It’s now my second February living in southwest Ontario, with 50F weather and scattered rain showers. The snow, which didn’t fall until mid-January, is a memory and it will be at least a week before we have any chance of seeing more.
What the hell, Canada?
When people learned I was moving to Canada, I heard all kinds of jokes. Eh? Eh? One was about seeing moose, which I’ve seen no trace of here but I have found in northern Wisconsin, where my Dad lives. There were comments about maple syrup, but again, Wisconsin, yo. Poutine. Oh, poutine. Yes, it’s glorious. (No one warned me about milk in bags, though). And then I was warned about the cold, and the snow, and secretly, I looked forward to it.
See, I grew up near Chicago and spent a few winters in the northwoods of Wisconsin. I have an idea of snow and cold can be, and this isn’t either. True winter is letting the dog into the back yard and the dog disappearing, or looking out front after a fresh snowfall and the top of a snow drift being parallel to the top of the car. This year, I’d be surprised if we’ve had more than a foot of snowfall in total.
It’s not too late, Canada. I have faith. Drop some of that arctic chill down on us southern folk, harness some of that great lakes moisture, and give us a taste of a real winter.