The Wintering

Winter, Woodworking, and the Beauty of Slowing Down

For a long time, winter was a season I dreaded.

It carried too many memories. Losses that seemed to cluster in these colder months. Days that felt heavier, quieter in a way that wasn’t always welcome. As a younger man, I mistook that weight for something broken in me. I told myself it was depression, something to push through or outrun, even as the season itself was clearly asking me to do the opposite.

It’s only with time that I’ve come to understand winter differently.

Maybe it was never depression in its truest form. Maybe it was alignment. An honest response to the season—one that I was too young, too impatient, and too conditioned by constant motion to recognize for what it was. Winter isn’t meant for blooming. It isn’t loud or productive in the way the rest of the year demands. It’s inward. Reflective. Still.

We live in a time that expects full output, full availability, and full momentum year‑round. There’s little room for seasons anymore, little grace for ebb and flow. Against that expectation, winter can feel especially stark. The contrast is sharp. The quiet can feel uncomfortable when the world insists we should always be performing.

Woodworking has taught me to respect that rhythm.

In the shop, winter slows everything down—and that’s not a flaw, it’s a gift. The colder months invite patience. They reward attention. The work becomes more deliberate, more thoughtful. Each board, each joint, each decision asks to be made with care. Just as the trees have shed their leaves and pulled inward, the work mirrors that same restraint.

There’s comfort in the rituals that carry you through it. The hum of the heater. The smell of fresh shavings. Warm hands wrapped around familiar tools while the cold presses quietly at the door. Inside the shop, progress doesn’t rush—but it never stops.

And even in its stillness, winter is never empty. It’s full of preparation. Beneath frozen ground, roots are strengthening. Plans are forming. Spring is already being built, piece by piece, long before it ever shows itself.

That’s why winter has become my favorite time to begin. It’s the season for thoughtful planning and well‑timed work. Ordering custom doors now allows the process to unfold the way it should—unhurried, precise, intentional—so everything is ready when spring returns and the pace naturally quickens.

Winter taught me that slowing down isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s listening to the season instead of fighting it. Stay warm. Take your time. Honor where you are.

Spring will come when it’s ready.