I’m not sure when I’ve more intensely looked forward to the arrival of springtime. I’m a lifelong lover of winter, and a proud resident of a very winter-oriented city. But … As I’m writing this, it is currently minus-9 degrees Celsius, with a windchill that drags it down to minus-18. Last night, the northeast wind was rattling my windowpanes like the breath of some vengeful Nordic god. I have a pair of good quality (or, at any rate, expensive and very ugly) winter boots that are supposedly made for keeping a grip on ice. But the way that our sidewalks currently are, it would probably be just as effective if one were to wear roller skates or glass slippers. This is a real issue for me since I average roughly eighteen thousand steps a day. Even my trusty and dignified canine companion is finding it nigh on impossible to walk in many places, her paws scrabbling wildly to gain purchase. Sort of like watching a Saturday morning cartoon coyote chasing a roadrunner off a cliff, and suddenly finding itself in mid-air and desperate to maintain momentum.
Imagine my warm feelings and delight, then, when I received a call from a dear friend living in the lotus land of the west coast, prattling on about how pleasant it currently is there. What with a temperature of plus-18 and the delicate scent of cherry blossoms already perfuming the air. I’m sure there was much more besides. I idly wondered how long it would take her to realize that there was no longer anyone on the other end of the line.
For the purposes of respite and consolation, I considered trudging off to spend the afternoon in my local pub but opted instead to spend a couple of hours at Assiniboine park, inside The Leaf, which is the name of Winnipeg’s magnificent and relatively new (it opened to the public in December of 2022) botanical garden.
It’s an architectural marvel from the outside, and an oasis of lush beauty and fragrance within. Healing humidity, a soaring waterfall, a butterfly garden, towering plants, a pond filled with gleaming ornamental fish, and a dazzling display of vivid colours. Sweet jasmine, cacao trees, lipstick plants, magnolias, breadfruit, pineapple plants, majestic moth orchids, and a host of many more besides: like a slow motion explosion of floral fireworks.
By the time I walked back into the blue and grey winter world, my soul felt luminous and new, restored to some semblance of wholeness and health. Re-energized, as though I had plugged it into a solar charging station for the afternoon.
When I got home, I was on the verge of being inspired to wax up my cross-country skis, or possibly even do some heavy and ahead-of-schedule spring cleaning. And I very nearly did!
In the end, of course, I did nothing so radical and labour intensive as either of those things. But the point is, I might have. Maybe. And, when all is said and done, spending the afternoon smoking a joint and reading an old Agatha Christie paperback is its own form of oasis, and a refuge from winter’s cruel and biting winds.