“We need friends who wince along with our pain, who tolerate our gloom, and who allow us to be weak for a while, while we’re finding our feet again.” – Katherine May, Wintering.
I like the idea of Hygge, but I am not that good at drinking coffee and eating cake all day, I like to be outside, and candles scare me a little as I worry about fire. “Wintering”, that’s a proper word for these dark and bright times. 101 inches of snow in some 35 days is a lot to deal with, the firewood, the shoveling, the slowing down, the misery and joy of it.
At Smitty’s funeral in Klukwan yesterday it was sunny and about 2 degrees. One of his sons gave the eulogy and noted that when Smitty was the village fire chief his own house caught fire three times– but he put it out all three times. He also said that Smitty talked to the sea lions and told them to go get the hooligan in the springtime and they listened. Of course they did. The veil between people and animals, land and sky– the ever present sounds of the river, the chortling ravens and whistling eagles– is very thin in Klukwan, transparent really, especially in the cemeteries where I have stood in the snow next to a big old orange excavator and now two alarmingly large holes, and listened to Pastor Jones Hotch pray and comfort mourners, Marianne’s violin and Lani’s guitar playing an old aire that sounded Irish and Marsha singing “How Great Thou Art” in Tlingit.
At Tony’s funeral on Saturday (he was 75, his passing was sudden and unexpected, a shock to all, so full of life did he seem) as the coffin was lowered into that grave the ropes slipped. There was a thunk. I couldn’t look. A nephew climbed down the ladder, made adjustments out of sight, and then hopped back up and out of the hole with a smile, assuring us all was well. After that, because Tony was a chef, his loved-ones tossed spices and dried mushrooms down there. Clouds of yellow curry wafted out over and down into the frozen canyon. The trees were so snowy and still. Ravens held court in the upper branches.
At Smitty’s graveside my mood was a little lighter, maybe because I had sort of practiced at Tony’s, and my feet were warmer thanks to a second layer of socks. Also, he was old (85 or 86 I think) and had been ill for a while, and as his wife Char said, Smitty was no longer in pain. There was much to celebrate in both mens lives. That’s a comfort.
Because of Covid concerns there were masks everywhere, even outdoors. Mine got all snotty. Afterward we could not gather as is customary, but our hosts made containers of moose stew to go– bagged and with spoons, a piece of fruit, a cookie and bread– and for Smitty’s, his famous salmon spread.
Walking between the village and the cemetery I talked with a friend I hadn’t seen in, maybe a year? A nurse at the clinic, she helped with my neighbor Betty when she was failing. We buried Betty in the springtime in town. The grave was covered with an astroturf carpet. The lowering into the ground happened privately.
We talked about how the grief of last year’s landslide when we lost David, Jenae– and then so close on the heels of that storm my neighbor Phil and Johnny in Klukwan– was still so hard.It’s difficult for me to talk about. I skipped the memorial event last weekend to go to Juneau, to be with my daughters and grandchildren. She said we all need the balance of sorrow and joy. Of course she’s right and there’s proof of that everywhere this season. I returned from Juneau in time to watch our grandaughter and all the little children sing and play the ukulele in the school concert. Honestly? It was perfect.
And on Friday night, the eve of Tony’s service, a few of us invited ourselves over to Phil’s widow’s house. (I can’t believe I just called my friend Phil’s widow– she’ll laugh at that.) It was just so snowy and dark, and we didn’t want her to be alone on the anniversary of his sudden death (so much like Tony’s it was spooky) and we told her she could cancel it “even when we were in her driveway” and that would be okay. Fine. Whatever she needed we were good with it. Here’s what I want you to know: It was fun. There were tears, hugs, quiet conversations in candled corners, but a lot of laughing too and just normal talk– about dogs, the weather, planning and zoning. Food. Recipes. Vacations. Life and death.
After Tony’s service on Saturday, Chip and I skied a loop along the river before dark, and made it home in time for the Christmas parade, went to the brewery for a beer afterward, and the community marching band came inside and played “Feliz Navidad.” I know– talk about happy nuttiness —
Which is a too long way of saying that we need “wintering” friends to “wince with our pain” to cry and to laugh with us, and we need to be kind to each other and ourselves. Winter with all that snow and cold, and beauty and light is the perfect season to practice this. To climb down in that hole and pop back up again.
