Winter Solstice

Can't see the line, can ya Russ

I recently read that a long long time ago, January 1 was chosen as the start of the new year because the Roman god Janus, after whom the month is named, was the god of beginnings. I would think a sensible culture would decide to begin a year in the spring, but sometimes a thing just remains the way it is for so long it becomes almost unanimous. I do like the thought of having a god of beginnings, though. However it worked out, here in 2025, a year that to my 1980’s brain sounds impossible, in this part of the world we still pop the bubbly at midnight on the last day of December.

I’ve been off the road a bit and, thus, out of my writing studio (the airport). So, I haven’t been putting pen to paper all that often these past few weeks. December is a busy time on the homefront.

I know everyone experiences what we now call “The Holidays” differently. I try to be careful when talking to people about it this time of year because a lot of us take it very seriously for one reason or another. For some it is religious. For some it is simply a warm and fuzzy time of gathering. For others, this time of year is a stressful reminder of materialism and waste, or of bills and debt. I fall somewhere in the middle of all that, but I generally lean towards the frizzy-haired “Why the hell is everywhere so crowded and why is everything made out of plastic?” variety. Each year I have it in my mind to try and relax, and to remind myself that I can make December into anything I want. But, each year I find my psyche limping into Janus’ icy month feeling not at all like I just enjoyed a holiday.

I’ve tried to examine this over the years. Did I have some kind of bad Christmas as a kid? I can’t think of anything in particular at which to point. All I know is I can be an outright Grinch and I have a hard time seeing through all the buying and the bustle to find any kind of spiritual residue. The kids love it though so I muddle through and try to make it special for them. Chloë, thankfully, does most of the heavy lifting in that department. We’ve also hosted a solstice party for the last two years, which I really enjoy. That way of celebrating is closer to my dirty pagan soul anyway, really.

Now it’s over. January is here, everyone is back to work and the kids are back to school. The gifts are opened, our tree is in the yard waiting to be cut up for the fire pit, and life goes on. I like January in this way. In December there is so much focus on one little day that it can be easy to forget about what comes after. January feels like a great exhalation. Settling back into our routines and daily life. The only place I still feel an echo from the holidays is at the gym, but most of those people will be gone in a few weeks. Hell, I might join them.

In other news, I got in a couple late season pheasant hunts before our Minnesota season closed at the end of the year. One particularly great day was Christmas Eve. Given all three of our kids were with their other parents and Chloë was busy working, I celebrated with a few dear friends and our dogs by trudging through the snow searching for the baddest birds around, which are all that are left on the landscape by the end of December. We found a good pile of them, and Maxon made her first really challenging point and retrieve in our budding hunting relationship. We were on the south side of a long stand of short willows when she locked in on point. I swung to her right to edge into the cover and a rooster flushed. I hit him and I busted into the willows to where I thought he went down. The cover was thick as molasses and Maxon was nowhere to be seen. I was yelling for her, then at her, to get her ass over there and help me find that bird. After making a small fool out of myself cussing out that poor dog for a minute or two, she came running joyfully from about 20 yards away with the bird in her mouth. I thanked the bird, and then looked Max in the eyes and told her I trusted her and I won’t doubt her in that way again. I think I found a Christmas tradition I can get behind.

In the TBT world we’ve been quiet for a few weeks. I know that’s not too long for a lot of bands but for us it’s a genuine break. This week we head to Cancún to play a bunch of Old And In The Way songs at the Grateful Dead-themed Dead Ahead Festival. We are all excited to stick our pale northern toes in the sand for a few days. Kind of a work retreat. Trust exercises and team building and whatnot. After that our lives go back to whatever approximation of normal we approach. Back on the road, back playing songs together. Cue the Willie Nelson. I have a few side project shows coming up as well which are always a nice change of pace. Banjo and I are playing a duo set at a sweet little room in Aitkin, MN in February, and Dead Man Winter is going to play a couple shows in March. I’m looking forward to finally playing the DMW versions of the songs from Always Here/Always Now.

I hope you and yours have found some time of reflection and peace in the darkest days of the year (for us northern hemisphere folks, anyway). There’s something very old inside us that still recognizes a solstice, and even if a lot of us now call it Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Festivus or whatever, our biggest northern hemisphere celebrations still fall on the time of year when our sun’s light has begun its return. The Sun does not give a damn about any of the stresses we’ve invented as Christmas gifts to ourselves, we just begin facing it again and the light creeps back into our lives like a forgiving god. That is something worth celebrating.

I’ve started on a few new tunes and I look forward to sharing them with you when they become a little less dream and a little more song. Take care of each other out there.

A few scenes from my point of few lately: