Frozen pot from winter temperatures. Photo by Father Theophan

By Father Theophan
Saint Job of Pochaiv Orthodox Church
Los Alamos

The winter has put a damper on my throwing. The garage is detached from the house, unheated, and often inhabited by my car. There is, thankfully, a wood stove, but it takes a while to warm the place up. Fingers tend to stop doing what they’re told when throwing cold clay with cold water. To alleviate this, I have to fill a bucket with hot water from the house to throw with. The clay is still cold, but the hot water makes it workable at least.

Freezing is the only real danger with pottery in the winter. If a pot is still drying and it freezes, the water will expand and crack the pot. The kilns which reach 2500°F don’t really care if you start at 80° or 20°.

But it’s all an annoyance, and so I tend to throw less when it gets cold.

Over the past nine months or so we have been told to do less to mitigate the spread of our pandemic. The stress of the shutdowns may be exacerbated now, by the winter. The cold weather and snow make everything a bit more difficult; it adds another level of hassle to what we need to do.

Let us take a page from nature’s lesson plan. Winter is a time of rest and recuperation, hibernation and dormancy. Often in America, we have a drive to do, do more, be the best, to win. Too often we tie personal worth to our production, our output. But life is cyclical. There is a time to be more productive, to push, to grow, to get better. Then there is time for retreat, self-care, and reconnection.

If we constantly push, especially during these difficult times, we risk burn-out or at least frustration. There will be times when things come easier, when the shop is warm and bright, and the restaurants and pools are fully open, when cars start easily, drives don’t need to be shoveled, and the sun is up before we are.

There will be a time for being productive and achieving great things, but this may not be that time, and that’s okay.

Things are more difficult now, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. And, it is not an oncoming train. Today we survive, we live to fight another day, today we keep our kids on their school meetings, most of the time.

When I fire the kiln, the shop warms up nicely. There is nothing like a toaster on steroids running for eight hours to warm up a space. I’ll still get a few things made this winter; one must keep one’s skill set sharp.

Quantum leaps in ability are not on the menu for the time being, and that is just fine. There is more and better on the horizon. Patience.