Winter Hibernation = Creative Proliferation

I love the winter season here on Orcas Island because everything changes – not just externally, but especially internally. Life goes from constant outdoor gardening and athleticism in the sunny summer to indoor creative proliferation and exponential educational explosiveness in the brisk, perma-gray winter.

Our younger son has listened continuously to 51 Magic Tree House audiobooks about everything from pyramids and Pompeii to China and Charles Dickens. In the latter vein, we moved to the audiobook of A Christmas Carol, then the actual play put on at Orcas Center.

On Christmas, I painted on driftwood all day since present-opening was finished by 9:30.

Today, because our older son was sick, we watched several Magic School Bus episodes, a French film set in an orphanage, a Kenyan film about an 80-year-old man attending first grade, and a documentary about China.

Once our son is better, he will no doubt enjoy the inner walls of our creative sanctum in order to teach himself how to play his new electronic synthesizer and Trio pedal for his electric guitar. Last year, he dove into building an underwater ROV from start to finish (it took him a week – morning to night each day).

I feel like winter hibernation inside our house puts the kids and me in a wonderfully special dimension of learning while getting to be with each other, talk about life, laugh, snuggle, and wallow in each other’s personalities.

When my husband comes home from his daily triathlons, he then brings his knowledge into the mix via the audiobooks he’s listened to while cycling around the island. He tells us what he’s learned, reads long passages to us from online versions of the books, and educates us on everything from modern woolly mammoth reproduction to the dangers of the casein protein in dairy.

Art-wise, Orcas winters give me a chance to use all the things I’ve appreciated about the island during the summertime – the stunning views for photo books and calendars, the beach glass for lamp shades, and driftwood for painted signs.

For a change of scenery, I repurpose art I drew years ago for pillow designs and journal covers, and make greeting cards out of my favorite photography.

When the skies begin to clear in March and the rays of sunshine beam through our forest, we begin to tiptoe through our acre in the magical warm light to see what’s awaiting us outside. Not one article, drawing, or painting will come out of me again until November’s short days pull us back inside.