A few weeks ago, J, Freya & I spent a weekend off-the-grid at Mt. Engadine. We left the laptops at home, bringing only our books, my camera and our phones. The last time we were here was about a week before the pandemic really “started"—before life in lockdown, in March 2020. Freya was just 6 months old.

I have been pondering on what to write in this post for a while. It’s February now, and the calendar says it’s 2021, but in many ways it doesn’t feel like we have left 2020 behind.

Albeit true, it is cliché to say that the world has changed since I initially had this post sitting in my drafts, when January & February passed us by, but March seemed to last forever.

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.

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.

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.

I spent my second Canadian Christmas out on the farm with J and his family; the very place where he grew up and started to become the person I now know. Upon arriving in Ontario on Christmas Eve, we were gifted with a white Christmas after all, a mild start to our winter in the west leaving our town a barren, snow-less place.

I was about to say that I wasn’t sure why blogging has been so hard for me in the last year, but I do know why. It’s hard to believe it’s taken me a year to blog these very precious memories with my brother and sister. My siblings are like pieces of my heart that only came to form after they were born; two of my safest places, they carry the parts of me I often cannot. They know me inside-out and they love me anyway.

This time last year—a hike with my siblings and my friends Bek & Chloe, enjoying our usual dance with winter in Kananaskis Country.

I wasn't always an outdoorswoman. It honestly wasn't until I started yoga that my relationship to that which I used to avoid changed—rather than judging myself harshly for not being able to break a “bad” habit, I began to observe the discord at an arm's length, and approach it with a process of enquiry.