Winter 2018 - 2019

Winter

In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane

The redbreast looks in vain

For hips and haws,

Lo, shining flowers upon my windowpane

The silver pencil of the winter draws.

When all the snowy hill

And the bare woods are still;

When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs

And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire,

Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs--

More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire!

Years ago I discovered this poem, typed on an old-fashioned typewriter, in a cottage in Saranac Lake, NY where Robert Louis Stevenson, his mother Margaret, wife Fanny, and stepson Lloyd spent the winter of 1887-1888, seeking a cure for his lung complaint. Saranac Lake is noted for some of the coldest temperatures in the lower 48 states; 40 below is not unusual. Stevenson was under the care of Dr. E L Trudeau, famed for success in treating lung ailments. His health was much improved, though he claimed he had to keep his inkwell by the fire to thaw it out! He was known locally as a graceful and accomplished figure skater, and enjoyed many hours on the frozen pond behind the house. The Stevenson Cottage Museum is fascinating and rewarding, remaining much as Stevenson left it and containing, in its modest six rooms, one of the largest existing collections of his memorabilia. Readers note: Nancy Horan has written a most excellent and moving novel of his life, Under the Wide and Starry Sky.

I know people who abominate winter, but for me, having grown up on the plains and experienced years of withering drought, it is a glorious season. Lissa, the protagonist in my novel Merchant of Dreams (one of Kirkus Reviews Best Books of 2018), experiences a winter in Yorkshire, and almost loses her life in so doing. Writing about her perilous adventure, in which inclement weather is perhaps the smallest threat, I wanted to capture the otherness of snow and ice, and the loneliness, danger and excitement of isolation one feels when venturing alone into this alien and beautiful world.

In my east coast 1793 house on a hill, the season can be isolating, but also deeply comforting. When I see Stevenson’s frost flowers on the 226-year-old window glass, and his flowers of fire on the hearth, I’m never quite ready for winter to end. Add a book, a cup of tea or cider, a warm and furry kitten, and nothing is lacking except

It’s still snowing here at Casita del Aurora (our little house of dawn) high in the San Juan mountains. Today a determined and cheerful FedEx driver performed Herculean feats in digging his van out at the bottom of our sinuous drive, and is now being pulled up to the road by a powerful truck with mega-weight chains. Hopefully, they’ll get safely home to a hot dinner and a rest by the fire. Snow is knee-deep and we expect up to nine inches more tonight. A good evening for writing!

Stay warm. Read, and write!

Anita

Ps--Appearances can be deceiving. Angus is a certified temperance kitty (though you may have doubts if you view this picture upside down).