Chicken Soup for the Soul: O Canada The Wonders of Winter: 101 Stories about Bad Weather, Good Times, and Great Sports

Introduction

I have vaulted over an immense land which is both forbidding and beautiful and it took my breath away. There are no people more fortunate than we Canadians. We have received far more than our share.

~Marc Garneau, Astronaut

As Canadians, we love our winter. Oh we also hate it to be sure; we moan and groan about it — especially in February and March — but somehow we know Canada would not be quite the same without it. Certainly our lives would not be the same. The shocking extremes in temperature, from a steamy hot summer day to those frigid winter days, really help define who we are as a people. (Unless you live in Vancouver…) We’re tough. We’re flexible. We’re creative. We’re prepared. We have snow tires and Arctic parkas and hand warmers and warm fleece-lined snow boots. And of course, everyone has at least one toque. We ski, we skate, we toboggan, we curl, and we play hockey. We have central heating. And we LOVE to talk about the weather.

Cold enough for you? Hot enough for you? Snowed enough yet for you? are all standard greetings in any part of the country. We have a sense of humour about it all. For many Canadians, it’s a surprise to learn that people from other countries don’t talk about the weather with the same passionate obsession we do. Well, we have a lot of weather to talk about! And, of course, so often the kind of experience we’re going to have on any given day is directly dictated by the season and the weather.

All this weather, especially our winter weather, creates stories. As Canadians, we have amazing stories to tell — and frequently they are actually about the weather, or at least caused by it, like many of the wonderful stories in this book. When Canadians are confronted with extreme winter weather it usually brings out the best in us. We get creative. We get tough. We improvise. We help each other.

Consider Tanya Ambrose and her family, whose home in rural Eastern Ontario was in the centre of the Great Ice Storm of 1998. All the power lines came down, leaving them without heat or power for more than a week. In her story, Surviving the Ice Storm, Tanya takes us through her experience. First there were the challenges of simply keeping warm, making meals, and melting icicles to make water for drinking, cooking and flushing — which turned out to be a big part of their experience. But then it evolved into something else. People came together from all around to help each other. One man made the old well on his country property available to all his neighbours. With regular life at a standstill, community meals were planned and shared around fireplaces and mismatched candles and lots of laughter. People slowed down, read books, played games, went for walks under the stars… and talked to each other. When it was over, they were actually sad — and everyone was changed. I really love this story.

Difficult winter weather frequently brings out our sense of humour. After all, you can’t stop it — so you might as well laugh about it. In The Harrowing of Hell, Jon Peirce of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia had me laughing so hard I could barely see the words when I read his hysterical story about being disturbed in the middle of the night by a snowplow repeatedly scraping the pavement of a plaza across the road from his home. I cheered when the plow driver finally took off in terror of our incensed writer — and his imaginary Rottweiler Fritz. You’ll just have to read it.…

Then there is Ian Charter of North Gower, Ontario — who, in the grand tradition of those Crazy Canuks decided along with two buddies to go barefoot water skiing on the partially frozen Rideau River — on Christmas Eve! Oh yes, they were wearing wetsuits of course. And a Santa Hat! Those guys weren’t about to let a little cold water spoil their fun!

I think the biggest thing we know about the cold and the snow in Canada is — life doesn’t stop. It goes on regardless, and we’ve learned how to go along with it. Babies are born, teenagers learn to drive, and weddings go off as scheduled. When I first read the story, The Winter Wonderland Wedding, by Lisa Molinaro of Oshawa, Ontario my heart just opened right up. When a huge blizzard struck on the day of her wedding, the bride managed to tap into a deeper part of herself and resolve that nothing would dampen her day or her spirits. Not only did the wedding come off as planned, most of the guests made it and the story she tells us of love in the snow on her wedding day is simply delightful — and really touched my heart.

And then there’s hockey. What would winter in Canada be without hockey? According to one of our writers, Canada IS Hockey, and there are few here who would dispute that. So we have some GREAT hockey stories for you. From street hockey, to backyard rink hockey, to a small boy’s hockey dream, to My NHL Dream by Vinnie Lecavalier, who shares his experience of what it feels like to win a Stanley Cup — we have hockey!

Of course, an integral part of the winter months in Canada is Christmas — a season that brings out emotions and feelings that usually remain buried or in the background the rest of the year. We found some lovely Christmas stories, and then just as we were ready to finalize the manuscript, Gail Sellers of Aurora, Ontario sent us her story, The Ultimate Gift. It seems that several years ago, as Christmas was approaching, Gail learned she had an older brother she’d never known about — a full sibling — and she was able to meet him and his family for the first time. In this moving story about love and reunion, a family comes together at Christmas for the first time; it was a life-changing event that brought healing to everyone.

This book has been a lot of fun to create. The one thing I learned when I did Chicken Soup for the Canadian Soul was that from one coast to the other Canadians love Canada. I found the same thing again this time. Even in the depth of winter, we love this country, and we love the land. We love our Canadian experience, and that includes and embraces our frequently challenging weather. We hope these stories inspire you, touch your heart, make you laugh, and remind you how lucky we all are — to be Canadian.

~Janet Matthews

Oh So Canadian!

