Last year was my family's first winter in Canada. Being Michiganders, we were prepared for the snow in southern Ontario. What we weren't prepared for was the celebration. Canadians love winter; every cloudy, cold bit of it.
They walk in it, run in it, skate in it, sled in it. We've seen teenagers outside the Dairy Queen eating Blizzards during a blizzard. We've seen moms strolling babies in sub-zero wind chill. We've seen retired folks in motorized wheelchairs motoring down the icy sidewalks.
I think this positive winter attitude has a lot to do with hockey. Canadians are crazy about the game. They play it, watch it and talk about it. Their kids learn to skate early, hockey stick in hand. They have national teams, provincial teams, regional teams and neighborhood teams.
Hockey isn't just a winter thing; it's a Canadian thing. When spring arrives, they drag hockey nets into the streets, using balls instead of pucks, concrete instead of ice and sneakers instead of skates. During summer, they park their cars in the driveway, leaving the garage free for puck-handling drills and slap shot practice. When fall hits, the school kids play hockey during recess, in the gym or anytime three or four are gathered with a stick.
Still, hockey thrives best in winter. And so do Canadians. Their garage doors close and any stretch of concrete they can hose down is turned into ice. Neighbors groom the local ponds, furnishing them with nets, benches and shovels. I remember the first time I saw a hockey net half-submerged in a late-summer pond. I thought it was an obnoxious bout of littering. I soon learned it was a Canadian symbol of community.
When the first snow falls, Canadians start talking about outdoor ice conditions. They travel with skates, sticks and shovels in their cars. Given a free moment, a few buddies and some outdoor ice, they can clear off the snow and enjoy a skate. It is easy, free and fun.
This winter hasn't been a true winter in southern Ontario. Temperatures above freezing and a green January have made for lousy outdoor ice. People tromp around in sneakers and unzipped jackets, grumbling about the clear skies and the tulips breaking through February's ground. They get excited whenever the snow falls, but it never lasts the week. The ponds are slushy and the large stretches of park reserved for outdoor rinks are brown and deserted.
I've noticed the nets and sticks are back on my neighbors' lawns. The garage doors are open again, cars out, frustrated slap shots ringing off the walls. The kids are playing hockey in the streets, three months early and none too happy about it. And while I'm enough of a Michigander to consider a mild winter a small blessing, it is clearly a curse to my Canadian friends.
Recently, my family drove through Kitchener, where we saw a large crowd gathered in front of city hall. Drawing closer, we discovered they were skating on a small stretch of meticulously maintained outdoor ice. They moved shoulder-to-shoulder, more like vibrating molecules than carefree skaters. There was no room for hockey nets. I couldn't help but feel bad.
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish we had a real winter. Canada just isn't the same.
Nicole L. V. Mullis can be reached at nlvm.columns@gmail.com
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