Winter Walks

In the tropics we have two seasons – wet and dry. Half the year would be rainy and the other half not so rainy. Having an umbrella in your car or bag would solve the issue of dealing with these weather changes. The daily temperature would hover around 30 Degrees Celsius (86 F) and basically a chilly evening would be maybe 27 Degrees Celsius (80F). I think I have always taken for granted the ease that this type of weather brought to living. There is never any major differences in wardrobe save for maybe a hoody from time to time, but nothing that would render one unable to enjoy whatever the day brings. Flip flops and shorts are a tall order and sunglasses is a staple. Anything that gets wet in the rain, would dry in minutes from the sun.

I remember as a child I would see movies and tv shows from the USA and would be fascinated with winter times. I imagined the white snow as some unusual powdery dust falling from the sky. It was a phenomenon that I would only dream of. I considered myself unlucky to live in somewhat of a one dimensional tropical climate. Skating on ice, sledding on snow and skiing down mountains seemed more of a fulfilling life to lead. “Those kids must have a better life, I wish I was one of them” I would daydream.

Skip to adulthood and living in Canada and boy oh boy, have I gotten a dose of reality. Winter! Winter! Winter! How have I been so mislead. I cannot dispute that wintertime is definitely a beautiful sight. To see the snow lightly dusting the tips of trees and a blanket of white over everything brings a sense of whimsical fantasy to life. You can fall into a trance just sitting and watching snow fall, each flake floating down dancing to the tune of the wind. The winter nights are the brightest nights I have ever experienced, with the moon’s rays creating a beautiful white wash over everything as it reflects off of the chalky snow wrapped surface. You can pretty much see in the dark, nothing is pitch black.

However – ‘how winter looks’ and ‘how winter feels’ are two separate sensations. In the past, I always negated what winter actually felt like. Truthfully, it is very cold! You can’t exactly imagine how cold a place can be if you’ve always grown up where being sweaty is comfortable. In the Caribbean, ice on a hot day was marvelous, but there was never a chance to ever feel truly cold. A little chilly perhaps when you go swimming, but the sun was always there with a warm comforting hug.

Yes, the sun. The sun has always been my best friend. His warmth and energy is a source of magical medicine that fuels me with not only physical energy but emotional and spiritual as well. I never truly understood my connection to the sun until I had gained the privilege of experiencing winters. The sun is almost hiding in the winter. He peeks out from time to time but never in full glory. His touch is like a gentle whisper of warmth across my cheek that is rapidly replaced by the slap of a frozen breeze. His absence slows life’s vibrations. The trees and plants retreat into themselves, animals hibernate and I move at snail’s pace conserving my own energy.

Winter brings the necessity of a thousand layers of clothes that must be worn on a daily. Long johns, goose down, fleeced lined, knitted wool, thermal wear, balaclava, mitts and tuques are all words that were foreign to my vocabulary. Each providing a specific purposeful protection from the negative degree weather. It is exhausting to keep track of the hats, gloves and scarves that are lost on a bimonthly basis. It is far cry from just my mandatory sunglasses.

Being a tropical girl, the winter wonderland bears a host of challenges. Aside from the missing gloves and hats, considerations of vitamin D deficiency has become a problem for me.  I not only miss the sun emotionally, but physically I feel less than myself without him. There is a great amount of isolation from the outdoors. The harshness of the seasons force my experience of the outdoors to be limited to mostly observing from behind a window pain.

Caribbean life does not exist much inside. Windows are always open, there are always outside seating, a plethora of outdoor activities and hangouts, homes generally have an indoor outdoor flow. Growing up I never felt separated from the outside. Outside was always was part of my life. My mum would constantly be ordering us kids to “go play outside” even in the rain, so she could have her moments of peace. During childhood I would spend entire days plus evenings outside, running barefooted on grass, climbing trees, hearing birds, feeling winds, catching insects, observing ants and petting lizards.  I didn’t have to be in complete wilderness to feel connected to nature on a small scale. As an adult, those activities changed, but the desire for outdoor solace remained. On random days during the week, I would often take drives down to the beach with my best friend and we would sit in the beach sand, look at the waves, talk, listen and feel.

In Canada, now, the winter has disconnected me slightly. The layers and layers of clothes separate me from knowing my own body, and the cold separates me from the outside. Whenever I am outside, I constantly want to run inside and I notice that I am a bit less familiar with what happens around me. I don’t see neighbors often and I don’t know much about anything around me. Mostly because once I protect myself from the harshness of the winters, I also isolate myself from appreciating the beauties of it. It truly is my own fault.

So herein lies the problem. How do I connect myself to the outside in spite of the cold? How to I find a kinship with the place I live? Not only do I need new vocabulary of dress, but I need to learn the new vocabulary of a winter life. How to look, listen, feel and speak winter?

Recently, I’ve began to take some winter walks with my husband. We moved to a new neighborhood that has a small series of trails close by. It takes us through a mini forest of trees nestled in between pockets of residential houses. It is probably the closest thing we can get to actual forest without being too far outside of the city. Walking this trail has quickly become something I look forward to. Perhaps because I enjoy the company of my husband, but also because it does allow me to be immersed in an outside that isn’t too far from the comforts of home but also far enough away from the metropolitan reverberations. It is the best of both worlds.

A quick stop in at the coffee shop to grab a couple coffees to warm our hands while we walk through the trails and chat about different things is definitely a new pastime of mine. The juxtaposition of cold winds cutting through my skin against the warm coffee flowing down my insides marries sensations of cringe and comfort. We usually see the squirrels running past frantically collecting pine-cones without care of fright of humans.The snow crunches beneath our boots as we stomp down on the slippery scree of pebbled covered walkway. The wind quietly blows through the sticks of tree branches naked of their leaves. There are no rustling leaves, no chirping birds and no gushing waters save for the partially iced over slow moving stream that houses a few lost ducks from time to time. It is quiet. A time to hear your heart beat and see your breath freeze as you exhale. Chipmunks, winter rabbits, raccoons and skunks reveal themselves on occasion but not nearly as friendly as the squirrels. I never experienced these types of animals before and my apprehension for them can seem childlike. Yet I grow more accustomed with the passage of time. A friendly passer-by once told us that there used to be deer on rare occasions chewing on the dried stems of reeds and tall brown grasses, but we have not managed to see one. It’s cold and hard and severely uncomfortable. My fingers and toes hurt with agonizing pain from cold if I’m out too long. However, in spite of the discomfort, these winter walks have taught me that winter doesn’t have to be all bad.

I don’t think I will ever be a snow bunny, but I do think I can find the hidden gems of the winter. The winter brings a hemmed in, hunkered down form of living that leads to the liberation of life and fertility of spring. Winter is the precursor to life. It might seem quiet and frozen but listening closely and looking carefully you can hear, see and feel the energy of the earth slumbering beneath the cold. Alive but just asleep.

With footprints through snow and sliding paths across ice, my winter walks are my baby steps to connection. It’s a time for me to connect with not only my husband but also connect to the soul hidden under the cloak of cold. A time to connect to the winter life.