Ever since I was a child, winter has been my favorite season. I remember days spent outside trudging through the freshly fallen snow. I would feel a sense of satisfaction when I was the first one desacrating a patch of the yet untrodden snow with my footprints. Countless snow angels have been created from my frame (a few from my adulthood as well as my childhood) most of which would end with the question, "Will the angel still be there when the snow melts?" Hours have been spent building snowmen, snowwomen, snowchildren, and even a snowpuppy. Entire families were created with my mind as well as with my hands all from this magical white powder that fell from the sky, canceled school, and told me to play. Hot cocoa welcomed me in, given to me by a mother who would watch me from a window, enjoying the sight of her little boy playing.

Somewhere, exactly where I am not sure, between then and now, winter changed. My childhood vision of winter was lost and in its place was a vision of a long, treacherous season filled with shoveling, car accidents, and cancelled plans, all due to this disgusting white stuff that fell from the sky just to inconvenience me.

My lost childhood vision of winter was returned to me the day I set foot on Four Quarters Farm in winter. The cold air was not bitter, but welcoming. The snow that was coming down was seen as a gently falling reminder to reclaim the wonder that this season had bestowed upon me as a child.

When my friend Jenn Finck and I began our walk from the Member’s Village to the Stone Circle, I was completely unaware of what this land had in store for me. I had hardly expected it to be the transformative experience that it was. Beauty beckoned me from every angle. Seconds passed into eternities as we stopped every few feet to touch or stare at something. The icicle formations looked as though they were painstakingly created by Mother Earth herself as the sun shone down upon them to make them shimmer like diamonds. Frozen patches of river were taunting me, daring me to walk on them to test their strength. The childhood sense of awe was returned to me as I became one with the cold, appreciating its brute force as a wake-up call to my consciousness.

As we emerged from the woods, our eyes fell upon the now sleeping fire circle, peacefully covered in a blanket of white. We walked over and entered, our minds flashing back to the many fun times we had shared with this circle when it was awake. Spotting a patch of sand that had been shielded from the snow by a picnic table, I picked up a handful and sprinkled it over the snow covered fire pit as a reminder that, soon, Mother Nature’s white blanket of snow will be removed and the sleeping fire child will again be awake.

As we left the fire circle and headed for our intended destination, I could feel the familiar pull of the Stone Circle even before we entered. As my glance fell upon the majestic Stones I thought I knew so well, I now saw them in an entirely new light. The spirit of the child within me was risen again as I ran to the Mother Stone to give her a hug and rebirth myself through the hole in the center of her strong, solid, universal mass. She welcomed me as she always has, with open arms and a lesson: Never rebirth yourself in the snow without wearing gloves.