4 practices to ease the late-winter doldrums

because it's February and we all need it

I love living in a place with four seasons; even - sometimes especially! - winter. However, most years there comes a point - and typically, that point is in late February - when I’m just over it.

I’ve seen all the snow I want to see. I am mentally DONE with all the hassle that comes with navigating a wintry landscape: brushing off the car, trudging through deep snow multiple times per day to thaw the chickens’ water, dealing with slippery roads and bad visibility.

Late February and early March are often a tease: you’ll get a sunny, warm thaw of a day, possibly even warm enough to offer tantalizing whiffs of a muddy Spring landscape - and then another deep freeze or blizzard. Even if they don’t last, those days of reprieve can feel wonderful to the winter-weary.

A peek at the forecast tells me there’s a thaw a few days away, but today, it’s just more snow.

This time of year I really find myself leaning into small but meaningful practices that help make meaning of the moment we’re in, while giving me something to look forward to.

Here are a few I’m finding especially helpful right now:

I’m watching birds in the snow.

After Christmas, I hung our cranberry and popcorn garland out on the bird feeder, figuring the birds would nibble at it. Weirdly, they’ve mostly ignored it (do birds not like cranberries and popcorn?) but it tickles me to look out and see it decorating the feeder where, all day long, finches and chickadees and woodpeckers and cardinals take turns flitting in and out for a meal.

I will never, never tire of watching birds in the snow. Sometimes when I’m feeling a little bedraggled and blue, I just pull up a chair and watch them cheerfully and busily going about their business, digging through the snow to get to a choice seed. When I refill the feeder my joy is doubled to see how enthusiastically they return to see what new goodies I’ve brought them. They just keep coming back, undeterred by the weather, just doing what their little bird natures tell them it’s time to do.

I’m also sharing this photo taken by my son Jacob up in Traverse City - just because I think it’s pretty. Can anyone ID those birds for me? I was thinking orioles??

I’m saying a symbolic good-bye to winter traditions.

Yesterday I dug the last bag of cranberries - bought in a 99 cent after-Christmas sale - out of the freezer and made the cranberry orange loaf recipe that I was enthusiastically making multiple times per week from late November through the end of December.

Nordic wisdom for the coldest days of the year

The funny thing is, while the bread is still tasty, I’m not loving it quite as much as I did during the holiday season. And maybe that’s the way it should be: we love things most during the season they’re most suited for, and a little of the magic goes out of them once that season has passed.

Still, there was something that felt right in cleaning that bag of cranberries out of the freezer and officially putting that recipe away for the rest of the season. It’ll still be there next November, waiting for me; but for now, I have other seasons to look forward to.

I’m dreaming of things I will grow soon.

Like many gardeners (and wannabe gardeners) I spend a lot of time looking at seed catalogs in January and February, long before I can actually do anything with seeds here in Michigan. It’s too early even to start seeds indoors for outdoor planting (though I have been considering doing a planting of microgreens and sprouts indoors) but it offers crucial hope and anticipation during a time when all the plant life outdoors is still buried under snow.

The solace of seeds

I had a modest, but satisfyingly fruitful garden last year - and while I expect this year’s will also be modest in the end, that doesn’t stop me from dreaming ambitiously at this time of year. The February fantasy garden knows no boundaries. It’s not limited by my lack of skill or knowledge, our soil composition or the predators in our yard. I think there’s a deep purpose in experiencing a sense of abundance, and right now, I’m leaning into it.

At some point I’ll have to get this fantasy under control so I can effectively plan my actual garden, but for right now, I’m just letting my imagination run wild.

I’m immersing myself in last summer’s bounty.

As I was digging in the linen closet to restock the toilet paper the other day, I came across a grocery bag full of goldenrod that Eric harvested from the yard late last summer. He’d read that it was a good remedy for seasonal allergies, but at the time I was up to my neck in other projects and didn’t know what to do with the large bunch of tall, unruly stalks. So they went (flower side down) in a paper bag, which hung around the kitchen for a while until at some point it made its way to the closet, where it stayed for months until I found it, perfectly dried.

I’ve been on an herbal medicine-making kick over the past couple months and thought I had run out of dried material from last summer, so I was excited to have something new to work with. And researching goldenrod, I learned that this summery bloom is widely used to support late-winter mood. Perfect.

Goldenrod is also well-known as a remedy for seasonal allergies, so I figured if I started infusing the herbs now, they’ll be ready just in time for those spring sniffles and itchy eyes that tend to plague me in early April.

Now I have goldenrod tincture and oil infusing (using recipes from Midwest Medicinal Plants by Lisa M. Rose) and decided to try a goldenrod honey as well. After putting my kitchen back together (dried goldenrod is very messy to work with!) I brewed up a tea with the last handful of the dried herb.

It really did taste like a bit of summer in a jar, and as I sipped, I reflected on how these plants can give us just what we need, when we need them - if only we take the time to pay attention.

I’d love to hear how you’re easing the February doldrums. What practices are infusing some joy into your life right now?

About me:

Hi! I’m Meagan, an author, podcaster, and midlife mom of five (mostly grown) kids. Here at The Kettle, I share my thoughts on how to live wisely and well in a manic modern world. While most new posts are free, paid subscriptions help me continue to create here - and if you want to connect more deeply, the private chat is open to paid members. I appreciate you!