A Love Letter to Winter by Richard Sloane

By inside + out | February 28, 2025

Welcome to our series of Love Letters in the Hudson Valley where Richard and several local changemakers and visionaries were invited to express their ode to love in original ways, to honor any person, being, or place in the region. Baby it’s cold outside but that doesn’t stop our next contributor, Richard Sloane from reveling in the arms of Winter!

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Dear glorious, temperate Winter!

I raise a frosty mug in your honor!

Rather than disdain you like so many others, I celebrate you!

I celebrate you both for your many splendors and the indelible mark you’ve made on me over our 58 seasons together (another 4 spent in milder climes with frequent pilgrimages north to visit you).

Dear Winter, you’ve made me into the man I am today. Someone who’s able to endure hard things. Someone who’s able to coexist with discomfort. Someone who believes that there’s no such thing as bad weather, just insufficient gear. Someone who excitedly heads out into the woods after a snowfall, the only sound in the otherwise silent, still forest the crunching of my boots cutting a trail through virgin snow.

Please always remember, dear Winter, that those who truly love you love you exactly how you are. We accept the occasional icy slip and fall, the long, frigid dog walks, the frozen-shut car doors, and the snow days home from school with bored kids. Sure, some of us may occasionally “escape” for a week (or two) in our board shorts, flip-flops, and sun hats, but we always come back. Year-round sun and warmth (aka comfort) just ain’t our thing (no offense, Summer! You’re awesome too, in your own summery way!).

Because you, dear Winter, forge character (and a great sweater collection). I feel sorry for the kids who weren’t sent, in the frigid cold, to clear their elderly neighbors’ driveway of snow. I pity the kids who never got a chance to “skitch” down the snow-covered road by holding onto the rear bumper of an unsuspecting motorist. I lament that some people haven’t – and probably won’t – ever gotten to sit in the cold, dark, silent woods at night with nothing but a fire for company.

You, Winter, are the true first season. Only after your last icy blast do you yield to Spring, Summer and then Fall. You are the season that can’t be ignored, that won’t be taken lightly, and that demands resolve and preparedness in return for your stark, pristine gifts.

Thank you, Winter!
With deep respect and gratitude from my frosty Hudson Valley home.

Richard (Dick) Sloane

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