Travel has lurched to a near standstill, and we’ve almost got used to it. Almost. For the grounded snowbirds among us, the thought of not spending our winter under a palm tree in Mexico or in a golf cart in Arizona still stings. Gone is the glee of exchanging the land of the bleak and barren for sunshine and sandal-friendly temperatures.
Likewise, the joy of bursting out of our winter burrows to live life al fresco: walking barefoot on long, sandy beaches, reading under palm-thatched palapas, painting en plein air, lounging on a hammock with a margarita in hand. The list of those pleasures we have been advised to forgo in the name of safety is now long and sadly out of reach for most of us.
So, is there anything at home here in Canada that can relieve the clipped-wing nostalgia for wintering in warmer climes? Yes, perhaps there is. As a former snowbird now content to winter at home, may I refresh your memory of hibernations you “endured” in winters gone by that were more than bearable.
Likely, it started with the ritual harvesting and collecting in the summer and fall. Do you remember how important it was to be the “ant” and not the improvident “grasshopper” in your story, and the pride you felt in carefully stocking the provisions you needed to heat, clothe, feed, and entertain yourself while in situ and housebound for an entire season?
The joy you experienced in gathering the things to bring warmth and hygge to a long winter’s night – firewood, coloured lights and candles, an assortment of teas and soup recipes, a library of good books and films and board games? And when you were well and truly buried for the winter, how those projects you always wanted to finish – the quilt, the woodcarving, the memoir you were writing, the Beethoven sonata you were learning – became cherished companions on a winter’s day.
And do you recall that moment in a northern winter that always had a touch of magic to it; the one where you realize the snow cascading down in front of your window wasn’t going to end anytime soon? And when you awoke everything had succumbed to a blanketing of white, and one step outside had you knee-deep on a snowy Russian steppe waiting for Omar Sharif to arrive? You would stand there transfixed, treasuring the brief time before that “vast and soundless similitude that interlocks all” (thank you, Walt Whitman!) disappeared under the blades of shovels and plows, and a world that just wanted to get back on its feet again.
Eventually you would venture outside, donning those colourful hand-knit hats and mitts and sturdy fur-topped boots that all other hardy winter folk had also pulled from their winter chests. Winter wear wasn’t just about comfort, it was about solidarity.
Yes, after the ease of southern living these past winters, you will find that the nostalgia aroused might be the one for your Canadian roots. For that toughness that nudges warmth and beauty out of unfriendly winters and unhuggable terrain. For that exclusive and hard-earned citizenship in the “true north strong and free” that you are beginning to see is worthy of honouring and renewing each year.
And should you need any further convincing that you are truly a northerner-at-heart, perhaps you have yet to try forest-bathing à la Canadian. All you need to do is choose a slope of towering evergreens, strap on your snowshoes, and set forth, under a bower of spruce and fir, into a shimmer of snow, silence, and sweet aromatic air. I don’t think you’ll miss those noisy air conditioners and mosquitoes on that walk into heaven!
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