New York Times Article by Timothy Egan

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Timothy Egan - A New York Times Blog
January 7, 2009, 10:00 pm
Hibernation Blues

PORT ANGELES, Wash. — A few days into the new year, I stood outside the house and stared into the darkness of a deep winter night at this far western edge of America – defiant on a bone-chilling eve.

It felt lonely and hypnotic here on the Olympic Peninsula, where a jut of land the size of Massachusetts holds an immensity of snow, surrounded on three sides by unknowable depths of gunmetal-gray salt water.

At this northern location, at a latitude equal to Newfoundland, it’s hard not to feel the seasonal blues in all their smothering inevitability. Because there were no big-city lights on the horizon, and clouds veiled a thin moon, the darkness had a particularly strong grip.

I wanted to get inside by the fire, to drink something strong, to eat something sweet, to find a bear’s den of deep sleep. If you live in the north, in places where the sun is an unreliable companion for many months, you can’t escape the urge to hide and hoard in winter.

But this year, I’ve decided to fight lethargy with logic, to welcome the new president, the babies just born, to see something other than closure, dormancy and loss in the annual dark season.

It’s tough, and perhaps absurd, to battle biological imperative. I crave light, pruning high up in the trees around my house to open more patches of sky, keeping the strings of Christmas luminescence hanging into January’s bleakness, checking the daily sunset tables for those few jumps of the clock that will hold back the curtain of night until 4:35 p.m., instead of 4:33.

Friends suffer from that dreaded affliction, Seasonal Affective Disorder, the aptly named SAD. They park themselves next to south-facing windows by day, and full spectrum, 10,000 lux light boxes by night. They escape to the desert or the beach to the south. Still, for most of us, some variant of depression brought by the prevailing gloom of short days cannot be kept at bay.

Rage is another reaction. In Spokane, where six feet of snow has fallen in the last three weeks, a man was just arrested for shooting at a snow plow operator (no injuries, he missed), and mental health clinics say they are getting twice the number of calls they usually get.

“Man is the only animal that blushes,” Mark Twain famously said. “Or needs to.” We stand out in another way, as well: we can’t hibernate, unlike many of our fellow animals. Creatures that are capable of slowing their metabolic rates and lowering their body temperatures can close the whole shebang down for a few months, living off stored body reserves through the long winter.

Sad to say, we can’t generate heat from fat. The only way to get warmer during a season of sloth is to be active.

As a country, we’ve been through a long winter – endless, in some regards. Our departing president told us to shop in a time of war, to spend what we didn’t have, to act as if sacrifice was no longer a national character trait.

During that long winter, when everything was supposed to be sunshine, we bought homes we could not afford. We invested in funds that could not sustain themselves. We made hits out of television shows in which we watched other people lose weight – virtual virtue.

Our leaders fostered a certain amnesia about our history, trying to get us to forget that we don’t torture, that we don’t hold people without trial, that we were founded by rebels demanding basic human dignity.

That winter will soon be gone, leaving us with a terrible toll. The federal deficit is now projected to be $1.2 trillion this year, even without a stimulus package. New jobless numbers on Friday will make us shudder. It will take years to sort the mess and lift the gloom.

And then there is fresh war in a place of ancient hatreds. What else could winter bring?

But even with a reckoning at home and the killings overseas, I’ve chosen to embrace the few ticks of extra daylight coming on every day, in that Washington and this Washington. Action is generating heat, as it should, following the laws of nature for animals that can’t hibernate.

When the world is muffled, at its darkest, there lies possibility, if only for a sunless day.

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