For over a week now I’ve been trying to write a lament for Canadian March. I was planning to write how hard it is to be stuck in an endless, snowless winter, with no prospects of either Christmas or Spring in sight. I meant to write how difficult it is to wait and wait and, when you can’t take it any longer, wait some more.
I was planning to put this all on the blog, along with some pictures of what true Spring truly looks like, but then… then came Stella. Stella is not my friend or psychiatrist, she’s not a mysterious stranger who makes you see your glass half-full. Stella is a blizzard. She is the biggest snowstorm that hit the East Coast this winter. In fact, according to my Canadian friends, she’s the biggest snowstorm they’ve seen in many years.
Stella came yesterday around lunchtime and I did not like it. I thought it rude of her to come so late in season, so unexpected, with such force and ardour and horrible icy wind. Yet it’s wasn’t even the snow and wind that I resented so much, but the UNFAIRNESS of being hit by the snow storm, while the rest of the world was enjoying the first fresh blooms of spring and planning picnics by the lake.
My daughter loved Stella. She was watching her from the window, her eyes open wide in wonder, she ran outside to meet her, she stuck out her tongue to catch snowflakes. My daughter is still in that age, when magic, beauty and joy matter more than convenience. At night she fell asleep whispering her new favourite word: “la tempete de neige”.
The first thing we saw this morning was Stella. We stepped outside and, both of us, the daughter and the mother, squeaked in delight. All around was the whitest, the softest, the deepest, the lightest, the freshest, the wonderfulest wonder – a whole vast Winter wonderland in the middle of March. In five minutes Stella cured my March blues. She made me forget how weary I was of Winter and how much I longed for warmer days. Stella made me happy.