CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE; THINKING WARM THOUGHTS ABOUT OLD MAN WINTER

I am trying to come to terms with winter.

Since we are technically in the Midwest and it is January, and I've lived in the Midwest almost all of my life and January, and then February, always roll around, this is something I should have gotten to a long time ago.

I'm a little slow. And I've picked a fairly mild winter to try to make peace with.

I drove to St. Louis the other day with a friend, and since I got to the passenger, I was reminded once more that winter is, in its whispered way, beautiful.

From the interstate, there is something elemental, although not elementary, about the landscape.

Winter strips away the excess; without the distractions of flowers and trees, the only thing left is the land itself, and the mass of hills and bluffs and rivers.

The particulars stand out more: Pigeons huddled on a telephone line, an abandoned house falling in on itself, a high-flying hawk.

In spring and summer and fall, hawks circling for prey only add details to a crowded vista.

In January, the flight means something, even if it's only that the hawk is hungry and it's time to eat.

I think my distrust of winter stems from the realization that we are so vulnerable to the elements; in winter, more than any other time, I remember I am a part of, not apart from, nature, and nature's not always in a good mood this time of year.

I'm still bracing for winter, waiting for the first hard slap of cold and wind and snow.

The gray days we've had are dulling; I'm expecting winter to wake up and show its teeth.

Maybe we can thank El Nino for sparing us the worst of it so far.

My friend Linda gets through the winter by studying seed catalogs and making "wish lists" of all the plants she wants to order.

It's been mild enough so far that she can shelter what's left of the garden at her new house and clear the blackberries that have almost taken over the property.

She called the other day, worried that the French tarragon wouldn't make it until spring. She transplanted it from the old house and, in the excitement of the move, forgot to water it or give it proper shade.

She loves the plant for its strong scent and stronger flavor and, I think, because it needs her protection.

She doesn't care about the German tarragon in her new garden; it has little fragrance and less flavor, and will grow with no special attention. It doesn't require cosseting, and so is unworthy of her concern.

As long as Linda can get outside to watery sunlight and fresh air, she's fine. But once the snow comes, she's trapped in the house and unhappy.

Someday, I keep telling myself, I have to make peace with winter. We'll never be on friendly terms, but there's no reason to be afraid of it. We can learn to respect each other's strengths.

I've started walking in the mornings before work, partly for fitness, partly just for a reason to be outside, although walking in the rain in January is not necessarily my idea of a good time.

I think of my walks in the same way as the man who kept banging his head against the wall: When someone asked him why, he answered, "It feels so good when I stop."

What does not kill me only gives me frostbite.

Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.