Freya’s first winter hike at 10 weeks old. The temperatures must have been -15ºC or colder, there was wind chill, very little sun and ankle or knee-deep snow (which makes walking a one step forward, slide two steps backwards kind of game) during our 4 hour adventure in the woods.

It’s cliché to say that the year has been full of change and growth (are there ever any years that aren’t?), but 2019 was a big one. More than any other, it feels as if this year has been pivotal in building foundations for the future. It feels good to step forward into the new decade with the momentum of 2019—but it’s also terrifying.

Being wholehearted and unequivocal dog lovers, we had been waiting for the right time to have a dog. Feeling more settled in our jobs and in our lives, half-joking conversations and casual searches soon turned into more serious and fervent efforts (plus a few rounds of “are we really doing this?”) to find our dog.

The weekend before Christmas we went to cut down our first Christmas tree. When we originally planned this day, we had no idea we would also be joined by our new pup, Freya, and J’s father, who came for an impromptu pre-Christmas visit. It made our day in the woods with friends, coffee and a fire all the more special.

A snowy hike that put smiles on our faces and reminded us that winter, despite its typically early arrival and delayed departure, isn’t always so bad after all. We braved the icy highway and drove 90 minutes from home to a spot I had only ever ventured to in the summertime.

We don’t ever get too much of the in-between seasons in the Rockies, but when fall does arrive, we have a couple of weeks to savour the golden yellow larch trees before their needles drop and signify the beginning of winter. Their needles turn with the first frost, going from green to yellow before becoming bare. We went on a leisurely and thankfully warm walk with our dear friends’ dog, Hobbit to mark the occasion and to enjoy the splendour.

In mid-August, we visited J’s parents’ farm in Ontario. A long-awaited visit, the warmth, humidity, lush green pastures and utter tranquility was a welcome break from the relentless rain, tourist hubbub and parched mountain air.

Living wholeheartedly in the mountains. One day, this place will no longer be home, but everything I have learnt from the woods, the silent rock, the ancient fossils, the glacial streams and the resilient alpine wildflowers will always be with me.

“Trust the timing of your life”. I had written this as a note to myself in the spring of 2018, feeling trapped in the throes of uncertainty. A little more than a year later, I dance between knowing I have learnt the lesson, and feeling as if I have a long way to go.

A weekend away to mark our first year together; a year that challenged us individually and also as a couple, but brought great joy and growth with it.

Last Saturday consisted of: a sleep-in and a delightfully leisurely breakfast of crepes & “eggy-in-a-basket”; coffee brewed by AeroPress (our usual) and conversation; a nice long stretch on the living room floor (a new wellbeing habit we are trying to incorporate into our ever-changing daily routine); a podcast during our drive to the trail and this—an 11km round-trip jaunt into the woods.

Winter likes to hit us with an icy, teeth-chattering smack in the face in February, right when we think we’ve walked away unscathed and untouched by temperatures below -15ºC. It’s been -30ºC with plenty of snow; a stark contrast to when December & January left us scratching our heads and wondering if we would truly be lucky enough to only see temperatures around 0ºC this season. Alas, how wrong we were.

A long drive a couple of hours north during a rare day off together, listening to podcasts that spark meaningful conversation. We get to the lake we’re looking for and we gaze down, down, down into the depths of its glacier green, its fractal white, its crystallised air. Methane from decaying plant matter froze as it rose to the surface, making art of winter’s fierce, icy grip.