Finding warmth amid the cold in Selkirk

I’ve not always appreciated the power of a street festival — not until I discovered Holiday Alley in Selkirk. For years, a close friend would invite me out for the November four-day weekend of lights, art, food, and music, giving me plenty of notice so I could mark it on my calendar. And for years, I failed to show up. It was always too busy a season, too cold, too far. Then, last year, I finally went.

It was cold, of course — that kind of Manitoba cold that makes you check your scarf twice before stepping outside. But what I found on that stretch of Selkirk’s old downtown — the light, the laughter, the music, and the sheer spirit of it all — kept me plenty warm.

Every storefront glowed. Families wandered with mugs of hot chocolate. Musicians played in doorways. Local chefs served soup samples to happy strangers. There was a drum parade, an Indigenous round dance surrounded by thousands of twinkling lights, lots of arts and crafts, even a dog show with pets wrapped in knitted scarves. And somehow, in the middle of all that joy, I felt my throat tighten.

How can a winter street festival choke you up?

Well, Holiday Alley did just that. Maybe it was watching a group of school kids beat glowing drums they’d built themselves, getting a bead-stringing lesson from the expert, or hearing newcomers from Ukraine and Nigeria share their stories at the library’s storytelling café.

Maybe it was the volunteers — hundreds of them — running on energy, laughter, and community pride.

Whatever it was, something about that night reminded me of the power of people who care enough to show up, to build something bright together, and to make their town — and yours — a little better. That’s the real story of Holiday Alley.

It’s not just a festival; it’s an act of civic imagination. Nearly 10 years ago, a handful of Selkirk residents, led by my friend and colleague Shirley Muir, started dreaming of a way to bring light and creativity back to a downtown that had gone quiet. Too many storefronts were dark; too few people ventured there after sunset. Shirley and others believed art and light could turn things around — that if you gave people a reason to gather, you might just spark something bigger than a festival. And they did.

This November marks the 10th anniversary of Holiday Alley, which now draws over 8,000 people — in a city of 10,000. That’s nearly the whole town, plus a few thousand visitors who come from Winnipeg and across southern Manitoba just to experience the magic.

Every corner of the festival is community-driven.

Local students fill the streets with public art and messages of reconciliation in a city where nearly one-third of residents identify as Indigenous. Teenagers on the Selkirk Steelers hockey team try their hand at painting in “Easel Wars.” Amateur chefs compete in the Red River Co-op Soup Cook-Off, serving soups that reflect every culture and kitchen in town. Poets and first-timers hang their verses on clotheslines strung along the street, inspired by a pen of live, woolly sheep. If you head inside to warm up, there are fabulous retail and food (including homemade goods), plus hands-on learning options, along with an impressive array of arts and crafts — and the artisans and makers ready to chat.

And when it’s all done, enormous straw sculptures — built with help from visiting artists — are set alight on the frozen riverbank, a symbolic burning away of darkness and cold. It’s spectacular, but also deeply moving — a kind of communal meditation in flames and light.

The impact of all this goes beyond the festival weekend. Since Holiday Alley began, Selkirk’s downtown has changed dramatically. The city’s revitalization plan — wider sidewalks, new pocket parks, and streetscape improvements — dovetailed with the festival’s energy. Where once there were shuttered shops, there are now cafés, a yoga studio, a candy store, a vintage shop, and new businesses that proudly participate in the festival each year.

That’s the ripple effect of volunteerism and vision.

The more I learned about Holiday Alley, the more I understood just how much unseen work goes into making something like this happen — the months of planning, the grant writing, the business partnerships, the endless phone calls and logistics. But somehow, year after year, the lights go up, the music starts, and the streets fill with people.

And here’s the thing: Shirley doesn’t even live in Selkirk anymore. But it remains, as she says, her second home. Because when you pour your heart into a community — when you help build something that brings people together — that bond never fades.

What I realized standing there that night was that volunteerism isn’t just about giving time or labour. It’s about creating connection. It’s about building belonging. It’s about finding purpose and joy in helping others find theirs.

So this month (Nov. 19–22), I’ll be heading back to Selkirk for Holiday Alley — and this time, I won’t need any reminders. I’ll go for the food and music, the lights and laughter, and yes, maybe even the dog show. But mostly, I’ll go for the reminder that the warmth of a community can outshine even the coldest Manitoba November night.

Because what started as a festival has become something much bigger — proof that a few people with vision, courage, and heart can light up an entire town. Check it out at www.holidayalley.ca — and if you see Shirley, give her a hug!

Stephen Borys is president and CEO of Civic Muse, and former director and CEO of the Winnipeg Art Gallery.