Happy Hallow... I mean Merry... what?
The horror began when I learned that two winter storms were to envelop southern Manitoba just days before my flight.
I watched my weather app in trepidation. Toronto was in the midst of an unusually warm autumn, with temperatures of 17C–18C, and Morden was about to experience a 10–20 cm snowfall in October (October, seriously??). I wondered whether this wasn't some practical joke.
I mean... look, folks, it says toasty.
Image credit: The Weather Network app, October 25, 2023.
Now compare with my partner's photos of the same day.
Winter? What do you mean, winter? We're still dressed in all our finest! See, even nature is confused.
I reluctantly packed my winter coat. Boots. Scarf. I stared at my suitcase in disbelief. But it's... October!
*Sigh* Eventually, it was time to face the music.
Just before we left the airport I was told that I should put on my coat.
Ok, ok, maybe there's snow, but that doesn't mean it's cold, right? It's October, right?
Oh my gaaawwwd, it was cold. The first blast of wind made me catch my breath; my eyes watered. You know, all that fun stuff we Torontonians forgot about in our cocoon of warmth.
I looked at my partner in distress. I need a hat... now? Welcome to Manitoba, he laughed, in his usual good humour.
Swimming (yes, you heard me!)
View from swimming pool, Best Western (Morden)
One significant episode occurred two days after my arrival. My partner's sister and I were to take her son swimming. When I learned that 5 cm of snow was coming that today, my reaction was pfffft, 5 cm. (For context, in Toronto, 5 cm means that drivers will freak out for exactly 5 minutes and everything will melt exactly 5 minutes after that.) Nothing to worry about, I thought. I'll drive my partner to work and pick him up later.
Aside: Here, I should specify that "later" means "evening-shift later." In Winkler.
As it got going that afternoon, I watched the snow and watched the snow and watched the snow and wondered if perhaps Toronto rules might not apply here. But... they said 5 cm, right? And, although I was asked if I was certain on several occasions, I insisted because I had promised a child, and, come hell or high water, we were going swimming.
That's fine, I can do this. It's not unlike driving home from a northern Ontario cottage in inclement weather, right?
Wrong. This is not inclement weather; this is both hell and high water.
And isn't the Best Western, like, a 5-minute drive away?
Wrong. Time means nothing in hell and high water.
To explain: These measly 5 cm quickly turned into ice and what I can only describe as mounds of frozen snow. So, while the roads in the city were sort of manageable, as soon as we passed Brusik on the way out, we entered a wasteland of blowing snow and unmakeable turns. Because when I (very slowly, very carefully) approached the left I was supposed to make, the car very clearly said NOPE. And readers, I did not—because we had already passed the first car-in-a-ditch, and I did not want to be it (especially not with a child in the vehicle). So when I approached the second and final left that I was able to make before basically arriving in Winkler, I slowed down much, much earlier to avoid another NOPE. This time, at least, the car gave a thumbs up.
The windy 2-second path between the car and the hotel was another "are you sure about this?" moment. But it all melted away as we watched the frozen wasteland get more and more frozen and more and more... wastier... from the safe confines of the jacuzzi and then the pool.
It was a truly lovely couple of hours, which prepared me for the ordeal that was to come.
Walking
As I monitored the Facebook groups with increasing alarm ("The road is a sheet of ice!"; "Stay home!"; "Cars in ditches!"), the pup told me he needed to go out. I also asked him if he was certain, but it appeared that he was.
We walked slowly down the street trying not to slip. Again, it was during a walk with the dog that I found time to consider the state of things. Why is everything covered in ice? Where is the salt? Sand? Anything? Where are the people? The people who, in Toronto, would be out frantically salting their sidewalks for fear of a lawsuit. I wondered—
My thoughts were violently cut short as the pup turned back with the sudden realization that he was wandering in -15C and literally flew home. My thoughts turned to how I would be forced to crawl back to our driveway after breaking both legs or perhaps my nose... When did you have time to sprout wings? Where am I, honestly? Is it true that somewhere on earth there's an unusually warm autumn?
Driving
This image was not taken during the drive from hell.
The message came at around 10.30 pm: Sorry, my love, you'll have to come get me; everyone else has left for the day. But drive veeeery slowly and veeeery carefully! There is NO rush!
So I put on the GPS, which displayed the usual 15 minutes, and thus began the most terrifying 30 minutes of my life. More terrifying than the twirly terror of the Corn & Apple Festival. More terrifying than my terrible bout of COVID (despite vaccination, which should tell you how terrible it was). More terrifying, even, than when my car slid backwards down a slight incline during a Toronto snowstorm (which, incidentally, turned a 30-minute drive into three hours).
Driving 20 km/hr, flashers on, I gripped the steering wheel as if it were the only thing between me and certain death. And, to be honest, it probably was.
When I came out to Thornhill Street, the GPS still showed 15 minutes. I exclaimed, internally: Why, lord, has no time passed at all!?
When I reached Brusik for the second time that day, I saw that the frozen wasteland had reached nightmare-level proportions. It had became pitch black with blowing snow periodically producing whiteout conditions.
Another car-in-a-ditch.
Now 13 minutes to my destination.
Why, god-in-heaven, aren't there any street lights?
Why hasn't anyone salted this place?
I volunteer as salt distributor, if that gets everything salted right now!
STILL 13 minutes to my destination?
I don't understand, isn't this the only road between the cities?
Doesn't it deserve to be salted?
Don't we all deserve to live without the experience of landing sideways in a Manitoba ditch?
STILL 13 minutes to my destination??
I understand. I understand everything.
I have entered a time warp, and I will be on this dark, icy road for the rest of my life.
STILL 13 minutes to my destination???
This cycle of fear, frustration, and incredulity continued until I arrived, safely, at my partner's office.
Well, how was it? Are you a Manitoban?
You're lucky I love you as much as I do, kohaniy.
I should mention that when he drove back—cautiously, but at 60–70 km/hr—with the comment that he's experienced much, much worse, I saw my previous terror in a new light.
If this was some sort of Mordenite initiation, I might have... kind of... passed.
Miscellaneous
Spot the blue jay!
Somewhere in the middle of all this, my newly purchased peppermint chocolates flew out of my hands and landed in—you guessed it—a mound of snow. This was either a result of wind or my own clumsiness. Of course, I blame the wind for this, as I do for everything.
Question for the province: Let's be real, for a second. Have you ever considered "Windy Manitoba" on your license plates? Even as a subtitle?
At some point, I noticed that even my boots had rebelled as one of my soles was suddenly detached. Or perhaps the intention was to grow a mouth and ask me: Where the fff did you take us? Does this place know what time of year it is? Do YOU know what time of year it is?
All in all, I tried hard to remember the charm of Morden's summer as my partner scraped snow off the pumpkins. When will that start, exactly? I'm already on to my second pair of boots.
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