Tonight is longest night of the year, and it arrived on the island riding the winds of a blizzard. I spent the earlier part of the day performing the pleasant labor of baking when there is no pressure. I threw together some pizza dough for later, used the verging-on-over-ripe bananas for banana walnut bread, and got to work making and bottling lemon curd for island neighbors. There may have been a nap in there somewhere... I have moved an armchair into the kitchen, rendering it more or less the most functional room ever. Because really I can do work sitting in a comfy armchair, my feet up on a stool. Lap=laptop=work. Everyone accepts the truth of this commutative property. The key is I can't allow myself to curl up in the armchair. With anything remotely resembling a blanket. Fetal position + blankie = sweet sweet slumber.
About an hour before night closed in, the Dark arrived at my door, ready for his second hike of the day. I stripped down and re-layered for the storm while he foraged in my kitchen, pleased that I had carried out my plans to make banana bread. Once I was fully bundled, we headed out into the brunt of the storm, which had worsened since his earlier trip to Seal Trap. My plastic sled in tow, we made our way up Annis Hill to the Champlain trail head, where we stashed my sled at the side of the road and headed into the woods. With the variation of weather, season, and light, I could never grow bored of this place. The huckleberry underbrush looked soft with the snow; enrobed in white, the spruce seemed taller- looming over the path with a magic that promised potential danger or delight. Even in the forest, the wind scoured the land, shrieking through the thinner areas nearly undiminished. This was not a gentle evening, but since I was well-clad and warm, it was strangely peaceful. In the last light of this shortest day, the island again turned to a more sepia-tinged shade of grey. Champlain is slightly bald at the top, mostly ledge, huckleberry, and scraggly spruce that look a little sheepish, like they knew they should have left the party an hour ago. The world was wild at the summit, and I tilted my head back to watch snow sheet across the sky.
It was the peak of the island, the peak of night for the year. And yes, the peak of the affair. At some point you have to pack up the picnic, get out of the water, or come in from the cold.
We made our way back down the mountain, this time at a slower clip- ever the lover of the ephemeral, I need some stillness to take in the transition. Emerging on the road, we recovered the sled, debated the best method of descending the hill (seated or on stomachs), and let gravity carry us down to my house.
After a time, he was back to foraging in my kitchen- this time for supper: I was assigned the task of making cocoa. Having warmed up and replaced some calories, we rebundled to go in search of the Tall. The storm had gained in power as night took hold, and the walk toward town was wicked, but conditions weren't quite white-out. By the time we reached the post office, we spied familiar headlights approaching, the Tall, in the nearly-clutchless truck. Together they needed to head back to their place, to literally keep the homefires burning. While the Tall could have managed this on his own, we three have been walking on the tension wire of a bizarre love triangle. Hooking me up with his friend was a gas in theory, but the Tall found it less appealing in practice: he and I have traded off feeling like a third wheel.
As we arrived at my house, I was deposited with a quick kiss goodnight just outside of the truck, and off they went, making their way up the steep hill, the snow closing in behind them.
In a week's time this portion of the year will be over: no more holidays, no more boys of Autumn- they will return to their respective homes out West to work the ski season. Long nights have never bothered me- every year I watch winter approach with a sense of comfort, that the dark is a blanket thrown over the earth, reminding us to rest and reflect. To dream with eyes open.
Now to accept that the dark will recede.
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