Part 1 - The Big Dark

Every fall, I open the blinds and see, well, not much.

It’s foggy.

The Big Dark is starting.

That sounds a little ominous, and if we're being honest, there are days when the Pacific Northwest can make a compelling case for hibernation. The days are getting shorter, the sun is becoming more elusive, and the grey seems to settle over everything.

But the Big Dark doesn't have to feel so dreary. In fact, I think there is something comforting about recognizing the season for what it is and finding ways to settle into it rather than wishing it away.

On one hand, the fog seems a bit gloomy. On the other, it is a familiar blanket marking the changing of the seasons. The heavy dew on the blades of grass, the freshening of the air, the crows scavenging, and the sounds of the nearby roads all get softened by the moisture.

Near the Narrows Bridge in Tacoma, the ebb and flow of the tides keeps a steady source of cold seawater and marine air that mixes with the dropping dew point, forming the fog. The wind smooshes through the narrow channel and smooshes the fog into the fjords, up the hillsides, and over the valleys, where it just hangs out late into the morning before burning off to reveal gentle blue skies.

This weather wobble happens slower and slower until, one day, the fog is just overcast clouds and perhaps the rain will fall.

It could be easy to succumb to the grey of it all.

Grey clouds. Grey mountains. Grey pavement.

Ask me why I don't like developer-grey paint colors and floors.

But also, everything feels green.

The grass is green. The evergreens are subtly there, just keeping us company. Pops of moss on the frames of trees and structures peek out at us.

The Big Dark may be dark, but it isn't colorless.

And it doesn't have to mean retreating completely indoors, either.

There is something wonderfully human about responding to the darker season by drawing closer together. Long before Tacoma became the city we know today, local Indigenous communities followed seasonal rhythms that brought people together in longhouses, where gathering, working, eating, storytelling, and community life became part of the winter season.

That instinct to settle in together isn't unique to the Pacific Northwest. Around the world, cultures have developed their own ways of embracing colder and darker months. The Danish concept of hygge is perhaps the most familiar example, celebrating warmth, comfort, simple pleasures, and togetherness. Other cultures have their own seasonal traditions of shared meals, storytelling, crafts, festivals, and gathering close when the days grow short.

Maybe there is some wisdom in that.

We don't necessarily have to fight the season. We can slow down with it.

And slowing down doesn't always mean staying home.

Sometimes it means putting on a raincoat and heading out into the fog to see what the landscape looks like when everything is softened and quiet. It might mean wandering a trail, watching the tide, finding a new park, or noticing the moss and evergreens that seem to glow against all that grey.

Other days, the adventure can move indoors.

Wander through a museum. Find a new coffee shop. Take a class. Browse a local bookstore. Try a new restaurant. Discover some little corner of town you've driven past a hundred times without ever stopping.

There are plenty of ways to hunker in for the season, and plenty of ways to explore it.

Bake something. Read a book. Invite friends over. Make soup. Go for a foggy walk. Find a new trail. Meet someone for coffee. Make something with your hands. Visit somewhere you've never been.

The Big Dark is coming, but maybe it doesn't need to be something we endure until spring.

Maybe it's an invitation to notice what's here: the fog, the green, the rain, the warmth of a room full of people, the quiet of a trail, the comfort of a coffee shop, and the simple pleasure of making our own little pockets of light.

Maybe the trick isn't escaping the Big Dark at all, but finding new ways to inhabit it—with a little more coziness, curiosity, and community.

And maybe the Big Dark can teach us something about home, too. More on that next week.