A Winter I Chose to Stay For
I am going to say something that would have surprised me a few years ago.
I am not ready for winter to be over.
And the spring ahead time change? I am not enthusiastic.
This winter has felt different. Instead of bracing myself to get through it, I leaned in. I walked outside on days that would have once kept me in. I snowshoed. I skated. I picked up my watercolours again and let myself create without needing to be good at it. I rearranged corners of our home simply because I wanted them to feel softer and more intentional.
I did not just survive winter.
I inhabited it.
Usually, we are travelling quite a bit this time of year. In motion. In airports. In other climates. And I love that season too. But this year we stayed more. I stayed more.
And it felt like the Island rewarded us for it.
It has been one of the most beautiful winters I can remember. Snow, week after week. The kind that softens everything. The kind that makes even familiar roads feel magical. It just never seemed to stop snowing. Instead of fighting it, I found myself grateful for it.
There is something about winter on Prince Edward Island that gives you permission to slow down. The garden rests. Tourism quiets. The calendar loosens its grip. And if you allow it, you exhale too.
The Rituals That Anchored My Winter
What I have fallen in love with most, though, are the rituals.
My morning matcha does not happen at sunrise with a perfect journal spread. It usually happens after Porter heads off to school, once I have made sure he has everything he needs to start his day. Lunch packed. Questions answered. Shoes located. That moment when the door closes and the house shifts.
That is when I make it.
It is my exhale.
And I do not grab just any mug. I reach for one of the pottery pieces I have been collecting over the years. Each one slightly different. A little heavier in the hand. Imperfect in the best way. There is something grounding about holding something handmade. It makes the pause feel chosen.
The mid afternoon decaf latte Adam makes me has become its own quiet ceremony. It is rarely in a travel cup. It is in a favourite mug. It is sipped sitting down. It signals that the day gets a breath.
Moving my body at the gym has felt different too. Less about pushing. More about strength. I stay longer in the sauna. I let my mind wander instead of racing back to my to do list.
And then there is my nest.
What used to be an office has become a curated space where I sit on Sunday evenings to set intentions for the week. Not goals in a hustle sense. Intentions. How I want to feel. What actually matters. What can wait.
I have also been quietly protecting creative space to work on my cookbook. Letting ideas simmer. Letting recipes and stories take shape without forcing them into the world before they are ready.
When I really look at it, winter has not been about doing less.
It has been about doing things more intentionally.
Letting Spring Arrive Without Rushing Me
Which is why spring feels loud.
Not in a negative way. Just louder. More light. More momentum. A fuller calendar. And then the time change arrives and everyone casually says, “We lose an hour.”
Lose.
As if it is spare change.
And in the fall we are told we gain an hour. I have yet to locate this magical extra hour. What I do experience is disruption. A slight tilt in the rhythm I have worked to create.
Maybe what I am really releasing this season is the idea that my cadence has to match the clock.
Yes, the time will spring ahead.
Yes, the calendar will fill.
Yes, the energy will shift.
But I do not need to rush past ritual just because the season changes.
I can still wait for that quiet moment after Porter leaves before I make my matcha. I can still reach for one of my favourite pottery mugs. I can still linger in the sauna. I can still sit in my nest and choose intention over reaction. I can still let this cookbook unfold slowly and thoughtfully, in its own time.
Spring may move faster.
That does not mean I have to.
And if you need me, I will be adjusting to the time change with a little side eye and a very good mug in my hands.
Lots of love,
Marsha
