Winter

As I began my walk towards South Salisbury yesterday morning, the December air hit me with a bright, welcomed jolt as soon as I stepped onto the pavement. It was like taking the first bite from a cold, honeycrisp apple. There was a pause in traffic, so I bounded accross McDowell. Underneath my thick blue jacket, my body was warm but the tempo of my steps continued to fly faster and faster. I was not trying to flee the cold. Rather, the rush of icy wind across my face and through my fingertips made me feel alive.

Every corner of this season is wrapped with juxtaposition and it's what I treasure most about our Raleigh Winters. Finding those moments where dark meets light. Cold meets hot. Rest meets celebration...It's a game I play with myself. Where can I find it ? How can I create it?

As I walked back to my car that evening, the playful jab from the morning's air now felt like an unexpected punch. I hurried towards the garage, bones shivering. As I settled into the long drive home, I was overcome with an an intense craving for something warm, bubbling and luxurious.

By the time I pulled into our north Raleigh neighborhood, I knew exactly what I was going to make. Perhaps that's why the twinkling, colorful lights that line our streets felt a little more special. Draped among the barren trees and dark skies was magic and abundance. Fatigue was transformed into delight.

Arrivals feel different during Raleigh winters. Wherever it is we are heading; the coziness of family, friendship, a pet, a safe home, or a comfy chair feel that much more sacred.

We typically park behind our house and use the back door to enter into the kitchen. By 6pm, the alleyway is pitch dark. It's lined with a highway of trees, reigned by deer. Their dark figurines were barely visible but the crinkling of dead leaves cut through the heavy quietude. The crunching abruptly stopped. Her countenance was expressionless but the pair of glowing eyes stared directly into mine. I didn't move. Neither did she. I backed up slowly towards our fence and opened the gate. She watched.

When I stepped inside the kitchen, the room was painted with a yellow light. The flowers on our kitchen table smiled upwards. I broke into the silence, trumpeting that were going to make a hot pot for dinner. I rummaged through our freezer and pulled out the chicken stock, made a few months prior. I grabbed fresh ginger, garlic and green onions. Out came dried mushrooms, a bay leaf and a piece of dried seaweed from our pantry. A ramen stock was born.

A few hours later, we sat on either side of our kitchen table with anticipation. We each guarded a ceramic bowl of noodles engulfed in miso broth. Between us was our clay hot pot, sitting atop a gas flame. Our specific pot is called a donabe. We lifted the lid of our shrine. Its broth was bubbling and steaming. We carefully used chopsticks to place pieces of seasoned chicken and vegetables into the alluring broth. The ingredients swirled together as lightly as flamenco dancers float through Spanish caves.

Over and over again we dropped food into the pot and then added the cooked items into our noodle bowls. We chatted softly, peering excitedly into the pot every few minutes with wide and beholden eyes. The world around us disappeared as we sipped our soup and waited for the next batch of ingredients to finish cooking.

The beauty of cooking with a donabe is that it's best enjoyed communally. You can control its rhythm based on what people need. If its laughter, hot pot cooking can be playful. If its relaxation, the process can be slowed down. The aromas and process of hot pot cooking allow you to embrace the guests at the table, yourself included, with a warm hug.

Yesterday reminded me of how the changing seasons in Raleigh help uncover new ways of caring for our well-being. Our needs shift as the weather and landscape changes; as the year progresses and the end of a cycle unfolds. While spring and summer push us outdoors to run and leap, winters often beckon us into our homes to find rest. I was proud of the way I had listened to myself on the way home. I had needed warmth, connection and to slow down. Though unintended, the simplistic creativity of the evening lifted us into an unexpected place. The cold and quiet night had slowly unwrapped a moment of awe.

In this last issue of Humble Health, we want to close the year with a soft landing place, a little bit of inspiration and an expression of appreciation for your your involvement in our program. We encourage you to pay attention to to what your body and brain are saying -- to what it is you need during your time away. Listen. Observe. Be Curious. And be kind to yourself. As always, Humble Health's mission is...

TO BUILD A HEALTHY AND BALANCED WORKPLACE COMMUNITY.