The language of winter and what we can learn from Indigenous peoples

I consider myself to be lucky, as a resident of the fine state of Minnesota, to experience all four seasons as we are taught them in school -- winter, spring, summer, and fall. But what about all of those magical in-between times, where it’s not quite x season, but still not y season? 

In Lapland, the northernmost region of Europe and home to the Indigenous Sami people, they break the year into 8 seasons. My favorite among them being our current not-quite-winter-but-not-quite-spring season.

It’s called Gidádálvve in the Sami language, or vårvinter in Swedish, the literal translation of which is “spring-winter.” 

“False spring” or “fools spring” are close English phrases that I frequently hear around this time of year, but I’m a firm believer that language matters and that the words we use shape our mood, and this phraseology hints at a certain meteorological betrayal that I’m not keen on. (What if — hear me out — the weather was not actually conspiring against us humans but just… being the weather?)

Whatever you call it, and whatever your feelings over the latest unseasonable snowstorm, there’s no denying that our current season has a certain enchanting quality to it.

It’s that feeling when you’re walking in your neighborhood with your coat unbuttoned and your hat off, and you pass by a stranger and you both share a giant, knowing grin that says we are finally getting out on the other side of this winter, eh?

Or that elation when you suddenly hear the forgotten birdsong — lots of it — all the time? 

Or when you hear and see the incessant dripping (ideally outside of your home, not inside) indicating that the sun’s rays are finally winning out over the cold temperatures after a monthslong battle?

Or, if you keep chickens in Minnesota, that glorious day that the hens cease their it’s too damn cold and dark for this egg-production strike?

Or your dog’s seemingly insatiable urge to smell (or dig, or roll in) every single square inch of what you thought was the familiar terrain of your daily morning walk?

And, of course, there’s that indescribable joy of starting and ending the work day in actual daylight (and feeling like you can finally stay awake beyond supper time, when, just a few weeks prior, it’d already been dark for several hours.)

This is all the magic of Spring-Winter.

With Lapland sitting at about 70 degrees latitude, compared to the Twin Cities’ nearly 45 degrees (which, for further reference, is about the same difference as the Twin Cities to Key West, Florida) winter is considerably longer there. Their vårvinter takes place in March and April, whereas ours tends to fall in February and March (depending on the year, of course, and not accounting for the requisite rogue spring blizzard. (*Ahem* April 1, 2023.)

The changing seasons are intrinsic to the way of life in Lapland. The Sami people, once nomadic reindeer herders, used the seasonal cues to figure out when to move their herds to different pastures, when to slaughter calves, and so on. Though the modern Sami people are a bit more settled, a rootedness in the seasons and nature still persists, as in many Indigenous cultures.

With a not-too-dissimilar climate, it’s not all that difficult to imagine why early Scandinavian immigrants put down roots in Minnesota. There are days (I’m sure we’ve all had them) when it’s so cold that I wonder why anyone would choose to settle here in the first place. Having shelter and heat and all of our modern amenities is one thing, but to be homesteading out here in the thick of winter seems a bit of a fool’s errand. 

But clearly, and thankfully, it stuck! (I say this all as a transplant from the relatively temperate Colorado, but also as someone of Scandinavian stock who feels an unquantifiable affinity for Minnesota’s tundra-like terrain.)

Leaning into the eight seasons, with all of the nuance they have to offer, is a great coping strategy to get through those cold, dark, long days of winter. Next time you find yourself experiencing those post-holiday winter doldrums, as I am wont to do, just think -- winter is no longer four months but a very manageable two and a half months (which includes the holidays!) thanks to those seasonal bookends of Autumn-Winter and Spring-Winter!

So open up your eyes, ears, and hearts to the sensorial feast of whichever season we happen to be in. It won’t last long, and before you know it, we’ll all be complaining about the oppressive fill-in-the-blank of the next season.