Let me start by saying that I grew up in a place where it snowed in a serious way. We measured the ferocity of any given snowstorm not in centimetres fallen or km/h gusted, but by whether or not we could still see the neighbours. The wind could be blowing the roof right off the house, great drifts of snow could be burying the cars in the driveway, but if you could still see the house across the street, the answer to “How bad is the storm?” was “Meh. Not that bad. I can still see Mrs. St. Amant’s house.”
I have carried this early snow experience into adulthood and the other places I’ve lived. By comparison to Georgian Bay, Ottawa winters are cold – like “exposed-skin-will-freeze, what-the-hell-are-you-doing-outside?” cold. (Except for that one week in February every year when the city-wide winter festival known as “Winterlude” turns into what the locals call “Waterlude,” and the Rideau Canal is transformed into the world’s longest slushy wading pool.) But generally speaking, Ottawa doesn’t usually get Georgian Bay levels of snow.
Until last week.
The forecasts were ominous to say the least – 40-50 cm of snow, 80 km/h gusts – the word “Snowpocalypse” was bandied about but I took it all in the stride of someone who knows about snow.
Let me be clear: I wasn’t just ready to ride the storm out – I was coming up with ways to enjoy it. (Let’s just say there was possibly going to be a Lord of the Rings movie marathon and a lot of nutritionally dodgy snacks, because yes, I am that big a nerd.)
And then the day of the Snowpocalypse…
7:12 a.m. I wake up with a chest full of what I believe to be bronchitis – because you know, I haven’t been sick for almost a week, so it’s probably time for the newest virus to set up residence in some part of my respiratory system. There is an accompanying impressive fever. I decide to fight through it. I’ll just rest this morning and maybe I won’t get sick, I say to myself. After all, I have a snowstorm to enjoy.
1:30 p.m. I am sick, sick, sick. Weak, shivery, feverish, achy, with a deep down cough. No amount of positive thinking is going to will away the virus that is not so slowly taking over my body. I find I am in desperate need of medicinal 7-Up. Also, ibuprofen because apparently I am out of that, too, and since I have to go out, I might as well get some soup. I drag myself to the grocery store.
2:00 p.m. It is a Tuesday afternoon – the grocery store should be a ghost town. It is instead quite full of people – there are three or four carts at each of the checkout lanes. I dodge and duck between the rows with my little basket but I am distracted by how eerily quiet it is. Have they turned off the Muzak? No, I realize, when I take my spot in line – it’s so quiet because not a single person in the entire store is talking. They are all standing there with their storm supplies, staring silently ahead, looking grim. No one is even looking at their phones – which these days seems to be the main indicator that someone is dead inside. I quickly pay for my 7-Up and soup and scurry out of the store, eager to get away from this eerie calm before the storm.
3:00 p.m. It starts to snow. It is quite cheerful.
5:00 p.m. The School Boards start announcing that that they’re closing the schools the next day. My fever spikes and I guzzle fluids and wonder why it is both so hot and so cold in my house right now.
5:05 p.m. The place that runs all the school buses in Ottawa – and makes the decision of whether or not to cancel the school buses – announces that IT IS CLOSING ITS OFFICE TOMORROW. This feels particularly noteworthy to me – and perhaps even comically ironic – but I am too fuzzy-headed from my fever to find the punchline.
6:00 p.m. I eat soup and Gavin and I huddle by the fireplace. Gavin is possibly still a little bitter that this was the week I picked to get him groomed and so he has lost a fair bit of insulation and now wears a little sweater around the house some of the time, but on the plus side, he doesn’t spend hours trying to chew the ice balls from between his little toe beans after every walk. Also, they gave him a bow tie to wear, so there’s that. He’s good company but whenever I have a coughing fit, he gives me this very measured look – as if he’s wondering how much longer I’m going to last. He has, however, realized that I am by far the warmest thing in the house, so he’s also quite snuggly.
7:00 p.m. I cue up The Fellowship of the Ring, wrap myself in blankets and settle in for my much anticipated Nerd Fest. About three minutes after Galadriel finishes talking about the one ring to rule them all, I fall into a fevered sleep.
11:00 p.m. I wake up and decide I should probably go to bed, but first, Gavin needs to go out to relieve himself. The wind is battering the house now and there is already a snow drift forming against the front door. I put on multiple layers of clothing, then force Gavin into his coat and I brace myself.
The snow in my driveway is almost up to my thighs so I feel like I’m wading through it with poor ol’ Gavin hopping along in my wake, jumping from boot hole to boot hole. We struggle on, me bent against the wind. Gavin, who is having none of this, quickly finds a snowbank to do his business in and then he leads a vigorous retreat back to the house.
I undress us both, but before I turn out the porch light, I peer across our little cul-de-sac. The wind is really whipping now, snow is coming down sideways, and our tracks in the driveway have already started to fill in.
I look across at the court and I can make out our friend Judy’s house in the halo from the street light.
Not that bad, I think. I can still see the neighbours.
I sleep for a very long time.
P.
P.S. Shoutout to my next door neighbour Ed who came and helped me clear the driveway and to all those nice folks who helped somebody shovel out last week.