Rediscovering the charms of a Prairie winter

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 23/02/2019 (2466 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

After 25 years living in “the 905,” the area of communities that surrounds Toronto, I moved home to Manitoba. Winnipeg, specifically. My Ontario friends voiced concern about this decision. Now, here I am, just over a year later, receiving email from eastern friends bearing lines like, “Bet you’re sorry you moved!”

No, I’m not.

On the contrary, I am loving my life here and I am overcome with nostalgia for aspects of Manitoba winters that I had forgotten about after so many years away. In fact, I have a list of why Winnipeg winters are wonderful.

My first reminders were the sounds of winter. Ice cracking as the temperature shifts. The whomp of a pile of snow falling off a roof and landing on a lawn, or narrowly missing someone walking on the sidewalk. But most of all, I had forgotten the sound of rubber on ice. As I walked home early one evening, with a bright moon in the sky and my breath collecting in the frosty air, a car went by. The squeak of the tires on the icy road made me stop. I realized I had not heard that sound in a quarter-century.

In winter, Manitobans are not slaves to the latest runway styles. Instead, we embrace Canada Goose, Sorel, woollen items from the Hudson Bay collection, and hand-knitted… well, everything. As I was eating in a restaurant in Osborne Village, I watched other patrons prepare to go out into the cold. Sweaters were adjusted, buttoned, sleeves pulled down. Next, boots were adjusted to ensure secure fit — no pointy toes or high heels in evidence.

Next, the parka was pulled on and zipped and the flap snapped to cover the gaps in the zipper teeth that might let in some cold air. Finally, a tuque, earmuffs or headband covered the head, with a scarf wrapped two or three times, halfway up the face. And finally, as they stepped out the door, hoods went up and mittens were pulled on — gloves just aren’t warm enough.

I am not much for electronic devices, but I had to take a selfie one day when I was out walking on the river. The sky was devoid of clouds and the sun was shining. It was -25 C with a slight wind chill. It was a glorious day! Hundreds, maybe a thousand, people were out skating, walking, cross-country skiing, playing hockey, bicycling, running with dogs.

I sent the photo to my friends back east, to show them how we live in winter. One day, when the temperature was reported to be in the minus-40s with the wind chill, I watched a lone skater stroke along the river. That same evening, I bundled up and walked to Westminster United Church for a concert, joining a community of music lovers blinded by frost-covered eyeglasses, tugging off snow pants and unwrapping scarves.

Then there is the snow. Just when the streets are looking drab from the melted spray of sand and salt, a light snow will fall, making our streets look clean and white. I see more of the city in the winter, as the white allows the church steeples, trees and public art to stand out in dark contrast. The snow hides the dirty roof of the grocery store I overlook and, occasionally, someone leaves a path or two across the roof, like an above-ground fox-and-goose game.

I had forgotten how ice fog can block a view. It rises from the street and hovers over the city and masks my view of the river. As I look out from my warm home, I am lulled by the thought of how comforting it looks, though it is really a portent of a chill that can settle in the bones.

Mostly, I just love knowing what to expect from a Manitoba winter. We know how to cope with cold here. We agilely walk backwards to block the wind. We also know how to use buildings as walk-through warming huts. In Osborne Village, we can enter Safeway’s east door and exit the west door and enjoy a minute of respite before facing the cold again.

In Manitoba, we wear our cold tolerance and winter resilience like a badge of honour. Why not? We are hardy, we understand what winter is and we never let our neighbours get stranded by weather, as we offer warm clothing to those without, boosts to dead batteries, rides to those without vehicles and always a cheery “Cold enough for ya?” to strangers. It really is great to be home!

Rosalie I. Tennison is a Winnipeg-based freelance writer specializing in agricultural topics. She likes the look of fresh snow on fields.