We are now officially in winter. We have already had snow, a good deal of rain and fog, and an early blast of cold. Winter changes the way we interact with the environment, pushing most of us indoors. The clouds can completely take away our views of the mountains and forest, further limiting our contact. Most of us just want to stay warm, and if we don't have to be anywhere, curl up with a good book or in front of a football game. Activity slows, the days are short, and nature seems to put a premium on conserving energy, being still, being inward.

Yet we have bursts of sun and energy. When storms clear we get the bluest skies imaginable, framing snowy peaks and alpine forest. Clear winter days can be breathtakingly beautiful up here, and nature pulls us outside to see new forms and colors. Summer pines can fade into the forest green, each indistinguishable from its neighbors. But winter pines can hold yards of snow on their branches, displaying their unique shapes, with the contrast of white snow and green bough adding a striking palette. Oaks follow a different path, dropping "summer's empire" as Joni Mitchell sang, revealing their architectures in all their unique and adaptive complexities. And lower in the forest, but not forgotten, lies manzanita, whose lustrous red/brown bark when wet can warm the dreariest, fog-shrouded day.

Rain and snow do slow things down, can make getting places treacherous, but they are also the condition that allows us to live here. All the water we use falls out of our sky, the great majority in our winter storms. We don't pipe water from the Colorado or the California aqueduct—we use the water we find in streams and in the mountain to make our lives here possible, just as the trees and animals do. One of the striking things about living on this mountain is that you can rather easily drive out of winter; a relatively short drive takes you out of what can feel like Montana to sunny, southern California. You take off your parka and put on your sun glasses, and you are in a different world. It can be a delightfully warm and sunny world, but it gets its water from other places, because there is not enough there to satisfy all the needs of those who live there. We, on the other hand, get our water from what natures brings to the mountain.

So the rain and snow slow things, but life doesn't stop. On certain days, the town swarms with people wanting to experience a "real" winter, wanting to breathe cold, clean air for just a little bit, or wanting to show their children what snow looks and feels like.

And amazingly, the Woodies don't stop, though they might slow down. They keep going, keep cutting and splitting wood donated by various community members, keep giving the wood to the Help Center, which in turn gives it to people in need of firewood. Their work has taken on a new meaning in these hard economic times. The Woodies will keep working through the winter, part of the great recycling process that never stops. Like so much of the beauty up here, they almost seem to me to be a feature of nature—persistent, noble, and renewing.