COLUMN: Don’t Mind the Mess – Surviving the great Canadian winter (barely)

Every year, around mid-February, I start questioning my life choices. Specifically, why I continue to live in a country where winter lasts approximately 37 months. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but if you’ve ever chipped ice off your windshield with a credit card because you lost your scraper (again) or just chose to spend the $20 in gas to let the car run until it melts, you understand my pain.

And you know you’re a true Canadian when you forget to unplug your block heater, and your extension cord slithers behind you like a very angry, very orange snake of shame.

Winter in Canada is a rite of passage, a test of endurance, and a slow descent into madness. The first snowfall is magical, like a Hallmark movie. By January, it’s more like a horror film where the villain is called “Wind Chill”, and nobody survives. The novelty of “cozy sweater weather” wears off pretty fast when you’re dressed to scale Mount Everest, and all you’re doing is carrying the trash can to the curb.

Dressing for winter should be an Olympic sport. If you don’t time your layering just right, you either arrive at your destination sweating like you’ve run a marathon or shivering because you didn’t fully commit to the parka. And there isn’t a toque in the world that will spare your hairstyle.

Don’t even get me started on mittens vs. gloves. Mittens are warm but useless for basic tasks like opening doors or using your phone. Gloves are functional but let the cold seep in just enough to remind you that you are, in fact, suffering.

Speaking of suffering, have you ever tried putting a snowsuit on a toddler? It’s like wrestling an angry raccoon into a plastic bag. By the time you’re done, they suddenly need to pee. Every. Single. Time.

And for your information: there is no such thing as a non-slip winter boot. Don’t buy into that false advertising. At some point, you will make a complete fool of yourself on some hidden patch of ice, for all the world to see.

Some people love winter sports. These people cannot be trusted. Skiing? It’s just an expensive way to fall down a mountain. Ice fishing? That’s just sitting in the cold, voluntarily, and calling it fun. Snowshoeing? Why would I strap tennis rackets to my feet and trudge through the tundra when I could be inside with hot chocolate and Netflix?

There comes a point when Canadians collectively hit a wall – the February Funk. We’re tired of the snow, the treacherous driving conditions, and the fact that the sun disappears by 4 p.m. We start fantasizing about running away to Mexico, where the only ice is in margaritas.

By this time, even the strongest winter enthusiasts start to crack. The novelty of winter activities fades, and we enter full-on hibernation mode. This involves a lot of complaining about the roads, eating comfort food, and questioning why we ever thought living here was a good idea.

But then, just when you think you can’t take another minute of this frozen wasteland, something miraculous happens. The sun feels a little warmer. The days get a tiny bit longer. A brave Canadian steps outside in a hoodie when it hits -5°C, declaring it “nice out.”

We squeal with delight when the weather channel utters those longed for words: Plus One.

And then one day, you hear it – that first, glorious sound of melting snow trickling down the gutters. It’s a tiny, watery promise that spring is coming. Sure, we’ll probably get one last blizzard or two or three just for good measure, but hope is on the horizon. And in Canada, that’s all we need to get through the winter blahs – well, that and an extra-large double-double.

Stay strong, my frostbitten readers. This won’t last forever.