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A deep, thick layer of white snow covers the desolate grounds of her home. The wind outside is a never-ending roaring that resembles the sound that comes from the tiger-seals they would usually hunt under the soft warmth of a summer sun, rumbling through her aged eardrums.
She bends a bit of snow from the floor and plugs the tiny hole that had accidentally formed on the wall. She turns back to the center of the house, where there is a fire heating up the place. Although her home is well insulated, a type of debilitating coldness had managed to creep into every corner of the small building.
She looks at her grandkids pressed close together under the shelter of a heavy white blanket made from the fur of a polar bear dog. She swallows back a snort; she knows they are not used to this type of climate, but she rejoices in the idea that she is finally going to be able to share a poignant part of her culture with them.
Winters in the South Pole have always been rough on anyone, especially to those who were not born and raised in such a gelid and harsh environment— even she thought that there was something as too cold. However, winters were always an opportunity for families to get closer to each other. Days tended to last so little during winter, and there were periods of time in which the sun would not come out at all. In circumstances like that, families find themselves with no alternative form of entertainment rather that to spend more time together.
However tough winters could be, it was her favorite moment of the year.
She does not remember much of her childhood days anymore, but she does remember in fervent detail the winters shared with her family. She would spend hours with her grandmother learning how to sew torn clothing and knit gloves and hats for the spring celebrations, while her mother would prepare the meat for lunch. Her brother and her father would take advantage of the little hours of sunlight to get in a kayak and hunt tiger-seals and fish whatever they could catch beneath the sheet of ice. Some days, when she was bored to pieces from the monotony of her daily routine, she would accompany them on their trips. Their days would end with a dinner in front of the bonfire placed in the middle of their home. Although she has trouble recalling those memories, she can still taste the nutty-like taste of the muktuk or the salty prickling of the sea prunes. Sometimes, if she concentrates hard enough, she can hear the laughter of her family echoing between the walls of her home, filling her up with a type of warmth that it is so contrarian at the biting coldness outside.
Her memory might not serve her right nowadays, but she does remember in painful detail their first winter without her mother. Matters concerning hunting were no longer regarded as learning experiences or leisure days, but rather as something that was treated with the outmost urgency to their survival. Days were spent in the faint darkness of her home, attending to her chores next to her grandmother, but there was no longer cheerful conversation or sneaking laughter in their interactions— only a dreadful, never-ending silence that would permeate through her layers of clothing, piercing below her skin; a type of indescribable pain that she felt in the depths of her bones.
She can recall the first winter spent outside the South Pole because of how different it felt. Days were not cut short by the ephemeral, soft daylight; if it were not by the gradual decline in temperature, she would not have been able to remark anything that reminded her of winter. The first time it happened, she did not give it much of a thought. She had found herself busy after the war, at least too busy to even think about visiting home for a time. At that particular moment, she was stranded in the Earth Kingdom, more specifically, in Yu Dao, dealing with the issue of the Fire Nation colonies. After a long day of work, she and the rest of the group had decided to enjoy themselves by going to a restaurant close by that offered a variety of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom culinary. It was considerably different from the customs she was used to follow, but she could not deny that she had enjoyed that day despite the prickling feeling in her nape that told her that something was wrong. It was not until after three winters after, when she was yet again stuck at diplomatic conversations in the Earth Kingdom that she realized what was wrong— she had put on a fur coat. It would be a normal and encouraged thing to do back at the South Pole, however, it did not make sense that someone like her, that was born and raised in eternal coldness, would feel cold at the Earth Kingdom.
Ever since that day, Katara had promised herself that she would always try go back home for the winter. Although there were occasions this was not a possible feat, she was proud of herself for managing to keep that promise several times during her lifetime.
She smiles at the fond memory of the first winter she shared with the family she had formed. Although they had spent the season at her homebirth several times before, it was the first time they did it with their three children. At first, she thought it was probably one of her worst ideas: short after winter began, the gravity of spending several weeks locked in with two rambunctious children, a fretful infant, and a restless lemur fell on her. By the third day, she no longer knew how to keep them entertained. However, those feelings of settled dread vanished when she saw the joy plastered on the faces of her children at the sight of the tribe celebrating the arrival of spring with polar-dog sledding and otter-penguin races, multiple fashion and talent shows, and a massive feast for everyone in the village to share.
Her first winter after making a permanent settlement at her old home was recent enough in her brain that she can recall the details with ease. It was also the first time she spent winter alone. Mournful days dragged for what seemed like hours in an uncomfortable silence that spelt death and nights ached when her only company was the incessant sound of the storm raging outside. For the first time, home felt an empty place, and winter was an inescapable thing, rather than the time in the year she would look forward to. Winter had acquired a sensation of death and solitude that permeated through her body, and for a long time, she felt that it was never going to leave her.
“Gran Gran,” Ikki says from her seat in front of the fire, “I’m really cold”.
As if to demonstrate the veracity of her statement, a violent shiver goes its way through her body, and she pulls the blanket even tighter than it already was.
Katara knows that airbenders are capable of regulating their body heat by learning a specific breathing technique, but Ikki and Meelo are probably too young to have learned it already. Even Jinora, who stands at the oldest of her siblings at the age of eight is struggling with keeping herself warm.
Katara brings two pelts from her bedroom and drapes one over her two granddaughters and uses the other one to cover Meelo, who is sleeping on her lap. While sitting in front of them, she takes one peek at the two girls huddled close together, so unused to the cold of the poles.
“You know what we do here during the winter?” Katara asks, calling the attention of the two girls.
“Freeze to death?” Ikki deadpans, earning a glare from Jinora.
Katara chuckles, amused by the interactions between the two girls that sometimes reminds her of how she used to be with her own brother.
“That. But also,” she adds, “it’s a perfect moment to spend more time with your family”.
“What do you do?” Jinora asks, intrigued.
“Many things, but my personal favorite is telling stories;” she grins cheekily, “I have many to tell”.
“Dad told us many already” Ikki reckons and her excitement deflates.
If only, Katara’s smile gets bigger. “Not the good ones, though”.
Just like that, she gets their whole and undivided attention for the rest of the night, the coldness of the winter forgotten.