Why I prefer Solstice to Christmas
I’m not much of a one for Christmas these days.
Don’t get me wrong; I love singing carols, and sometimes when I’m doing so the true message of Christmas feels real.
It’s just that I find what Christmas seems to have become in our society — the whole festival of buying stuff — off-putting, and so I tend to find the whole affair pretty stressy.
No, at this time of year, my favourite thing is the Solstice. (And remember: Solstice is kind-of WHY Christmas became a big thing: Christians sought to replace the traditional celebration of the Solstice with a festival that they owned, instead!)
There’s something about the Winter Solstice; it’s a time of ending and beginning, short in light but bright in hope.
In Summer, it’s easy to celebrate, but in mid-Winter on the “darkest evening of the year” when the trees are bare, and it’s quite often cold or rainy, it takes more effort to get outside – and for me, that makes it extra special.
This year, before, during and after the Solstice, I’ll be celebrating…
On Solstice Eve, I’ll be joining friends in the local woods at the incredibly special Wheatfen nature reserve, with the ‘Five Mile Network’. We’ll sit around an outdoor logfire and share some (ahem) seasonal spirits…
On Solstice Day itself, the shortest day of the year, I’m looking forward enormously to something I’ve never experienced before: seeing the traditional dancers of ‘Old Glory’ performing at Geldeston Locks community-owned pub on the Waveney.
And then on the day after Solstice, I’ll be hosting my own party at home for neighbours and family.
We’ll sing some songs around the firepit on my tinyholding. … ‘Solstice Boxing Day’ is actually my favourite day of all: because it’s the day the days start to get longer again. It’s the day we can really start to look forward to the New Year and even the prospect of Spring.
*Whisper it:* Yes, I really do prefer Solstice, on balance, to Christmas.
It’s a time to come together to dwell in the darkness and to celebrate the triumph of light over dark.
It’s also a time of quiet reflection on where we are at. And we could all use a little more of that…
When it comes to the climate more-than-emergency, 2024 has been a brutal year.
According to the World Meteorological Organisation, it’s highly likely to be the hottest year on record. This year, global mean air temperature was 1.54°C above the pre-industrial average: so this is the first year in which, tragically, we are breaking through the planetary boundary of 1.5 degrees of global over-heat.
The boundary above which the scientists, my former colleagues at UEA, tell us we are going to start to see the trouble really begin.
You don’t need me to tell you this is not good news; and we’ve all now seen it beginning:
In January, 19.9 °C was recorded at Achfary (in Scotland!), the UK’s highest January temperature on record.
Various named storms have brought extreme flooding and very strong winds across this region and across the whole country, this Autumn.
More of Hemsby is falling into the sea.
And that’s just in this country; we got off lightly, compared to Spain.
This is only going to get worse for a long time to come, until we humans manage finally to slow it down and turn it around.
…Having said all that, you might be wondering what there is to celebrate this Solstice. It seems like there is only darkness; but, if you look closely, as always, the light is there.
I see it in the fact that all of these terrible events are waking more people up to the reality of climate breakdown.
As co-Director of the Climate Majority Project, I’ve been heartened by how many of us are starting to act to make us safer against these cruel climate impacts: for instance, by looking to plant trees, or restore wetlands, to absorb more of the floodwater when it comes.
As each day coming is now filled with more light, I urge you to find a way to make use of it in the fight of our lives. Let’s make 2025 a year to remember in a good way.
Happy solstice.
P.S. Plus, we’ll be wassailing our new community orchard in Rockland St Mary, in early January. If you don’t know what ‘wassail’ is, look it up: clue, it involves apple cider!