It's Cold, It's Snowing, It's All Good!

It would appear that I’m now in my “back in the day” years.  Today’s inner chuckle comes from the news reports talking about -10C and 15 cm of snow as the end of the earth as we know it.  I really don’t see what all the fuss is about…we are in Canada.

As a kid growing up in Haliburton we could not wait for the freeze up and the first snow.  It was not a problem but an opportunity! Clearly it was a different time.  In today’s age of helicopter parents, would kids and teenagers have the freedom I experienced? I don’t know…

As a kid I remember hanging out with my partner in crime. The beginning of winter meant brand new adventures.  I used to live in “long johns” from mid-October to April, today I can’t even find them in the stores for my son. Dressed warmly we could not wait to be outside in the cold. Long johns, balaclavas, boots with felt liners, and skidoo mitts and we were set. 

Some things are better learned from experience than in a class room.  For example I have never forgotten that propane stops flowing at -50C. We learned this while winter camping and our propane heater stopped working as the temperature plunged beyond that magic number.  I also learned the value of good sleeping bags, and one piece snowmobile suits…no drafts!

Every few years we were lucky enough to have a quick freeze and no snow for a few days.  This is every Hospital’s Emergency Room nightmare…and every boy’s dream.  There truly is nothing like skating on a freshly frozen lake with a few square miles of open ice to roam on.  This of course was pending parental supervision, or more accurately lack thereof, and silly things like checking the thickness of the ice!  We’ll talk about one of our other favourite youth past times of “pond cracking” another time…

In the early parts of winter and the first snow, we had to rely on our own power; Dad wasn’t getting the snowmobiles out for only a few inches of snow.  So back to basics and the hardwood toboggans, waxed with cross country ski wax to maximize speed, we set of for the biggest hills we could find.  They don’t call it the Haliburton Highlands for nothing…no shortage of excellent neck breaking hills for youngsters to tackle.  For a hill to be worthy of our attention there had to be certain element of danger… a small cliff to jump off midway down the hill, always good, lots of big trees to have to dodge on hairpin turns…even better. A lake at the bottom…now we’re talking.  We never broke any bones, but I do remember a few bruised tailbones after some hard landings.  Not to mention, moderately frozen toes, fingers, cheeks and ears.

Once the snow was more substantial and winter was firmly in place we graduated to snowmobiling escapades.  Back in the day…this preceded the 150 horse powered rockets of today, we had the 18 horsepower Ski-doos, Scorpions, Moto-Skis, and Evinrudes.  They required some skill to ride and to get running in the first place…frozen carburetors’, missing rewinds; broken bogie springs were common and mere minor inconveniences.  Thank god for a Dad that was a mechanic with extraordinary skills to repair, and improve on, almost anything mechanical….just in time for the weekend.   His patience in coming to rescue us when we were bogged down in some 3 meter deep snow drift somewhere was also astounding.  

My buddy and I were nothing if not consistent and generally used the same philosophy of “taking it up a notch” in all our outdoor activities. If snowmobiling was good and skiing was good, than combining both with a water ski rope must be double the fun right?  We never had much in the way of money, but we were never lacking in things to do.  Perhaps hind sight is sugar coating things, but I don’t remember being bored often, I also remember being very sad when winter was drawing to close.

So have things changed? Well my 5 year old couldn’t wait to go outside today and play in the snow.  He was digging caves and got very upset when I said the snow might melt this week. He only likes tobogganing on the steep fast hills, He’s been skating since he was 4 and wants to know how to go faster and if we can skate on lakes.  And despite being outside for hours in the cold and covered in snow from head to toe, he was not ready to come in for lunch. So I suspect I’m in for some trouble in the years ahead…

Memories of Rye Bread, Salami and St. Nicholas Day.

Perhaps no other time of year reminds me more of my upbringing than Christmas.   As a kid of German immigrants growing up in rural Ontario meant often feeling “different”.  My home town was pretty “white bread” and I was the kid with a rye bread and salami sandwich in my lunch box and a piece of cake that nobody had seen before… not to mention the impossible to pronounce names of said cakes.   My parents had the heavy foreign accents and had the odd hard to pronounce names. There was some taunting at times, some odd looks, but for the most part we were welcomed and accepted as neighbours.   I was also grateful for parents that also embraced “Canadian” ways of doing things and genuinely tried to allow me to be like my friends as much as possible…even if it meant a peanut butter sandwich on Wonder bread in my lunch…after protesting the rye bread.  Levis jeans, Kodiak boots, and Roots earth shoes were readily available in my closet.  But some things were non-negotiable.  My Dad wore Birkenstocks long before it was fashionable for men to wear sandals. We celebrated Christmas on the 24^th, not the 25^th, we didn’t have stockings by the fireplace, and we had homemade pizza at midnight, no Turkey dinners. And on December 6, St. Nicholas paid a visit to our house but NOT to any of my schoolmate’s homes.  

 But all that was many years ago, and Canada seems to be much more multi-cultural now than in the 1970’s with diversity a more accepted reality.  Now as a parent, married to someone who’s family has been here for many generations, it’s kind of up to me to carry forward some of the cultural traditions of my youth and my family’s history.  I have never lived as a hyphenated Canadian nor do I want my son to take on that identity, but I do want him to be proud of his roots and enjoy some of the traditions.  As my parents get older and with virtually no other living connections in the “old country” it’s now in my court to try to maintain some traditions and history.

Perhaps the other lesson for my son and I, is the reminder that it’s okay to be different, and bring something unique to the table.  The catalyst for this blog was the passing of St. Nicholas Day just a short while ago. Truth be known, I remembered it at the last possible moment and my 5 year old son was  a little baffled by my sudden suggestion that he polish his boots.  But he diligently obliged his dad, and we had a brief discussion of what St Nicholas day was all about.  The conversation was brief mainly because my memory of what it was about had faded…or maybe I never really knew? But today I renew a commitment to relearn about my roots, and share that richness with my son.

Much of the German heritage I grew up with has been fading as I get older.  We are a Canadian household. But I hang onto a few quirks of the immigrant experience, the feather pillows, down duvets, and regular trips to the “German Store” for some rich rye breads, coffee, smoked meats, marzipan and dark chocolate.  The young lad embraces some of it…he’s not keen on the rye bread…yet.  Maybe I’ll send him to school this week with a rye bread and salami sandwich….for old time sake!