Introduction (Page 38 or 15%)

I’ve just read the introduction, wherein the author gives some background on herself and what led her to decide to write this book, and set the stage for what to expect in later chapters. I found her opening story engaging and her observations agreeable.

However, I don’t like the structure after that. The timeskips left me feeling I was missing key information, her flip-flopping between different parts of her story and the biology of bees felt disjointed, and when the story seemed to climax with her in hospital with abdominal pain, she skips over that and starts talking about how she was inspired to be reunited with her old coffee grinder. (A vague allegory for the cycles of life?)

I’m not sure if the author intends to drip-feed her personal narrative between the information presented in this book or she told us all that as a vague lesson that it’s important to rest. But it’s disappointing because she had me hooked on the first page and then steadily lost me.

In any case, the book isn’t supposed to be about her so much Wintering itself, so it’s yet to be seen how the bulk of the book reads.

Chapter 1 (Page 94 or 36%)

Chapter 1 is called ‘The Things We See’, and is subtitled ‘How we can receive inspiration’.

It’s clear that Longhust pulls from her own experience when writing this book, as everything she suggests is something she describes doing herself, along with (in my opinion) solid reasoning as to how and why it’s beneficial. She doesn’t go as deeply into her backstory as she did in the introduction, which I think is probably for the best given how disjointed it felt to me. The suggestions in this chapter are grounded, relatively accessible, and in line with the purpose of the book: “How to rest, reconnect and rejuvenate with creativity and conscious living”.

One of my only negative thoughts I had for this chapter was how instantly put off I was by her early statement that “people remain stuck and disconnected when they don’t have a dedicated gratitude practice”. I realise I am firmly in the minority here; there are lots of studies on the benefits of gratitude and plenty of qualified professionals who advocate for having a specific practice. Of course, gratitude is a wonderful thing to have. But I’ve always felt that forcing it wasn’t the right answer for me. My experience is that there are usually underlying reasons why one might lack gratitude and it’s best to tackle those so gratitude can come on its own. For this reason, I found the statement to be sweeping, lacking nuance, and it rubbed up against my personal beliefs.

Returning to the positives, I do agree with Longhurst’s subsequant commentary on social media. Longhurst comes at it from the angle that it’s the source of her livelihood and therefore difficult to disengage from, but even without that, I feel she’s touching on something much more broadly applicable. In a society where proximate community is disintegrating, people rely on the internet to find like minded people, to share art, and to truly feel seen in the world. Disconnecting from it sometimes isn’t an option when it fulfills a role nothing else does. This is something I have been thinking on for a long time prior to reading Longhurst’s take on the issue: I also struggle with my relationship to social media. On the one hand I’m self-conscious; on the other I crave validation. On the one hand I’m aware its damaging; on the other I’m still susceptible to its hooks. Longhurst poses the question “how do we strike a balance?” and goes on to present some rules she has given herself to insure more intentionality online. But even before that, she writes that she tried to “ Be an active participant”. Upon reading this, I was immediately reminded of a quote I heard on the radio just a day or two before:

“Those who are carried to a goal should not think they have reached it.”

— Marie von Ebner Eschenback

I actually heard the quote on the radio, given in the context of Artificial Intelligence, even though Eschenbach herself lived before the internet, social media, or AI were even a thing. I think this just goes to show what a good quote it is that it’s so broadly applicable and relevant. It taps into a broad philosophical question about participation, agency, and creation: The core idea that something loses its value if a person never put effort into aquiring or creating it. I feel compelled to add, however, that there is a difference between people being helped and carried entirely, and increasing accessibility for the disabled can only be a good thing. So, Longhurt poses the question of how do we strike a balance? She presents some sensible rules but personally I didn’t find any of them particularly inspiring compared to her general suggestion of being an active participant, which she does expand upon in a couple of pages. I think everyone knows that moderating social media use is a good idea and its down to the individual what they find helpful to achieving that goal. For me, the advice to focus on participation feels like it’s coming at the same issue from a very relevant angle: We live in a capitalist society that glorifies consumerism and mocks the aspiration to be an artist. Yet I believe creation and participation are vital to the human experience.

Next in the chapter, Longhurst tells an anedotal story about being “open and receptive to your sense of fun” to that felt a little shallow and pointless to me. I’m probably being a bit of a Scrooge.

Then Longhurst makes a good point about times of rest being good for “recieving new perspective[s] and noticing subtlties”. It feels right that she points out that even when we’re not actively creating, we can be stewing ideas in the pot ready for our next active period. It aligns with my entire reason for wanting to find books on seasonal living and wintering: the idea that every phase of life has a purpose and is valid. I believe constant productivity is a lie we have been fed by capitalism. The rest of the natural world operates in periods of growth and rest. Historically, as hunter gatherers and even early farming communities, work would happen when work needed to be done. Surplus labour benefitted the individuals or the community as a whole rather than having its value absorbed into the wealth of the lucky few.

As I’m writing this, I’m noticing the glaring contradition between the advice to be an active participant and the advice to use rest time as time to receive inspiration. But I suppose the context of the advice is different and even resting is something we can actively participate in.

This is exemplified by Longhurt’s suggestions for Wintering activities throughout the remainder of the chapter: gardening, suminagashi, walking in nature, journaling, tracking cycles, observing other’s art, divination tools like tarot and tea leaf reading, and finally tea brewing. All of these suggestions seem appropriate to me, and are intersperced by Longhurst’s reasoning and experience. She cleanly ties concepts together, like gardening, patience, and longevity as a metric for success or walking and shared activities. Each suggestion is simple, but the added context and insight gives you something to digest rather than brush off.

