In the chilly night air of December 21, 2002, strains of the brass quintet's holiday songs wafted through the 50-acre woods of North Park Village Nature Center, on the northwest side of Chicago. Laughter and shouts echoed from the big stone stove where kids sampled freshly roasted chestnuts. Families began to drift toward the hay bale stage to watch the winter solstice shadow play.

The cast gathered "backstage" around the bonfire that would project their silhouettes onto a wide, white screen hung between two big oak trees. One of the bubbly ten-year-olds, in a many-legged insect costume, grabbed my arm and pointed at the huge golden moon rising through thin fingers of cloud. We all stood still for a moment, marveling at the scene — the moon hovering over the woods, the crackling fire, and expectant whispers from the crowd gathering on the other side of the screen.

	Both young and old venture into the woods to celebrate the solstice. Some find better seats than others.

Here we were, out in the cold woods on the longest night of the year. The next day, the sun would begin its return journey north toward us, rewarding us with more daylight. What, I wondered, is so compelling about this phenomenon that it would lure all of us out of our warm houses to this cold bit of wilderness just four days before Christmas?

Some studies suggest that people were originally motivated by fear to observe the solstice. People depended on the sun for warmth and food; they feared that if they did not appease the gods with ritual, the sun would continue to recede, and they would be left in the dark to die.

These days, we know the sun isn't going anywhere. But we have new fears — and we still need rituals. In the conservation community, what we treasure — and what we most fear losing — is the exquisite web of biodiversity in this region. We fear losing — to unwise development, pollution and invasive species — the ecosystems that all of us depend on for clean water, clean air, recreation, education, and revitalization of the spirit. But we also hope.

The local group "Ow!" from Glenbrook North High School kicked off the solstice festivities with a performance at Somme Woods.

The Riverbank Neighbors, a group of residents who live along a stretch of the Chicago River, hold a winter solstice gathering to celebrate their riverbank restoration work and each other. For the community to sustain its vigor, says resident Pete Leki, it is necessary to do the essential work of "just celebrating!" The group invites the whole neighborhood, and the gathering becomes an occasion for community-wide recollection of successes and for marking of the passage of time.

The Friends of Northbrook Forest Preserves also see the winter solstice as an opportunity to celebrate their work and community — by igniting a huge bonfire fueled by stacks of buckthorn cleared during the past season. Linda Masters, a volunteer steward, feels that gathering with other volunteers and neighbors is a great way to acknowledge the good work they accomplished in the previous year, and also to clear the slate in preparation for new work in the coming year. Henrietta Saunders, another bonfire participant, prizes the gathering as an opportunity to re-center herself, to "reconnect feet to the ground and eyes to the sky."

The solstice bonfire is becoming a holiday tradition in forest preserves.

	Fire tender John McMartin stokes a solstice bonfire.

I find myself drawn to the darker, quieter meanings that lie in the solstice. In winter, the natural world feels steeped in dormancy and loss. Living things disappear behind the cloak of migration, hibernation, and death, and we have little choice but to wait the season out. But many of these living things actually require a cold winter to propel them through their life cycles — many turtles, for example, need to hibernate in order to mate successfully in the spring, and many seeds need a period of cold dormancy before they can germinate. Likewise, we humans need these times of stillness to grow.

I find solace in the rituals marking this dark time of year, because they remind us that the sun is beginning its slow return, bringing with it the distant promise of spring. I look more carefully around me in the woods and find seeds of wilderness concealed everywhere in the winter landscape.

Rebecca Blazer, a volunteer at North Park Village Nature Center, will direct the solstice play again this year. For more information, visit the Nature Center's solstice celebration page.