For many outsiders, Canada appears to be a kind of gullible Gulliver of the North, an irrelevant hunk of geography on the fringes of civilization. But for those of us lucky enough to be Canadian, we know that this is a country blessed with the mandate of heaven, a land to build dreams on.

~Peter C. Newman

A Canadian Scrapbook Moment

Somewhere in our souls is a spiritual Canada. Most probably, its bedrock is snow and ice, winter and the land. And if we were to penetrate it a little deeper, chances are we would find a game.

~Ken Dryden

Recently I happened to pass a game of parking lot hockey and I stopped for a moment. It was a scene from the Canadian Scrapbook. It was also a scene out of my past.

The parking lot was fairly big and empty, so the players were making full use of the space. Two well-worn hockey nets were stationed at opposite ends of the rink. The play remained in one end, with all ten or twelve young boys madly chasing after the ball. It was difficult to determine how the teams were divided, if they were at all.

At the other end of the rink stood a lonely goaltender. He was wearing a set of goalie pads, a mask, and a baseball glove. It was this goalie’s intensity that held my attention, that made me pause for so long. He stood in the net, in the goalie’s crouch, with his stick on the pavement, glove hand extended, eyes fixed directly on the play at the opposite end. He stood there as if the play was in his end of the rink. He was ready. If someone happened to send a shot blistering out of the other end in his direction he would be there. He wouldn’t let his team down. I chuckled a little at the innocence of his over-zealous attitude.

Rolling down the window a little I got the sounds and the smells of the game. My mind filled with memories of these games in my childhood.

•••

These games meant nothing, but they were everything. Good friends liked to play together, on the same line. At the age of ten we understood that chemistry, friendship, and attitude were more important than talent. We played with heart. And when a big pass resulted in a big goal, it was as if we were playing before a crowd of thousands. I don’t remember winning or losing. Just playing. I know we kept score, but the next day, when the new game began, yesterday’s score was forgotten. Just as it should be.

•••

The play was still in the other end, but my friend in net remained ready. It was as if someone was standing ten feet in front of him ready to shoot. In two minutes I don’t think he had moved at all except for perhaps the odd shuffle from left to right as the play shifted at the other end of the parking lot.

•••

I recalled the winter that my dad put an ice surface on our property. Ice meant skates. Real hockey. After school our yard was the centre of the universe. One neighbourhood took on another neighbourhood in a challenge of pride. We played until dinner or darkness made us stop, and the next day we talked hockey all day at school in anticipation of the re-match that afternoon.

•••

I sat and watched those kids, mesmerized. Like a fire, the scene seemed to be ever changing, and yet always the same. I scanned the youthful faces, looking for my own. The scene looked so familiar. I wasn’t there, yet I knew I had been. More than once. The goalie still stood there, ready. Waiting.

Suddenly the ball drifted out towards the other end of the parking lot. A boy in a dark blue hockey jacket broke out of the pack chasing after it. My friend in net took a couple of steps forward and froze in position. The boy in the hockey jacket caught up to the ball and with one hand on the stick pushing the ball ahead of him, he raced confidently towards the net. The breakaway. Shooter versus goaltender. One-on-one hockey. My heart raced!

At about eight feet out, the shooter drew back his stick and with as much strength as he could he fired the ball towards the net, hoping to shoot past the outstretched gloved hand of my young friend, and into the upper right hand corner of the net. The goalie’s eyes alertly followed the shot. He slid out his left leg to extend his reach, and reaching up with his gloved hand, he watched as the ball smacked sharply into his baseball mitt.

Alone in my car, I cheered. Then smiling, I put the car in gear, and drove quietly back into the present.

~William Bell

Newmarket, Ontario

A Snowstorm to Remember

Why don’t we embrace them (snow days) for exactly what they are; a rite of passage, a part of being Canadian. The snow day — it should be put on a stamp.

~Rick Mercer

It began as a typical January day. The grey skies were heavy with snow and a brisk northerly wind played havoc with the drifts in front of Valleyview School. I was in my first year of teaching and had no idea that this approaching snowstorm would change my life forever.

When gentle snow began falling the principal kept a careful eye on the brewing storm. It soon took on qualities of something more vicious. By mid-day he called the school buses back so the three hundred kids could get home safely before it was too late.

My students gathered their belongings. They were excited to be going home early. Snow days are not uncommon in the snowbelt region of southwestern Ontario. It’s the lake effect from Lake Huron, we’re told, which delivers more than our fair share of winter storms.

The buses arrived but the storm suddenly escalated before the waiting kids could board and it was quickly clear no one was going anywhere any time soon.

Snow fell relentlessly, whirling and whipping itself into treacherous whiteout conditions. Gusts of wind blasted the school windows with such a fury we feared they would shatter. Menacing snowdrifts wafted in silently under the doors.

By now the bus drivers and a couple of snowplow operators who’d been forced off the road were discussing the situation. There were over three hundred children, staff, bus and snowplow drivers barricaded inside the school.

As night approached and the storm showed no signs of abating, we realized we were prisoners until Mother Nature decided to release us from her grasp. None of us guessed it would be three days before the storm relented enough for us to finally go home.