Reading Together Through the Long Winter

Reading is my love language.

It is my favorite way to connect with my girls, the way I draw them close without asking them to sit still or listen harder. Through books, we leave our living room and step into other places, other lives, other seasons. Reading is how I share wisdom without lecturing, compassion without forcing it, beauty without explaining it away, and truth without dulling its edges. Stories do the quiet work of shaping hearts.

It is also how we slow down together. How winter feels gentler. How long evenings become something to look forward to instead of endure.

There is something about winter reading that sinks deeper. The hush of early darkness. The comfort of lamplight. The way a good story can feel like a steady presence while the wind rattles the windows.

Here are two incredible books that were new to us this winter, and one well-loved favorite that always seems to belong to the coldest, quietest months of the year.

The first book found us in the most ordinary way.

One afternoon at the YMCA, we noticed a small free book shelf tucked into the corner. Sitting there was A Shiloh Christmas. We had already read Shiloh, and something about seeing it there felt like a small, unexpected gift. We brought it home without much thought, and it ended up being one of those books that stays with you.

The story returns to Marty and his family during the Christmas season, once again centered around Shiloh, the beagle Marty worked so hard to save from abuse. But this time, the story widens. We see more of the town, more of the hidden struggles, and more of the complicated people Marty is learning to understand as he grows.

One of the central storylines involves a minister in town who is harsh and overbearing, especially toward his children. Marty notices bruises and troubling behavior, and the book does not shy away from the discomfort of realizing that not all authority figures are safe or kind. There is also a devastating fire that leaves Judd Travers without a home, forcing him to sleep in a tent outside Marty’s house in the bitter cold.

What I appreciate so much is that Judd is never painted as a villain. He is a man shaped by a very hard life, carrying bitterness, pride, and pain that have settled in deep. He is rough around the edges and difficult to love, but still deeply human. Marty’s family chooses to help him anyway, even when it is awkward and uncomfortable, even when there are no guarantees.

And there is resolution, just not the tidy kind.

The story moves gently toward Christmas with a shared meal, a dinner table filled with surprising guests, and humble gifts that reflect care rather than abundance. There are no grand speeches or dramatic transformations. Just warmth, presence, and the quiet sense that healing often comes slowly, through small acts of kindness and simple hospitality. It is heartwarming in a grounded, believable way. My girls loved it, and honestly, I did too.

Then there was a book that took us somewhere entirely different.

The Dogs of Winter is one I still cannot stop thinking about.

Based on a true story, it follows Ivan, a homeless boy surviving in Russia, moving between the city and the wilderness. His life unfolds in abandoned buildings, riding trains, searching for scraps, and eventually finding something like a home in the forest with a pack of feral dogs.

The dogs become his family, his protection, his teachers. He learns how to endure the cold, when to hide, when to run, how to belong. The pack is led by Smoke, a powerful presence whose voice Ivan hears guiding him, warning him, steadying him — almost like a father would. It is haunting and beautiful, and it adds a depth to the story that is hard to forget.

I was hesitant when we began reading this book. There is a “bad man,” and while the story does not explicitly describe everything, something terrible happens to Ivan’s mother and there is blood. Later, there are references to drinking and drugs among children living on the streets. This is not a gentle, feel-good story.

But read aloud, it is incredibly powerful.

The writing is superb — restrained, emotional, and immersive. It is hard not to want Ivan to stay with the dogs, because with them he is safe, valued, and understood, even while knowing he needs help, healing, and human care. That tension stays with you. My nine-year-old loved it, and we lingered over chapters, reread passages, and talked long after closing the book.

I have always loved stories based on true events, and this one has a way of immediately quieting complaints about winter. Sitting together in a warm home, listening to the wind outside, gratitude settles in without being forced. I would say this book is best for children nine and up, depending on sensitivity, and it is deeply moving.

The third book is one we always associate with winter, even though we did not reread it this year.

The Long Winter is resilience written into story form.

Set during the harshest of winters on the prairie, the Ingalls family faces blizzard after blizzard, food shortages, and relentless cold. Trains stop running. Supplies run out. Survival depends not just on physical strength, but on mental endurance.

What stands out most is the mindset. There is no room for self-pity. No lingering in despair. They would not have made it if they had not kept their minds in the right place, focused on survival and the work directly in front of them. Pa twists hay into sticks to burn for heat. Almanzo and Cap risk their lives traveling through storms to bring wheat so the town will not starve. Everyone does what must be done.

There is a quiet strength in this story. A steady resolve. A reminder that resilience is often built through ordinary faithfulness, perseverance, and hope practiced daily, without fanfare.

These three books, though very different, share something important. They pull us out of ourselves. They soften complaints. They deepen gratitude. They remind us that warmth, safety, and family are gifts not to be taken lightly.

Winter has a way of stripping life down to what matters most. And the right stories, read slowly and aloud, have a way of doing the same.

What are you reading? I'd love to know!