Overwintering

March 15, 2022 and November 23, 2024

Along the western bank of the Connecticut River, on the far side of the Metacomet ridge from the small city of Greenfield, Massachusetts, exists a community of plants. Some tasty, some marginally edible at best. Some native, some non-native. From late fall to early spring, only certain members of the community maintain their green leafy forms through winter. Unlike the near-total dormancy of the trees, these plants are overwintering while maintaining their greens. As am I.

These plants are not of that ebullient group known as spring ephemerals, who burst forth to capture light before the trees begin to leaf out. In their enthusiasm, ephemerals are much like the early spring foragers who follow them. No- the plants I direct my attention to are those who maintain their rosettes of leaves, however small, throughout the winter. Seeing that their sloped home tilts toward sunrise, they are surely glad to get some good light in the mornings. Despite such a boon, their winter environment can be rather harsh, as is the steeply banked scree covered slope that they call home.

The plants which are now visible are likely the larger of their kind, popping out of the fallen leaves, but their hidden neighbors vastly outnumber them, skulking under the thermal protection of dead ash, maple, and oak leaves until they work clear of the overnight frosts. One might remove a handful of leave carpet to reveal many such plants, much as various seashore creatures are revealed by the lifting of a barnacled rock. The plants, however, will not scurry away.

I identify with such plants as these. While I read or study through winter, my leafy overlayer is the roof and heating system of my home. Though each morning I go outside, transcending its walls to feel the air, my home is my place of homeostasis; my overwintering place.

On some days, I brave the cold and snow like the spunky princess pine Dendrolycopodium obscurum. On others, I am meek like the white wood aster Eurybia divaricata, its few remaining leaves lying gently after its grand fall blooming. Inside or outside, I remain active throughout the cold season, finding ways to apply my energies – skiing on fresh snow days, and perhaps reorganizing the kitchen drawers on the slushier days.

In this moment, walking the leafy slant in chilly air, discovering winter rosettes, I am more like the airborne spring seeds of these plants as I search the rocky ridge for them, but it is merely a temporary state. I allow myself such flights of fancy; the human spirit has its own needs. But winter is pervasive, and I choose to cede my individuality to the movements of this larger force. I take cues from the small round leaves of the buttercup and tight clustered bittercress, living and breathing each day, but knowing that it won’t be long until the larger forces will give me the raw materials I need to bloom and to grow again.