Not every adventure requires travel—some come to you. Yesterday, while I was writing my previous entry about my first solo overnight camping trip last August, the northern portion of what American media—specifically The Weather Channel—were calling Winter Storm Fern dumped between 40 and 60 cm of snow over Toronto. Canadian media don’t have the habit of naming storms, so this was just a lowly winter storm, albeit one with an orange-level warning.
This is the biggest snowfall I recall experiencing in my adult life. Only the winter storm of 1999 was bigger—the one where Bad Boy Mayor Mel Lastman asked the army for assistance, much to the continued ridicule of the rest of the country. This time, Mayor Olivia Chow hasn’t called in the army.
Yet. Yet?
Behind our house, our car and small parking pad are covered in snow, and I haven’t a clue how to clear it, because there’s no space left, especially after the approximately 30 cm we received a week and a half ago.
At 22:00, after most of the snow had fallen, Lily and I took a walk around the neighbourhood to see the aftermath. It was bright enough to take handheld photos because the streetlamp light bounced off the white snow and the clouds.
Although I’m not a winter person, I recognize that fresh snowfalls are quite beauitiful to behold, even in an urban setting. The little sparkles from individual snowflakes on the ground fill me with so much joy while reminding me of childhood. It’s a magical feeling. Unfortunately, the pretty visuals don’t last for long before the plows and salt trucks turn every flat surface into brown slush. I’ll enjoy it while it’s nice.
