Winter Nights: A Time for Remembrance
As the nights grow longer and the world begins to settle into the darker half of the year, I find myself wanting to make a little more room for quiet.
There is no single, definitively established historical date for Winter Nights. The historical references point toward a seasonal observance marking the transition into winter, with traditions connected to feasting, the slaughtering and preservation of livestock, community coming together, and honoring the dead. Modern interpretations differ in their timing, with some observing the festival around a full moon following the Autumn Equinox and others marking the changing season by the land itself, as the leaves begin to change color and fall. The Troth has a wonderful resource exploring these different references and interpretations: https://thetroth.org/resource/winter-nights/
For me, this means observing Winter Nights (Vetrnætr) around the Full Hunter’s Moon: the second full moon after the Autumn Equinox this year—feels like a fitting threshold.
The leaves have turned. The harvest season is drawing to a close, and gardens are being winterized. The world is preparing to rest, and we are reminded that survival through the winter has never been an entirely solitary endeavor. Our ancestors relied on one another, shared resources, preserved what they could, and carried their communities through difficult seasons.
Winter Nights invites me set aside time for remembrance, offerings, contemplation, and honoring those who have walked this path before us…
To consider those relationships across time: the people who shaped our lineages, the people who cared for the places we call home, and the spirits of the land itself. It is an opportunity to honor not only those whose names we know, but also those whose stories have been lost, whose lives were difficult, and whose resilience helped make our own possible.
One of the passages that draws me back to this season comes from the Hávamál, stanzas 76–77. It reminds us that cattle die, kin die, and we ourselves will die, but our deeds and the memories we leave behind endure. Those memories may be blessings or warnings, shaped by how we lived and how we treated others.
It is a sobering reminder, but not an entirely sorrowful one.
We remain with one another through the things we remember: the meals we make from recipes passed down, the stories we tell, the skills we inherit, the ways we care for one another, and the small pieces of wisdom that continue to guide us long after the person who first offered them has gone.
What we carry forward is part of how the dead continue to live among us.
This season holds many different traditions, histories, and meanings, including Halloween, Día de los Muertos, Samhain, and All Saints’ Day. Each has its own cultural and spiritual context, and in different ways, these observances can invite us to reflect on death, remembrance, and our relationships with those who have passed.
While I enjoy the celebrations and gatherings that have grown around this time of year, I sometimes feel that the commercial noise surrounding Halloween, especially, leaves little room for stillness, grief, remembrance, or the deeper work of reflecting on our relationship with death.
I like to give myself permission to step outside that noise for a little while, making room for quieter practices as we move toward winter.
I already spend time on retreat during this season, but much of that time is connected to my work and service to the community. I value that work deeply. I also recognize the importance of having space that belongs to my own practice: time to listen, to remember, to tend my relationship with the ancestors and the land, and to sit with whatever the changing season brings forward.
Not every observance needs to be a gathering. Not every ritual needs witnesses. Remembrance doesn’t have to be grand or elaborate to be meaningful.
Sometimes the work is simply to stop.
To light a candle. To prepare a meal. To sit in quiet contemplation, remembering the names, acknowledging the lives that came before ours, and honoring the land that continues to hold us.
As the year grows quieter, I find myself returning to a simple question:
What have I inherited that is worth carrying forward?
Not just the objects or stories, but the resilience. The tenderness. The hard-won wisdom. The ways of living and caring that helped people endure their own difficult seasons.
And what might I do, in this life, to leave something worth remembering?
For these three nights, I will be making room for those questions.
May we remember those who came before us with gratitude and honesty. May we honor the land and the people of place. May the memories we carry become a blessing, and may the lives we live offer something of value to those who come after us.
Hail to those who have gone before.
A Simple Three-Night Observance for Winter Nights
You don’t need an elaborate ritual or a perfect setup to mark this season. Here are three simple ways to make room for remembrance, whether you have a few quiet minutes or the energy for a longer practice.
Night One — Remember
Light a candle. Speak the names of loved ones who have passed, or simply hold them in your thoughts. Recall a story, a kindness, a lesson, or a memory you want to keep alive.
Night Two — Offer
Prepare a meal, share food with loved ones, or leave an appropriate offering in keeping with your practice. Extend your gratitude to your ancestors, the land, and the spirits of place. Consider the relationships and shared labor that sustain life.
Night Three — Carry Forward
Sit quietly and reflect on what you have inherited, what you want to preserve, and what you hope to leave behind. Choose one small act of care, one story to share, or one practice to carry into the winter.
Your observance can be as simple as lighting a candle and spending a few minutes in quiet each night. If you have the energy and desire for a dumb supper or a shared meal, that can be beautiful, too.
Let the practice meet you where you are.
🌿 Want to explore a little deeper?
If you enjoy these seasonal reflections and want to spend more time exploring the ways we can live in relationship with the land, the cycles of the year, and our own inner rhythms, I invite you to join me over on Patreon.
There, we make room for deeper dives into seasonal living, folklore, spiritual practice, mindfulness, and the small, meaningful ways we can tend our relationships with ourselves, our communities, and the world around us.
Think of it as a little space to slow down, get curious, and walk a little further along the path together.
Thank you for being here, for reading, and for making room for these quieter practices in your own life. 💚
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