Lessons I Am Learning from Winter
There’s something about winter that invites us to slow down. Maybe it’s the shorter days, the way the snow hushes the world, or the simple fact that nature itself seems to pause. The trees stand bare, the fields rest under their blanket of frost, and even the animals tuck themselves away, conserving energy for the seasons ahead.
I used to think of winter as a time of waiting—waiting for the warmth to return, for new life to push through the soil, for busyness to resume. But this year, I’ve been leaning into winter differently. I’m learning that this season is not just about stillness but about the quiet work happening beneath the surface.
Just as seeds rest beneath the frozen ground, preparing for their moment to bloom, I, too, am discovering the value of slowing down. There is growth occurring even when it isn’t visible. I’m giving myself permission to not always be producing or moving but instead to embrace the quiet, to sit with my thoughts, and to allow space for just being. And you know what? It’s refreshing. It’s rejuvenating to the soul.
This practice of quiet goes deeper than just lowering our voices or retreating from the noise of the world. It’s about slowing our thoughts, creating room to breathe, and allowing space for reflection. In this stillness, I’m finding a broader perspective, a deeper understanding of the things that need time and space to grow.
Of course, winter on the farm doesn’t mean everything slows down. While the fields may be resting, our livestock’s needs only grow in the coldest months. Fresh, thawed water, good-quality hay, and a warm place to escape the bitter cold are essential. Our Icelandic sheep, however, thrive in the winter. Their thick wool coats keep them warm, and they seem to enjoy both the crisp, sunny days and the grey, snowy ones. With lambs growing in their bellies, our ewes spend their days either bedded down in the straw-lined lean-to or standing quietly under the stars, waiting for spring’s arrival. I’ve noticed they appreciate a little extra attention this time of year—gentle pets on their noses and the occasional apple treat.
The chickens, hardy as they are, also follow the rhythm of the season. The shorter, darker days naturally slow their egg production, giving them a period of rest, just as the land and trees rest before bursting forth again in spring.
One way I’ve been nurturing this season of rest is through watercolor painting. I’m a beginner, and I love that it doesn’t have to be perfect. Watercolors are soft, flowing, and forgiving—just like this season is teaching me to be. There’s something about putting brush to paper, watching the colors blend and shift, that feels like a quiet conversation with creativity itself. It stretches my mind in a way that feels good—like a gentle unfolding.
Another thing that has filled my cup this winter is gathering with others over simple meals. There is something deeply nourishing, not just about warm food on a cold night, but about sharing in meaningful conversations, truly seeing and hearing one another. We were made for connection—for the joy of being known and for the encouragement that comes from genuine fellowship.
For the past few years, I’ve embraced the practice of choosing a word for the year—a word that reflects where I am and where I hope to grow. It helps guide my goals and ambitions, but also my personal growth and the challenges I want to lean into. This year, my word is Inspire. One of the definitions of inspire is:
“Reflects inner growth: Inspiration often flows from a place of personal authenticity and renewal.”
I love this definition, especially in connection with the quiet renewal of winter. In this season of stillness, I’m finding that inspiration isn’t always about doing more—it’s about going deeper, allowing room for the things that truly matter to take root.
This, I believe, is the richness of winter. It is a season of rest, of quiet growth, and of drawing close—to ourselves, to our creativity, and to each other. And just like the trees storing up energy for spring, I know this time of slowing down is preparing me for what’s ahead.
So, I’m learning to embrace it.
How about you? What is winter teaching you this year?
