January Is Over Now

A recent February snowfall blanketed the grounds at Greenfield Park.

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It snowed last night. Not tons. But enough to remind us that winter is not over. We got so much snow in January, heaps of it, that I'm surprised it melted as quickly as it did. But a week or so of mild temps (even a couple days in the 50's) definitely expedited the process. We were lucky not to have a lot of flooding.

I don't put a lot of stock in Groundhog Day, but this year they said the groundhog did not see his shadow, so there will be an early spring. It sounds good, but I guess we'll have to wait and see. 

The hiking trail, covered in snow, at Forest Exploration Center in January.

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Fog settled in at Greenfield Park one late January day.

For me, saying goodbye to January was a welcome farewell.  As far back as I can recall, I have struggled in month number one.  The cold, the long dark days, the mental and emotional aftermath of the holiday season, hardly leaves me with a lot of forward thinking spirit in the new year.  My one resolution (of sorts) come January each year is just to get through it. 

My brain seems to lock into a perpetual fog, and at a time when I should be making to-do lists, and catching up and cleaning out, and making plans, I just slog along. 

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The good and bad news about this is that I'm not alone. In speaking with friends and acquaintances, even just perusing articles on the web, it's clear that lots of people struggle at this time of year. January seems like the longest month. The weather and the darkness are just a part of it, though.

Maybe the expectations are too high -  Starting a new year with lofty goals and ambitions,  hibernation perfect for enjoying some of those indoor activities like reading good books, cleaning out closets, planning our gardens or upcoming vacations or spring projects - The infusion of good vibes and a fresh start seem elusive.

A striking winter display at Greenfield Park.

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When my creative self feels lost, sluggish, and stymied, I go searching for ideas elsewhere. I watch YouTube videos by creatives I admire, read non-fiction essays about feeling lost, then found - commiserating with others somehow seems to help.

Then I get outside. Some days it takes a lot of prodding to get out the door. But once I do, I go somewhere familiar. One of my favorite local parks with a paved walking trail that I can usually count on to be plowed.

​Once I get there, with each walking step I can feel my shoulders drop a bit, the fog lift some, I can think again. I can entertain ideas. I can see a way forward.

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It was bitterly cold, but I finally convinced myself to get out and enjoy some winter beauty along the trail at Scout Lake Park.

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I also try to incorporate a creative activity or two that I haven't done before into my week.  Engaging with a new craft or skill can reinvigorate the creative self.  Writing and photography may be my usual endeavors, but crocheting, crafting valentine's, even coloring or playing with watercolor paints while watching a program or listening to music, helps to clear the mental clutter and distract it for a while.

I'll sometimes gift my creations, or take them with me on a walk, so I can photograph them in nature. Adding some color to a bland winter landscape, infusing some cheer until bits of spring start to appear.

A simple crochet project to spur creativity during January.

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Sometimes winter requires bringing your own bit of color to the landscape.

I can't imagine a January where I don't struggle with this seasonal malaise. But maybe I should be planning for it, instead of just expecting to have to cope with it. 

​Maybe I should sign up for some type of creative class or workshop to counter the fog that sets in.  Where motivation is elusive maybe commitment would suffice.

​Thankfully, January is over now. We're already halfway through February. Daylight is lasting a bit longer, though it's still cold, still winter. Given the history of winters in Wisconsin, it can still snow, and I won't feel like I can truly settle into spring until May arrives. 

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But the other day I spotted some daffodils starting to poke through in my mother-in-law's front garden. And a chipmunk made a surprise appearance on our backyard patio.

​As sure as the clock ticks on, a change of seasons will come. New growth and new life will appear. The spell of migrating birdsong will fill the air. And hope, in its many colors, will knock on our door, inviting us to come out and play.

Spring will add color to our lives again. Until then, we can bring our own.

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