Snow Day in Toronto
It is snowing. It was snowing this morning when I got up, it's been snowing almost continuously ever since, and it'll probably be snowing until tonight. I hate the damn stuff. Some people love snow. I detest it.
As snow storms go, this is about average. Worse than average for folks here in Toronto, but for me - a person who lived most of her life in Newfoundland - it's just your typical winter storm.
I think my aversion to snow can be traced back to the fact that when I was less than 2 weeks old, being transported by dog team from one rural Newfoundland community to another, I fell off the sled and into a white, fluffy snow bank. Not surprisingly, I became quite ill. At some subconscious level, I have never forgotten the experience.
Having lived for several years on Fogo Island (off the Newfoundland coast) where I worked as a teacher in the late 1950s and early 60s, I have experienced some snow storms that would close Toronto down for a month. During my first year teaching, I went home to St. John's for Christmas. On the way back, I discovered that the boat passage to the island was frozen and the only means of transportation was a 4-seater plane from Gander. Desperate, I took advantage of the opportunity along with 2 other passengers and the pilot. He deposited us on Fogo Island, on a small body of water near a community which was 4 miles from my destination. "You'll have to walk the rest of the way," I was told. And indeed that's what I had to do, as the local road was clogged with snow and was not likely to be plowed for a couple of weeks. Three of us, having deposited our suitcases with friendly locals who promised to get them to us as soon as the road was open (more reliable, I might add, than Air Canada) walked the 4 miles.
The school in which I taught on Fogo Island was located high on a hill between the communities of Joe Batt's Arm and Barr'd Island. Now that has to be one of the stormiest spots on the face of the earth. Nothing to the northeast until you get to Greenland. On very stormy days, with roads impassable, we used to have to tie the younger elementary school children to the senior boys who would see that they got safely home.
So as I look out the window at the swirling snow and pity the commuters slipping and sliding along Front Street, I keep saying to myself "It could be worse" ... and "Yes, spring will come."
As snow storms go, this is about average. Worse than average for folks here in Toronto, but for me - a person who lived most of her life in Newfoundland - it's just your typical winter storm.
I think my aversion to snow can be traced back to the fact that when I was less than 2 weeks old, being transported by dog team from one rural Newfoundland community to another, I fell off the sled and into a white, fluffy snow bank. Not surprisingly, I became quite ill. At some subconscious level, I have never forgotten the experience.
Having lived for several years on Fogo Island (off the Newfoundland coast) where I worked as a teacher in the late 1950s and early 60s, I have experienced some snow storms that would close Toronto down for a month. During my first year teaching, I went home to St. John's for Christmas. On the way back, I discovered that the boat passage to the island was frozen and the only means of transportation was a 4-seater plane from Gander. Desperate, I took advantage of the opportunity along with 2 other passengers and the pilot. He deposited us on Fogo Island, on a small body of water near a community which was 4 miles from my destination. "You'll have to walk the rest of the way," I was told. And indeed that's what I had to do, as the local road was clogged with snow and was not likely to be plowed for a couple of weeks. Three of us, having deposited our suitcases with friendly locals who promised to get them to us as soon as the road was open (more reliable, I might add, than Air Canada) walked the 4 miles.
The school in which I taught on Fogo Island was located high on a hill between the communities of Joe Batt's Arm and Barr'd Island. Now that has to be one of the stormiest spots on the face of the earth. Nothing to the northeast until you get to Greenland. On very stormy days, with roads impassable, we used to have to tie the younger elementary school children to the senior boys who would see that they got safely home.
So as I look out the window at the swirling snow and pity the commuters slipping and sliding along Front Street, I keep saying to myself "It could be worse" ... and "Yes, spring will come."