Winters up here on the Canadian prairies send me into hibernation mode. I don’t want to be outside once the temperature drops below -10, and so last summer, I asked the Earth how I could stay connected to her during the winter. She answered, “through your body”.

But what does it mean to connect with the Earth through your body? What does engagement with my earthen shell have to teach me about staying connected to the Earth in the winter?

The concept of the body as Earth is not new. Myth intimately connects our bodies with the soil of the Earth. Genesis says that God formed humankind from clay and breathed them into life. Some early creation myths say that we grew out of the ground like human seeds, popping out of the dirt like flowers. There is a long line of ideology that compares our carbon form with the dirt of Earth. Observation of our outdoor landscape’s cycles and seasons may give us a clue as to how to stay connected to Nature when the temperature drops. Made up of Earth stuff, perhaps our bodies have seasons.

Connecting to your body in the winter could mean paying attention to the shifts inside of you during this time of the year. My body gets cold (I mean, I’m always cold, but more so in the winter). I’ve often wondered if I’m secretly a reptile; I like to lay on hot stones in the sun and I don’t seem to generate heat on my own. I also slow down. My energy plummets as soon as there is snow on the ground and I have the urge to hibernate beside a hot fire, wrapped in blankets with a good book. I want rest and reflection, hot baths, and soft fabrics. I care less about seeing people or leaving my house in general.

You might pay attention to what types of foods you crave in the winter. I personally have noticed that for the past couple of winters, I’ve been craving nuts. In her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer notes that nuts are high in healthy fats, which are crucial to an animal’s winter survival. Mindfully adding foods that your body craves each season is a powerful way to engage with Nature. How does your body like to move in the winter? As mentioned above, mine slows right down. I could easily become a reading potato. Mindful stretching and dance are how my body wants to move this season. It wants to take slow steps and feel each movement, while music vibrates around me, leaning into areas of tension in my body to allow them to release. You could inquire into what type of movement your body craves during the cold season. Observing these shifts in our bodies and honoring them when we are able to is an important part of staying connected to Nature.

Unfortunately, enduring the weather is another part of connecting with the earth through your body. In her book If Women Rose Rooted, Sharon Blackie writes that to know a landscape you have to spend time with it. Walk along its hills, touch the stones, and wade in its waters. She says the landscape has lessons to teach you. The harsher the landscape, the harsher the lessons. The Canadian prairies in the winter are not for the faint of heart. Ours is a hard land in the winter. “If you’re not from the prairie you don’t know cold. You’ve never been cold” David Bouchard writes, and that shit holds true.

Maybe you could try to go outside daily (if even just for a short time) and allow yourself to feel the cold and reflect on the hidden lessons of winter. I went for a drive this morning to find interesting spots to take winter landscape photos. It was foggy and the hoarfrost clung to everything, giving the landscape a stunning monochromatic aesthetic. I got out of my car to photograph a tree and immediately noticed the buzz of the powerline above me. Everything else was silent and still. The stillness of winter holds so much meaning. It is a reminder to pause and reflect, a gentle call to sink back into your body.

When nature goes quiet in the winter up here in the north, we should pay attention to the ones who stay.

The other morning I woke up to the full moon shining in my window and the sound of an Owl hooting. Owl comes around from time to time but I haven’t heard him in a while. I wondered if he comes specifically for the full moon and decided I should start paying more attention and tracking when I hear him, to see if the phase of the moon has anything to do with his appearance or if it’s random. In Norse and Celtic symbolism (many lineages speak of Owls, but these are my lineages specifically), Owl is a bird of wisdom, a guide to and from the underworld; a symbol of initiation, death, and renewal. As Owl can see in the dark, they also symbolize foresight, intuition, and are guardians of insight. Owl may be calling you to look inward during these frigid months, to bring your gaze to the dark parts of yourself, and to look for inner truths. For me, Owl reminds me that my body is linked with the moon. On a 28-day cycle, the moon is a cosmic reminder of my body’s oneness with Nature.

The crows also stay; They caw at me every time I go outside, reminding me that their medicine is available year-round. Crow is the bridge between light and dark, an alchemist who is intimate with transformation. Crow is a messenger between worlds, a bringer of prophecy, a shapeshifter, and a harbinger of emotional and spiritual change. Crows are also associated with death, a symbol of the Dark Goddess, The Morrigan, the goddess of death, destiny, and war. For me, connecting with Crow in the winter means a descent into the shadow; a call from the Dark Goddess to travel inward and heal.

In these ways, our bodies remind us that winter is not void of magic and that if we are willing to engage with the powerful lessons of the season, we will learn to love these barren trees and snow-swept fields as much as we love the sun-infused green of summer.