Making (Vol. 4, No. 4)

Winter Solstice 2025

It is the longest night. It feels like it has been the longest year, especially for the empathetic souls.

But it has been a year of lessons and learning, and for that, there is much to be thankful for. I always think about the value of my lessons, even the hard ones, maybe especially the hards ones, as the year winds down and we complete another cycle of loving, giving, growing, grieving, and more–all the things we do over and again, as one season passes to the next.

I wanted this issue to focus on the making we do in the winter while also celebrating the rest, warmth, and coziness that is so important to sustain us throughout the rest of the year. This year, I think our family worked harder than ever before to grow and put by food. Now, we joyfully eat the raspberry jam, the green beans, the canned pears. We celebrate the good work we did and feel gratitude for the earth, the animals who are our partners in this adventure of life, and our bodies that held up, despite the illnesses. Now, in that thanks, it seems only right to rest.

This year has also been an important year for the journal. After a hiatus due to health issues, the journal came back online, and though we were sometimes late to publish, we didn’t miss an issue. I am so excited to announce that we will be back with a print volume next year, and Max Silver will be doing the cover art again for us. I am also honored to announce the publication of a book by our first author, Katharyn Privett. She is a voice you know well if you follow our journal, and her book focuses on the magic and spirituality on the farm in a story form that only she can tell. Every time I read her work, I wish I could write like her. You can find the pre-order for her book here, and you can find another beautiful essay from her below.

There is so much beauty in this issue. I wanted to be careful not to overwork this holiday season, and I had planned for a small issue for the Winter Solstice of maybe six or eight pieces. However, as I read through the beautiful submissions, I wanted to publish so many. It was hard to turn some down, but what I have gathered here for you is a treasure. I have more from Lisa Epple, who observes nature so beautifully. Her observations remind me of a story Jane Goodall told in her final interview. Goodall spoke about the drama that happens in the nature we live among–the birds, the squirrels, and the like. She said there are these amazing stories all around us, but so many of us miss them. I love that Lisa Epple doesn’t miss them.

I also get to share a fun and relatable read from Jeff Burt, who returns to this issue, a gorgeous piece from Sarah Kilch Gaffney, a Maine writer whose prose resonates with my soul, as well as some brilliant poetry. This issue also features an essay by James Sands, who has been far too busy this year growing food and building turkey houses to write for the journal. But, today, he sat down and wrote, and I am honored to share his words.

Last night, I took my teen son’s girlfriend to see Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker with the Robinson Ballet and the Bangor Symphony Orchestra. I remember so well the first time I got to see The Nutcracker. I was mesmerized by both the music and the dancing, and I was so excited to share the experience with my son’s girlfriend. It was her first time to see it.

It was a fantastic experience. I have seen the ballet several times as an adult, but last night felt so special. I think maybe because it’s been such a hard year. It’s been a hard year for all of us, I know. These are uncertain times for sure, but for a little bit, while I listened to the orchestra and watched those dancers, I forgot every single one of my troubles. Time passed so quickly, and it was all like a dream. The orchestra was exquisite, and I loved seeing the young dancers, just in heaven being on the stage in such a beautiful production. The professional dancers were breathtaking, and I was in awe watching them give everything they had, giving it all to their audience, making us forget our troubles for two hours.

When the show was over, the conductor introduced the orchestra in the pit, and though we could not see them, they raised their bows and their horns, and the crowd was on their feet. I watched as the ballet dancers took their bows, so proud of the good work they had done, their faces filled with love of their art. There was so much joy in that crowd last night. As the world gets harder, we are going to need the artists, the musicians, the dancers, the actors, and the writers.

Tonight, I give you a Solstice gift of beautiful words that I hope will take your mind off of your troubles and give your spirit a warm rest. These writers are so talented, and I am so privileged to get to publish their words. I spent all morning making Solstice gifts for friends, but tonight, this is the most important gift I can give. I hope you love it like I do.

Happy Winter Solstice, everyone!