Like plants and flowers in the garden, not all projects have to be long lasting. Trying something for just one session, or a short season of life doesn’t have to equal failure. This takes the pressure off so you can focus on enjoying experiences for what they are, not what they can produce long term. Being organic and varied in life is healthier and gives us more resilience, the same as with ecology in the garden.

I liked Longhurst’s suggestion of caring for air plants as a low maintenance option to bring the green indoors. She also uses the opportunity to point out that different plants’ bloom at different times. Similarly, we also all have our own timelines.

Suminagashi or Japanese water marbling sounds like it could be easy but messy and take up space. I’m not a very hands on person normally but I would consider giving it a try if I find myself wanting to do craft.

Then there was walking. Longhurst added themes of protected time and shared activities to the very basic concept. She also discussed how she liked to imagine and explore the backstories of different things she sees when out and about. At first that which came across as a little rarified when she gave a personal example of finding a building with World War 2 camouflage paint on, but in hindsight I don’t think it needs to involve grand discoveries or research—it’s just daydreaming at its core.

Longhurst also writes about the moon phases, cycle tracking, journaling, and gives prompts. All of this feels on brand and appropriate but nothing new to me personally. The prompts didn’t inspire me. However, the bonus section on words related to winter struck me as very cool. I am interested in words and enjoyed reading some new ones.

Finally, Longhurst suggests using traditional divination methods like tarot and tasseography (tea leaf reading) as a means of reflecting on new ideas, getting different perspectives on current situations, and communing with the sub-conscious. I wholeheartedly love this suggestion, as someone who is agnostic but also loves witchy/spirutal practices anyway. I may not be sure whether the supernatural is real, but I enjoy the aesthetic, the sense of mystery, and the elevation of self-care and reflection through ritual. It seems to me that Longhurst and I are very similar in that regard. I have thought about using my tarot and divination cards to assist with creative writing before, but never done it, and its very cool to find someone else saying they already do that.

As for tasseography, that’s another thing I have never tried but would be very curious too. Truthfully, I’ve never even drunk loose leaf tea before so Longhurst’s subsequant and final section in the chapter on brewing your own teas is useful and relevant. It’s also a whole sensory experience and could have gone in another chapter about smell or taste, but it makes sense to put it next to the tasseography section.

Overall, I enjoyed this chapter and the insight Longhurst offers in it—even the parts of the chapter that didn’t appeal to me felt appropriate and could serve as reminders for things to do on Wintering days.

Chapter 2 (page 128 or 50%)

In this chapter, Longhurst talks about the skill of listening. She talks about it being an underdeveloped art in society but also touts all the ways she tries to listen to others “as a writer”. It doesn’t sit well with me from the outset because the book is almost exclusively about Longhurst’s own experiences and opinions and feels very self-centered as a result. It feels like she’s tooting her own horn a little bit—and while everything she’s saying might be true, as a reader it doesn’t reconcile with the very personal style of the book.
Longhurst also writes about how people’s criticism of her writing in the past has been horrible, and how deeply it’s affected her. On the one hand, the examples she gives of how people have diminished her achievements to her face in the past sound cartoonishly villainous but I also think Longhurst is showing vulnerability that I’m not used to and don’t know how to interpret. From my perspective, I’m reading a non-fiction book from a multiple times published, successful career writer. As someone who is not published and isn’t even able to work due to disability, it feels a little uncomfortable to read about how hard it’s been for her to receive criticism. Surely receiving criticism is the price you pay for reaching an audience at all? In the same way that sometimes The Joy of Wintering seems to veer into the territory of auto-biography, it feels to me like Longhurst is writing pages all about how things have affected her, without there being much benefit to the reader on the subject of th book: Wintering.

I know I’m being far too harsh… I’m writing my honest first impressions and deconstructing them as I go. I’m aware that a a lot of the the way these themes are landing is a reflection of the insecurity, jealousy and sense of lack I have inside. I’m not treating Longhurst with the same grace as I would want to be given if I exposed my inner thoughts to audiences and I hope that by challenging my instinctual responses I can open my mind a little and be more graceful to perspectives and circumstances I don’t relate to. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to realise that I am exactly the kind of critic that might have caused Longhurst pain and insecurity in the beginning of her writing journey. She is entitled to write about whatever she damn well pleases and not every single bit of the text needs to be “useful” to my exact experience: its a selfish perspective to think so. Casual writing, first hand accounts, and anecdotal wisdom are valid forms of passing forward ideas, even if it’s not my preferred medium or style.

Moving onto the positives: Longhurst does link the themes of listening to slowing down and wintering in general, and introduces the idea of musical instruments, tuning forks, and south baths as a way of creating space for thought and receptivity. These are nice ideas, and I plan to put on a sound bath audio as I go to sleep tonight instead of my usual ASMR audios.

The last major theme in this chapter is finding a state of Flow. Longhurst talks about how getting into a flow state can increase resilience and patience, and facilitates us to spend time for ourselves. It allows receptivity, a wandering of the mind, and creativity. Longhurst gives some examples of activities which encourage flow state, from cooking to gardening, crossword and tactile crafts. Longhurst makes a brilliant point about how the journey is just as important and enjoyable as the destination when we are in flow state. I think this is really quietly impactful because I often find it difficult to enjoy the journey and have a bad habit of making everything about perfection and results. Knitting and crochet are a rare example for me where I am able to enjoy the process as much as the results because of how therapeutic it is.

Longhurst brings the subject back to listening and receiving criticism to close out the chapter but she does include some sound advice and a clear link back to wintering:: Send quiet time with young ideas before exposing them to others where they might not yet be able to withstand judgement. Get comfortable with and play with your ideas, letting them develop organically, in the quiet of winter and solitude.