All the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown)
And the sky is gray (and the sky is gray)
I’ve been for a walk (I’ve been for a walk)
On a winter’s day (on a winter’s day)
I’d be safe and warm (I’d be safe and warm)
If I was in LA (if I was in LA)
There was a day a week or so ago when I walked out of my house, dog in tow (well, actually I was the one being towed). The sky was that blue, the blue of February, the air felt light, and the sun had that February feel of hope. Of a hope that spring could be a possibility. I found myself singing that 1966 Mamas and the Papas song. ‘California dreamin’, On such a winter’s day’.
I felt my shoulders lift (after a couple of months of being hunched around my ears), and my step lengthen (after a couple of months of gingerly inching my way across ice, or wading through snow banks). I breathed, not too deeply, the air was still quite cold, but breathed nonetheless, almost catching the scent of the earth beneath its blanket.
Ground hog day, Monday February 2. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the current disagreement between the US and Canada over almost anything of importance, there was a difference of opinion between Pennsylvania’s Punxsutawney Phil and Canada’s Wiarton Willie. Phil saw his shadow and predicted there would be six more weeks of winter, while, Canada’s famous groundhog predicted an early spring.
In fairness, Punxsutawney Phil may simply be a bit depressed having experienced a particular fierce winter with a lot of snow in places unaccustomed to dealing with that amount of precipitation. It made international news on more than one occasion, prompting my family members in the UK to text me to see if we are safe.
What can I tell them? I text a photo of the view out of my kitchen window, tell them that we’re hunkering down, that we’re used to this, that this is Canada. Coming from a land where everything stops when it snows, and where the snow falls one day and disappears the next, it is hard for them to comprehend. At this time last year, two visiting lads (then 8 and 10 years old) could not understand why there were so few children out playing in the snow. As a child in the UK, you have to seize every moment of the white stuff. For our visitors, the novelty of running and hurling yourself into a snowbank meant that any normal five-minute walk to the grocery store took at least half an hour. By the end of their two-week stay, though, they were back to noses in iPads, complaining that they were too tired to play in the snow anymore.
When people complain about the length of the winter, I tell them that, personally, as an immigrant to Canada in my late thirties, I simply haven’t had enough winter in my life. Out skating on the canal the other day, under another deep blue sky, the ice hard in the cold, I realized how grateful I am to have moved to Canada when I was young enough to learn how to skate, to ski, and to thoroughly enjoy winter. I’m also grateful to be fit enough to be able to get outside and enjoy those winter activities.
Setting aside the cold, this winter has been hard on many levels. Most days, the dog and I walk past the Vorlage ski hill. A mound of flowers acts as a memorial for the girl who recently died in a freak accident with a chair lift. I cannot begin to imagine the pain of her parents, and indeed of everyone who was involved in trying to rescue her that day. As the hill stood eerily silent in the days following the accident, for me it also served as a time to reflect on the grief of families in other places, losing their children not to accidents, but to senseless wars, senseless acts of political violence. I found myself struggling to find any feeling of hope in the coming spring.
I have a winter tradition of making snow angels — another result of not having had enough winter in my life. I make them for my great niece Sophie, who lives on the south coast of England, and so rarely sees snow. I make them to teach my grandson, who likes to try and make his own version, and I make them for myself, in gratitude for these winter days, and to remind myself of the importance of angels.
“and I don't believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that's true
But if I did, I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you
Well, to each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path.”
from “Into my Arms” by Nick Caves and the Bad Seeds (1997)
I don’t think I’ve ever been a California dreamer, and these days, I’d have no interest in traveling to L.A. It might feel warm there, but I doubt I’d feel safe, and besides, I’d miss the snow. When I was working full-time, my job often took me away to far-flung places, and I’d bemoan the fact that I was missing out on another winter’s weekend. Even now, as I pack my bags for a mid-March visit to my family back in the UK, I’m regretting not being able to enjoy the last of the snow and ice for this year. By the time I return, the snow will be melting (I’m sure), the canal will be closed for skating, and everyone’s thoughts will be turning towards the emergence of the first spring flowers.
So I ask you, what are your feelings as we move into March? Have you had enough of winter? Are you dreaming of spring? We’d love to know – remember Wandering Wakefield is always pleased to consider your submissions for inclusion on the blog
Wandering Wakefield 