Nature, My Spiritual Teacher and Defender Against the Winter Blues
My friend Brother Paul Quenon, a Trappist monk from the Abbey of Gethsemani, calls nature his “guru.” I consider nature one of my spiritual teachers and physical healers.
This past week, I ended my one-year term as president of the Illinois Grand Prairie Master Naturalists. Our group helps conserve the prairie and other natural areas in central Illinois. The first of the year was an unseasonably warm day here, so the Master Naturalists decided to hike the Chinquapin Bluffs near Carlock, Illinois, along the Mackinaw River.
The ground was moist from recent rains. Along the trails we spotted a small cone-shaped nest probably built by a warbler, and ensconced between branches of a willow. No one was at home in the nest on that fine sunny day. At one point, two eagles , a fully grown adult and a juvenile flew overhead, stopping us in our tracks.
We also paused to admire the elegant architecture of a bare sycamore. It sat amid a cluster of trees in the woods. In summer, the thick foliage would have largely concealed this magnificent tree from our view.
Seeing that sycamore stand so gracefully — arms extended to the sky — I was reminded of something St. Bernard of Clairvaux once said about looking for “the real behind the real.”
It is said that there are two books of Scripture. One is the Bible, the other nature. Nature reminds us we are part of something vast and mysterious. I returned home from our new year’s hike feeling stronger and more confident, encouraged by the enduring strength of the trees, the birds, the river.
We often think of winter as a time when “the plant says nothing,” to quote a line from a famous poem by Thomas Merton. In reality, an important conversation is taking place, though the earth might seem silent and inactive. Each season has its purpose and its charm and winter is no different.
As Brother Paul writes in his wonderful 2018 memoir, In Praise of the Useless Life, “One day may be Eden, another a dim limbo … One morning appears as a Chinese painting with cloaks of fog concealing here, parting there, revealing hills, trees, and fields. Another morning displays a brilliant sprawl of clarity, the color too good to be true.”
This past week, I’ve heard from two friends who suffer for Seasonal Affective Disorder, also known appropriately as SAD. It’s a form of depression that arises in the winter months when there is less daylight, the cold can be oppressive, and getting from point A to point B becomes trickier and at times dangerous.
There is no doubt this is a tough time of year. January can seem like the longest month.
How can we look for blessing? Can we find things to praise about this challenging season? How can we engage in small acts of self-care?
Here are a few thoughts. I try experimenting with different soup recipes. I enjoy frequent cups of hot chocolate — and there are many flavors to taste-test from dark bark to marshmallow-flavored to peppermint stick to cinnamon-laced. I light candles around the house to provide a warm glow. I invite friends over for cookies and tea.
On days when it is truly too cold to stay outside for any length of time — and today it is 9 degrees where I live and feels like minus 2 — I try to work facing a window. The squirrels entertain me with their tree acrobatics. The crows and starlings provide a chorus of horns. An occasional cat will lumber by, leaving a cross-stitch of paw prints across fresh snow.
This is how nature nurtures me in winter. It reminds me that nothing in creation is wasted. To simply be is not only enough, it is a great deal.
In his memoir, Brother Paul recalls a fellow monk who once told him that while others scurried inside to escape from the rain, this monk dashed outside in his raincoat. Brother Paul’s rejoinder, “Why the raincoat?’
Still another monk once cautioned Brother Paul that fostering a life of reflection is “not a matter of sitting under a tree.” That monk eventually left the monastery, while more than 60 years later, Brother Paul notes, “I am still here, sitting under shade trees.”
Here’s to shade trees, rivers, and birds, and all they have to teach us.
