By Icy Frantz
Did you feel it- the collective sigh?
The one a few a few weeks back when we shifted to Daylight Saving Time.
It was almost audible- a slow satisfying exhale.
The rare moment when an entire country happily agrees to lose an hour of sleep.
Because, it turns out, we are all quietly hungry for the same thing — a little more light at the end of the day.
Yes — celebrated.
Maybe this year more than ever.
We sprang ahead… happily.
Essentially, we have packed up winter into a suitcase and we are preparing to ship it off for at least nine months… if we’re lucky.
When I pack, I am meticulous. I carefully line up clothes — day and night — and try to stay within one color scheme so pieces can be worn more than once. I pick out appropriate shoes, toss underwear and, if the destination calls for it, a bathing suit into a packing cube, then roll and fold everything neatly into my carry-on.
Yes.
A carry-on.
Impressive, right?
I have a packing list — which I consult, more than once. It gives me a false sense of security-the comforting illusion that I am completely in control of the situation.
Still, I am bound to forget something.
So, what goes in with winter?
Historic blizzards and record-breaking snowfalls.
Black ice.
Brutal blasts of artic air-bone chilling days of below-freezing temperatures.
Unplanned and unprepared-for snow days.
The shrinking daylight.
The sidewalks dusted with sand and salt.
The enormous, soiled snowbanks in grocery store parking lots that somehow linger until April.
And my own personal winter effects:
Snow boots- that earned their keep this year.
Heavy coats.
Gloves and hats, long johns, and scarfs.
Salt-stained shoes by the back door.
And, if we’re being honest, a certain seasonal grumpiness.
But winter has a way of collecting other things too.
The early darkness that arrives before dinner.
The long gray afternoons when motivation feels just slightly out of reach.
The weeks when the sky seems permanently the color of wet wool which seems to perfectly match the tint of our skin.
And maybe a few poignant things as well — small frustrations, worries that grew larger in the dark, the isolation caused by countless hours indoors, the heaviness that sometimes settles in when the world feels colder than usual.
One afternoon in December, I joined our family on a ski slope in Vermont. We protected our faces behind thermal fleece masks. We employed handwarmers and feet warmers and heated vests and still we felt the chill. The wind was so fierce that the chairlifts were swaying wildly. And I remember wondering, shivering on that cold metal chair, will we ever be warm? will we ever get to the top?
Those things can slip into the suitcase too.
And believe me, I am using the largest bag I can find. The oversized one. The one they charge extra for.
Checked luggage, baby!!
I noticed the shift the other afternoon when I stepped outside in only a down vest.
For a moment I stood there waiting for the familiar sting of cold air — the reflex we’ve all developed after months of bundling up.
But it never came.
Instead, there was just a soft breeze and the quiet warmth of the afternoon sun on my face.
Somewhere nearby water dripped steadily from a melting snowbank — that unmistakable sound of winter finally loosening its grip.
It felt small.
Almost insignificant.
And yet somehow, it felt like the beginning of everything.
Crocuses pushing bravely through the cold ground.
Neighbors lingering a little longer on their afternoon walk.
Mornings on the back porch with a strong cup of coffee.
Smiles.
An unexplained joy.
Of course, the seasons have always known something we sometimes forget.
There is beauty in contrast.
The light feels brighter because we have lived through the dark.
The warmth feels softer because we have known the cold.
Without winter, spring might slip past us almost unnoticed.
Eventually the suitcase closes.
Winter — with its storms and shadows and howling winds — tucked carefully inside.
A tender reminder of something the seasons also know all too well:
This too shall pass.
We are often told that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.
And perhaps that’s true.
But I sometimes think I’m strong enough already.
I’m not here for the strength training.
I’m here because I like experiencing the seasons.
Or at least I think I do.
For now, the days stretch longer, the air feels gentler, and happy anticipation floats through an open door.
And maybe the real gift of spring isn’t simply that winter leaves.
Maybe it’s that we remember how to step back into the warmth…
and stay there a little longer.
Like someone who just came in from the cold.
Icy Frantz
The icing on the Cake
