Here's a quick snapshot I took of the 'hood just a few minutes ago, as it was nearing 9:pm. As you can see, it's still quite light out. In fact, it almost felt like full daylight, even though the sun was actually nearly set. And twilight currently lasts until close to 9:45.Being a native of the northern hemisphere (and especially the more northern latitudes of the northern hemisphere), it's a surreal experience to witness the days lengthening and warming as December progresses. After our year of no summer, these long days of balmy weather have been a joy and a treat. Typically, I'm not one for hot weather and endless sunny days, but this year I'm especially thankful for their arrival and particularly aware of their place in the annual cycle of things. Life seems to slow down in the summer and it becomes more easygoing. People seem more prone to linger: on porches, patios, friends' backyards, cafes. I sense a greater willingness to take the day as it comes. It feels to me like a collective unclenching; we're no longer holding ourselves taut with cold, limbs and spirits loosening with the warmth.
At our house, we start the day (early per The Squidd's rules) in shorts, sandals, and maybe a sweatshirt. Our free-time itinerary now includes things like farmers' markets, the beach, the kiddie pools at the botanic garden, blowing bubbles on the patio, etc.
Really, it feels like any other lovely, mild summer (I don't mean the sticky, smelly nastiness of the U.S. East Coast) except it started in November. We even spent Thanksgiving checking out the beautiful West Coast of NZ's South Island. Thanksgiving dinner was a meal shared with new friends on the patio of a field station.
But no matter how delighted I am with the novelty of eating cherries in December and improving my tan as January approaches, I can't help but feel that these summer days have robbed me of something dear. Let me explain:
I love the winter holidays (except here, they're the summer holidays, and by holidays I mean the actual days of celebration vs. the generic term for a vacation or day off, but that's another story). Or more accurately, I love the holidays in the winter. I love the changing colors of the leaves and the gusty, cool weather that accompanies Thanksgiving. I love how even though we typically sit down to Thanksgiving dinner on the earlier side, the darkness catches up with us, so by the time dessert is served, the dark outside just heightens the coziness of being inside surrounded by good food and good company. I love the flavors of fall that are part of the traditional meal: pumpkins and squashes, sage, cranberries, apples, potatoes, mushrooms, chestnuts, French's fried onions . . .
And Christmas. I love Christmas. Always have. I love bundling up in hats and scarves to do the holiday shopping. I love the snow and was especially enamored of the way snow melts to form real icicles on lights hung outdoors in New England. I love the lights in the trees, around windows, and draped from rooftops, twinkling in the early darkness. (I'm the girl who steadfastly cuts her tree the day after Thanksgiving and has it lit and decorated by the end of Black Friday--check out our tree from last year.)
But here, in the southern hemisphere, Thanksgiving time brings budding flowers, springtime allergies, and the first of the asparagus, strawberries, and peas. No winter-woolen bundling is needed for Christmas shopping, it being summer and all. Stockings hung above roaring hearth fires seem plain ridiculous when it's mid-70s outside. And no one hangs twinkle lights anywhere. I've decided it's because daylight lingers so long that it just doesn't seem worth the effort. Or maybe it's because all the trees have all their leaves so it's a pain in the ass to put the lights on. But whatever. No lights. Boo. On top of that, unlike U.S. retailers, retailers here seem to have retained a semblance of self-control and have only just now started putting up their modest holiday decorations. Maybe a tree. Maybe a few ornaments hung in a shop window. The rational part of me can appreciate the restrained aspect of Christmas in NZ, telling myself that perhaps the holiday is celebrated here in a more personal and sincere way. Unfortunately, the visceral part of me wants the full-blown deal. I crave seeing Christmas decorations dripping from every street corner and window, store front and homestead. I miss the 4:pm twilight so I can peer into neighborhood windows and see Christmas trees lit in all their glory. But what parent of a toddler has time (or energy) to spy on their neighbors after 10:pm, when it's summertime full dark?
These longer days have thrown me so off kilter that it actually doesn't feel as if Christmas is coming. I don't feel the urge to bake holiday cookies or undertake any holiday crafts. No sipping of hot cocoa. No glitter and sparkle of holiday parties and friends coming in from the cold dark for cocktails and sinfully decadent desserts. Instead, I want to eat salad and sip lemonade. Nap in the hammock. And take my book and kite, sand pail and towel, and bundle The Squidd off to the local beach for an afternoon of frolicking in the waves.
So my resolution this year--an early New Year's resolution, if you will--is to find a way to make new holiday traditions that embrace the culture of our new home. Who knows? In the years to come, maybe fresh Strawberry Rhubarb Pie will replace our Apple Cranberry Pie at Thanksgiving and Christmas will conjure thoughts of grilling and camping . . .
And if next year it looks like Santa threw up Christmas on my house, you'll understand why.
