It’s ten o’clock in the morning. I was about to munch my breakfast eggs (skilfully cooked with avocado oil and butter then finished with Maldon salt) when the telephone rang. It was a call from the receptionist of our family dentist. She enquired whether, in view of the snow storm – and the fact that several others had already cancelled their appointments, we intended to continue with our scheduled appointment later today.  Unhesitatingly I replied that we were were.

Growing up as a Canadian, it is impossible to have escaped the consequences of a snow day. Its introduction was normally in school. Otherwise it affected society at different levels including business meetings, travel plans, social engagements and outings of almost any nature. Ironically the snow day frequently inspired other singular movements such as tobogganing, skiing, snowmen and – less agreeably – snow shovelling.

For me the peril of a snow day has never been a limitation. Upon reflection I  realize that I have always had the mitigating privilege to live, study and work within the same immediate orbit.  The advantage began at boarding school, followed by residency on campus in undergraduate studies, then Domus Legis at law school, downtown living for articles, Devonshire House residency at Osgoode Hall and finally residency in this small rural community where I have lived and worked for the past 50 years. Referring to the latter, it is significant that I can walk to the grocer, the hardware store, my dentist, chiropractor, lawyer, banker, hair salon and hospital (though once my erstwhile physician drove me home from the hospital following hernia surgery).

I recall a Christmas eve years ago when I bundled myself to trek through snowdrifts to attend midnight mass at St. Paul’s Anglican church on nearby Clyde Street alongside the river.

Although my law office at 77 Little Bridge Street was within walking distance of my house in the Gale subdivision, I normally made a habit of driving my car to work. The drive was primarily a convenience to reduce time and to avoid wet weather; but when it snowed heavily I had to factor the driveway at home and the parking lot at the office. Until the contractors had time to attend to the snow removal, I was restricted.

Customarily the walk to the office in the snow was not objectionable.  But on one occasion in particular, I confronted an unanticipated obstruction. I was bent into the irreligious snow with my French bulldog Monroe. Monroe weighed about 28 pounds and his legs were the length of a pencil.  For him, leaping through the mounting snowdrifts was an effort. But we made it.

If one were obliged to endure isolation on a snow day, there are advantages to be had. Even when I made it to the office, not everyone else did.  There were cancellations and reprieves. In any case having the luxury to stare at whirling snowflakes, graduating layers on the railings of the balcony and deck chairs and increasingly mottled landscape was never a deprivation. Nature’s unmistakeable beauty won the day. True, the majesty of swirling snow and a rampant white camouflage is one of limited duration. As with all things, change happens. But during the portraiture of the scene, there are often unimaginable creations.