Darkness
“Everything has its wonders; even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”
I was afraid of the dark when I was a kid. Truth be told, I still am sometimes. I can’t see what’s around me; I can’t control my environment. Noises are mysterious in the dark, and everything feels more sinister and dangerous. My love of productivity is hampered by the darkness of winter. When the time changes, when we “fall back” I mourn the loss of time in the garden. At the height of summer, I can get in four or five hours out there after work. When the time changes, and it gets dark at 5:30, I’m lucky to get a half hour.
But there is purpose in the darkness. Good things can happen if we pay attention. The darkness of winter is a necessary rhythm. It brings shorter days and long, slanted light. Cold weather and with it cold rain and the occasional snow. All of these are good for the soil and good for the soul.
Darkness and cold, slanted light and rain are necessary for the garden. The dark of winter is when perennials develop their root systems more fully. If their leaves stayed on and they were busy making food and producing fruit, there would be no opportunity for root development – and strong root development is what is necessary for the plant to grow larger and more productive year over year. Darkness allows plants to put energy into the root system. They send their roots deep and wide into the good soil, providing stability and increasing their ability to take in nourishment.
Many plants have a daily rhythm the same as animals. They respond to day and night and also to shorter days. This cycle results in rest and production in turn. Some seeds require darkness for germination; they will never sprout and grow if they are always kept in the light. They need to be covered with soil and feel the cold earth around them before they can send up a shoot or send down roots.
Winter darkness brings with it cold and snow. An old farmer told me once that a big snow was good for his spring hay crop. It’s true; snow feeds the soil. According to the Adirondack Almanack, “snow has been called the ‘poor man’s fertilizer’ because it’s a source of trace elements and, more importantly, of plant-available forms of nitrogen.” Also, because the moisture from snow is released gradually as the snow melts, more moisture gets down deep. This percolation rarely happens with the rains in summer and spring.” (“Snow: Nature’s Fertilizer?” Paul Hetzler, Adirondack Almanack)
I suppose the old saying from Ecclesiastes is true: To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. This is hard for us. We want to build and laugh and dance. The times when we tear down and weep and mourn are difficult, and we’d just as soon avoid them. But they are necessary. Growth is always possible, but we grow in unexpected and wondrous ways when we are in difficulty – in the dark.
When the time changes and the dark comes early, when I feel like putting on my pjs at 5:30, an opportunity presents itself. Early darkness encourages more rest. Cozy evenings with a bowl of soup followed by a good book – and perhaps an early bedtime. This slower pace nurtures reflection and planning, both of which are necessary if we want to grow and become better than we were last year.
One of my favorite wintertime activities is an annual reflection which consists of an honest assessment of myself. I select a word as my theme for the new year. I write out some intentions – what I’d like to do better, what I’d like to try that’s new, what I want to learn about or learn to do. I create a vision board for the year that incorporates these ideas and that inspires me. I’m writing these essays as the result of the intentions I wrote in late 2020. I am reminded of one of these intentions when I look at my 2021 vision board which has these words near the center: Pen to Paper. I don’t have as much time to write and reflect when light is abundant. Darkness affords me the gift of time for more reflective endeavors.
We must also remember that there is great beauty and purpose in darkness. Look up at the night sky on a crisp winter night. There is nothing more beautiful or awe-inspiring, especially if you can find a good dark place for the viewing. Heaven’s jewels are on display: Sirius, Procyon, and Betelgeuse in Orion; Venus and Jupiter, if you’re lucky. The wintertime night sky is the most beautiful – and it’s more accessible with the lengthening of night and the dry, cold air. If you want to appreciate the dark, bundle up and go outside to gaze at the lights – ancient and distant – and ponder your smallness in the wonder of the vastness of creation.
Any artist will tell you that darkness is absolutely necessary for good composition. The term for this is value. Value is the relative lightness or darkness of a shape in relation to another, and ranges from pure white to total blackness. The use of value gives shape and provides the sense of light and shadow. Without the darkness, light does not appear as light. The contrast is necessary and beautiful. Many times, when I am dissatisfied with a drawing, it’s because I’ve been unwilling to pick up and use the 8B pencil. The absence of rich darkness leaves the composition dull; the eye is not attracted to a focus because it’s languishing in the background with no dark, contrasting anchor.
Seasonal rhythms, the yen and yang of nature, contrasts of light and darkness bring beauty and interest to our lives. I love the beauty of a sparkling blue sky, the warmth of sunshine on my back, the long and productive days of summer. But if that season were never-ending, I would grow weary. The shorter days and longer nights; the cold and gray skies; the wan, slanted light of winter are beautiful, too, and they bring a rest and a contrast that is necessary for creativity and ingenuity to be planted, to sprout and to send down roots, so when the days grow longer and the air warms, we are renewed and ready for another year in the garden.
