Central Coast Winter Mood board
Why I love winter on the Central Coast, in pictures.
La Bicyclette, Whimsy, The Habitat, Somewhere in Carmel, La Patisserie, Carmel Surf, Rosine’s, Lover’s Point, Birds, Moon, Fire, Candles, Fresh Flowers, Fisherman’s Wharf, Carmel Bakery, La Bicyclette, Mission Ranch, Skyline Forest, Veterans Park, Jack’s Peak, Beaches galore.
As a Minnesota kid with a hearty Nordic lineage, snowy winters have played prominently in each year's seasonal rotation. I learned early on to embrace the freezing cold, then scuttle inside for warmth and comfort. Back in the day, my mom would bundle us up in long johns, snow suits, and boots. She’d shoo us outside for endless ice skating, snow fort building, and sledding adventures. Hours later, seemingly impervious to the cold, we’d return home, cheeks flushed bright pink and smelling of fresh cold air.
Since moving to California’s Central Coast, though, I’ve become enamored with how the other half lives, embracing winter without snow. Here, it’s more about the feeling the season evokes. And while there isn’t the drastic change in temps, it’s just as sweet. Subtle outer changes of more rain, damp mists, and less sunshine signal it’s time to settle down–and settle in. New dreams arrive and marinate to carry us into the new year, as we chase the mystery from the coziness of our couch. Traveling with our mind and imagination, creating magic from the inside out.
As always, Mother Nature stars as the main character. Here on the coast, she offers cooler temps, shorter days, and longer nights. Crashing waves carry a bit more thunder and oomph. Migrating fish bring a new crop of exotic birds and large sea creatures that feed on them. Forest bathing invites a communion with the trees, absorbing their soothing energies and wisdom. And landscapes of foliage are on pause, waiting for the winter rains to reinvigorate a new cycle.
Dark skies linger longer, far more available as a canvas for shooting comets and faraway planets. Stars from Orion's Belt hang over the Pacific, reaching through the window and offering worlds just beyond reach. The extra-bright moon calls, “Look at me.” Dawns and dusks bring eye-popping skyscapes of oranges, reds, and pink wisps, fading into blues and purples. I take pictures that never quite do any of it justice, so I’m resigned to savor them in the moment, hoping to capture the colors into memory as a palette for a future clay piece.
House plants bring nature inside. I especially enjoy those that clean the air, too, like spider and snake plants, plus the added beauty of my hoya’s, ivy’s, and prayer plants. Fresh flowers lighten and brighten the mood.
Candles, fire, and twinkly lights interrupt the darkness and cozy things up.
It’s a time for snuggling, fuzzy blankets, and nesting. It’s a different kind of cold–less of a frontal assault, and more of a sneak-up-on-you flavor. The furnace pops on more often. A lesson carried from years in the Northern Midwest is that it’s not about the cold, but dressing to be warm. Uggs are out, along with cuddly socks. Gloves and mittens, when our hands and feet are warm, everything feels better.
My favorite places become even more precious to visit during the season, as they add dashes of whimsy and holiday cheer. Shopkeepers and their helpers share their own take on winter wonderlands and happy conversation. While restaurants and bakeries delight with the most yummy food, warming hearts and bellies alike.
My creative clay projects wrapped up in early December, at the end of the semester, so I’ve hit the snooze button until resuming next January. In the meantime, sparks of inspiration softly land in the void, as inner and outer solitude provide ample space for the incubation of seeds of creativity. I sketch in my sketchbook, adding and-thens as they arrive, and am excited to emerge in the new year with a glorious list of things to create anew.
