My spouse likes long hours of daylight. He prefers when the sun sets after dinner time. He throws a one-man dance party each spring when Daylight Savings Time begins and the evenings are brighter. And conversely, he starts drooping a bit when our sunlight starts to diminish. By December, he dreams of escaping to sunnier places- even for just a long weekend. 

And I get it. A lot of people are really affected by a lack of sunlight. 

But me? I love the long, winter nights. The Winter Solstice is magical- and not just because the days grow longer from there. I feel the rich darkness, the shining stars, and the coziness of hibernation. 

We bought the cabin of our dreams this fall and, so far, none of our trips yet have coincided with a full moon. It’s dark at the cabin. Seriously dark. It’s actually located within a Dark Sky Sanctuary- one of only sixteen in the world. 

The International Dark-Sky Association defines a Dark Sky Sanctuary as, “a public or private land that has an exceptional or distinguished quality of starry nights and a nocturnal environment that is protected for its scientific, natural, or educational value, its cultural heritage and/or public enjoyment.” 

The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness is a very remote location in Northern Minnesota with “few nearby threats to the quality of its dark night skies” and it became a certified Dark Sky Sanctuary after a rigorous application process in 2020. Our new cabin is situated at the very, very edge of the BWCA, within the Sanctuary. 

I’ve been spoiled by these northern night skies. Since I was 16, I’ve been coming to this same BWCA boundary lake- this same piece of night sky. So I thought it was normal- that anywhere that wasn’t my light-polluted hometown between Chicago and Milwaukee had stars so thick you could touch them. That when you went nightswimming, you were swimming in a lake full of stars and water. That the green aurora borealis glowing on the northern horizon was probably visible to lots of folks on any clear night.  

I know now it’s a treasure. A rare privilege. Completely not normal. 

The night sky at our cabin is the most dense dark I’ve ever seen. It’s so thick you can feel it, like velvet. I intellectually understand that stars don’t breathe, but in this Dark Sky Sanctuary you can feel them doing something like that. Throbbing? Humming? Swirling? I don’t know. But it might be one of my most favorite things. And in December, when the nights are their longest, I have more time than ever to lie speechless in the snow feeling like something tiny witnessing something grand. 

This is what I hope for you and me as the new year rises: to feel like something tiny witnessing something grand.