Winter Stories
Even as a young child, I loved winter holiday traditions. Not only our own, but also those of others. Every dark December, I felt the universal spirit illuminating all—particularly within holiday lights representing Christmas, Hanukkah, and other paths of faith. It didn’t matter that I didn’t even know yet what faith meant. I still felt the encoded reverence, and it touched my fresh heart. Some of my favorite early memories involve riding in the back of my parents’ car, driving as a family to seek out illuminated beauty.
My grandmother’s Christmas tree was also an annual source of childhood wonder—especially when I was still young enough to crawl around behind it. I loved the sense of discovery in finding small hidden ornaments, strands of tinsel, reflections in the shiny red and gold orbs hung on the tree. It seemed like its own world, another adventure to be explored. I loved the fresh fir smell, mingling with the smell of scalloped potatoes wafting from the kitchen, and the sound of laughter from gathered extended family. Sound and smell seemed two aspects of one sense: the sixth sense of love.
I also loved holiday cards and stamps. Surely inspired by our mother’s stamp collection, we three kids had small collections of our own. I was particularly enamored of holiday stamps, with their varied depictions of traditions. Most were as foreign to me then as other people’s beliefs, or even my own beliefs yet. I loved the stamps’ mystery. From where had they traveled, on what form of remembrance? Every chosen card, every scrawl of handwriting, every form of greeting was unique. Each had made a longer journey across the landscape than I’d ever done. That amazed me.
Handwritten holiday cards are a rare occurrence these days. I miss those handwritten missives. Still, the spirit with which those greetings are sent persists. I celebrate how easy it is now to reach out and connect with those we love, in this age of ubiquitous cell phones, email, texts, and so on. Abundant love can easily travel through those new pathways, if love is what we choose to express.
As another winter arrives, I watch other holiday traditions shift. Here in the Oregon forest, an indoor Christmas tree has often felt redundant. I let that particular tradition go for several years. But now I’ve returned to it, and my new tree’s meaning transcends a single form of faith, as my maturing beliefs evolve. The ornaments I’ve accumulated over decades contain memories of family, friends, adventures, even pets. It’s a tree of stories, as well as a reverent remembrance of universal spirit. I cherish those stories, which connect me to beloved times and people both here and gone.
I also admire how my partner makes holiday tree ornaments and wall hangings from her late father’s massive stamp collection. I love their hand-crafted beauty. Most of all, I love the stories layered within them too. Every canceled stamp on each one of those ornaments has a story behind it. Each represents a person who took the time to send a greeting at the holidays to someone they cared about, decades ago. Their stories are still real, even if we’ll never know what they are.
I believe our life stories land on the landscape like snow, rain, dust. Our stories then integrate with that land, like all natural forces that feed and refresh the soil. They become an essential, nurturing part of earth for generations to come. Their eventual invisibility is more than a mere disappearance.
Thus, I celebrate every person who still takes the time to tell the true story of how and why others matter, whether at a holiday or every day. Among all the traditions that shift, drift, and persist, simply slowing down to express love and appreciation is one of our most essential. It’s another form of generous gifting. It’s another tradition deeper than any one faith. Our generosity of loving spirit is what will nurture us enough to spur another cycle of growth, however wild and stormy the new year.