The realty sign on Chimney Rock Road declares, “The best part of winter is when it’s over.” But every time I pass it, something in me quietly disagrees.
When Kay and I moved to this mountain two years ago, I never expected winter to become my favorite season. Yet here I am—astonished, grateful, and a little amused—admitting that the cold months have captured my heart.
These Western North Carolina mountains wear all four seasons like garments stitched by the hand of God. Spring rises from the earth like a hymn of resurrection, clothing the hills in tender green. Summer shimmers with heat and sudden storms that roll across the ridges like a procession of angels. Autumn arrives with a painter’s touch—gold, crimson, and amber—and the scent of hot apple donuts drifting through the air.
But winter… winter is different.
Winter strips the mountains bare, revealing their bones, their strength, their quiet dignity. And the cold sharpens everything—edges, colors, even thoughts. After fifty years in Florence, Augusta, and Columbia—three places that seem to compete for the title of “Hottest Spot on Earth”—the cold feels like a long‑lost friend.
When the leaves fall away, our home becomes a watchtower. From the front yard, we can see the crown of King’s Mountain sixty miles in the distance. Sunrise spills across the porch like liquid gold, and sunset blazes through the kitchen window. At night, standing in the driveway, the stars seem so close I expect to brush them with my fingertips.
Driving through the mountains in January and February, the forest opens her heart. The thick carpet of leaves, the massive rock faces, the waterfalls frozen in mid‑song—all of it stands in stark, breathtaking clarity. In summer she is veiled; in winter she reveals her face, serene and unashamed.
And winter reveals more than nature.
Homes hidden deep in the trees suddenly appear. Lights flicker from distant ridges, reminding us we are not alone up here. In the lush seasons, the forest walls us off from each other. But winter whispers, You have neighbors. You are one of us.
Last month brought an ice storm. One Sunday morning, the thermometer on the porch read minus four. The next day, Stormy the cat and I stepped outside into two degrees of biting air. After a few minutes, I turned toward the door—only to hear a click. Kay stood inside, warm and smiling, waving at us through the glass. I pleaded. She laughed. Winter has its mischief.
Still, I love it. The cold. The clarity. The flannel sheets.
Some nights, when the wind lashes the house and the trees groan under the weight of ice, I lie awake and pray our grand oaks will hold. I’ve prayed the same prayer in other seasons of life—when grief pressed in, when fear howled, when hope felt brittle.
Maybe you’ve been there too.
Winter comes to every soul. But the mountains have taught me something: winter is not the enemy. Winter is a teacher. Here are her lessons.
When You Find Yourself in a Winter Season of the Soul:
1. Stay safe. Shelter your heart.
Winter brings its own trials—pain, loss, worry, anger. This is not the time to test your limits. Find warmth. Find refuge. Let God hold you close while the storm rages outside.
2. Look for winter’s beauty.
Winter clarifies what other seasons conceal. Instead of asking, “How can I get out of this?” try asking, “What can I get out of this?” In the cold, the forest opens. In hardship, so do we. Clarity comes slowly, like dawn—but it comes.
3. Notice the neighbors you never saw before.
In winter, lights appear on distant hills. People suddenly come into view you didn’t realize were near. Seek them out. Let them seek you. Winter is not meant to be endured alone.
4. Remember that spring is already on its way.
Even if the cold feels endless, it isn’t. The earth knows how to turn. The heart does too. Begin planning for the seeds you’ll plant when warmth returns. Because it will return.
Winter is not wasted time. It is a season of revelation—of beauty, of truth, of God’s nearness. Embrace it. Learn from it. Let it shape you.
Spring will come. But winter offers gifts of its own. Accept them with grace.
