On Winter Rituals, or, Saying Goodbye To The Sea
It’s approaching the time of rituals. Winter seems to be full of them, especially compared to the other seasons. This, of course, has a lot to do with Christmas, whether it’s the universal traditions of Christmas trees and carols, or the family-specific ones of searching through old dusty boxes to find your dad’s fisherman Santa decoration. But there’s also something about the bleakness of winter that has us seeking out little rituals and fist pumps just to get through it all.Have you noticed how our winter rituals are all forward-looking? From your first mulled wine to New Year’s Resolutions, our winter rituals are all about saying hello and planning for more to come. Maybe this is because of our need to keep things positive. Maybe it’s because autumn is one long goodbye - a goodbye to the nature going into hibernation, a goodbye to the harvests and bounty of summer, a goodbye to evening light.Or maybe it's because firsts are just easier to measure. You don’t know which fruit will be your last strawberry of summer, which will be the last autumn leaf you crunch. Just like you can never remember exactly when you last saw an old friend, lasts fade into time like sepia photographs.
I’ve always been good at saying hello to the sea. I’m told that a small town near where I grew up is, as the crow flies, as far as it’s possible to be from the sea. So my childhood summers were full of long drives to Cornwall, straining in the back seat of our Citroen to be the first to see the sea. Even now, on the first of our trips to the North Welsh coast visiting Dan’s mum, we stage a ceremonial procession to ‘say hello to the sea’, and I eek out each second, not daring to tear my eyes away from the surf until we’re on the other side of the hedge.One of the things that comes with adulthood is setting your own rituals. As a child you live within your parents’ traditions, dictating what you do at Christmas and when you can see the sea. As a grown up (of sorts) you hang on to the ones you like, but also create your own.A new ritual I’ve recently decided upon is saying goodbye to the sea. Brought about by a new car and an empty Sunday, a few weeks ago we trundled down through the New Forest to say goodbye to the wash of the Solent. Knowing this was our last salty breath of air in 2016, it made me so much more mindful of every pebble-y crunch, every slap of the waves. It made me examine the shells I collected that bit closer, to notice the weathered stumps and watch as the sun slanted through the clouds.
It may sound a little melancholy to be saying goodbye, but we know it’s only temporary. A lovely little bookend to the year, a line in the sand before Dan plunges into his busy period at work and before the endless winter rain makes spontaneous days out a less likely prospect. It was a celebration, a thank you to the natural world for its beautiful summer. Perhaps a goodnight, more than a goodbye.As much as I like to mark firsts and look forward, probably more than most, to future goals and plans, I think there is a value in planting your feet and taking a long look over your shoulder. A smile at things that have passed, a thought on things we should have done better and a bookmark in your memory. I’ll certainly never forget the crisp day we said goodbye to the sea.