perhaps. It is not an insignificant topic.
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