It’s January. It’s winter. It’s cold. The ocean was kicking up waves like the meringue on a lemon pie yesterday morning, noisy whitecaps rolled onto a rocky shore – ducks, geese and gulls were riding the swell, relaxed and dressed in down. Chester and I, being a hardy pair, were bundled for a winter storm and braving temperatures that hovered in the single digits for hours – we are Canadians after all, winter is par for the course in this neck of the woods.
Truth told, here in the south westest corner of Canada, we don’t usually get an actual Canadian winter – we get dull and wet and teased by the rest of the country. We are the candy asses of the true north, the soggy sissies, the wimpy cousins of voyageurs and fur trappers. When the real pioneers were pioneering across the frozen plains here on the coast our predecessors were dodging raindrops and waiting for the invention of gortex.
It ain’t easy being mocked when you’re wet and cold, when the dogs jackets are hanging from the shower curtain rod and dripping muddy puddles into the bath tub. Its frustrating to not be recognized as a trooper for weathering a west coast storm. There are no kudos for being waterproofed, no awards for facing the rain – nope, you have to brave a blizzard, survive frostbite or rip your tongue off a frosted swing set to get an atta-boy from a Canuck.
Well, fellow countrymen, we woke up to a dusting of snow this morning – we have joined the ranks of true Canadians. I swept the steps before taking my sweater clad pets out for their morning walk – both of them did an immediate about-face after doing their business. This is a day to curl up in front of my electric fire and drink tea. The rain is expected to return in a couple of days but for now the dogs and I are hunkered indoors and basking in fleeting Canadian-ness. It feels good to be one of the crowd.