The Northern spirit is dissatisfied with a desert god.
In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts, whose windows and doors are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends....We enjoy now, not an Oriental, but a Boreal leisure, around warm stoves and fireplaces, and watch the shadow of motes in the sunbeams.
Sometimes our fate grows too homely and familiarly serious ever to be cruel. Consider how for three months the human destiny is wrapped in furs. The good Hebrew Revelation takes no cognizance of all this cheerful snow. Is there no religion for the temperate and frigid zones? We know of no scripture which records the pure benignity of the gods on a New England winter night. The best scripture, after all, records but a meager faith. Its saints live reserved and austere. Let a brave, devout one spend the year in the woods of Maine or Labrador, and see if the Hebrew Scriptures speak adequately to their condition and experience, from the setting in of winter to the breaking up of the ice.
- italics from A Winter Walk, Henry David Thoreau (Henry David Thoreau's forebears, as well as it can be traced, were English, French and Scottish.)