When Winter Shows Up Properly
This past week felt like a real winter week.
The kind where the snow falls steadily, the roads quiet, and the house gently insists you stay put. Storm days like this always pull me back. Not just to the food I crave, but to winters growing up, when snowstorms felt bigger, longer, and more memorable.
I swear we used to get so much more snow back then.
I remember years when the snowbanks reached two-thirds of the way up the telephone poles. Roads disappeared. School closures lasted days. Winter wasn’t something you rushed through. It was something you prepared for.
Preparing for Storms the Way We Used To
If we knew a storm was coming, you filled up the bathtub with water. Every large pot, bowl, or container you could find got filled too.
Power outages weren’t a possibility. They were expected.
We’d be without electricity for days. We had a wood stove to keep the house warm. Lanterns and candles everywhere. I can only imagine how much we drove my mother crazy, cooped up inside while she tried to keep things running smoothly.
Dad would walk up to the neighbours’ place to get fresh water if we needed it. No fuss. No drama. Just what had to be done.
What We Did With All That Snow
Storm days weren’t quiet when we were kids.
We built snow forts that felt enormous at the time. Tunnels and walls packed down with mittens that were always a little too wet. Dad would head out to the back deck and build us snow slides that felt like the greatest invention imaginable.
Hours of entertainment.
We’d fly down them on our crazy carpets, over and over again, until our cheeks were numb and our snowsuits soaked through. No screens. No schedules. Just snow, imagination, and enough daylight to keep going.
What We Ate When the Power Was Out
Mom always made it work.
We had a freezer full of meat. A cold room stocked with vegetables. Shelves lined with preserved fruits, vegetables, and sauces she had put up herself.
And I do remember the odd can of non-perishable goods making an appearance during storms. Not because we relied on them, but because they were there. Just in case.
Anything that could be heated on the wood stove became fair game. Meals were simple, warm, and practical. Exactly what was needed.
Winter Was a Way of Life
Dad worked at Veseys back then, and I still cringe thinking about how he’d ski to and from work when the roads hadn’t even been plowed yet. I remember worrying, even as a kid, about whether he’d make it home.
That was winter. You adapted. You figured things out.
And maybe that’s why storm days still feel familiar to me now. They carry that same rhythm of adjusting to what’s in front of you instead of fighting it.
The Food I Crave on Storm Days Now
Storm days still bring very specific cravings.
Warm food. Simple food. Food that feels steady.
This week, I wanted grilled steak. Summer-style. Outside. BBQ fired up.
Obviously… not happening.
So we did the winter version instead. Steak grilled inside on the stove, marinated all day in our steak spice and balsamic vinaigrette. Baked potatoes for the win.
Simple. Cozy. Completely satisfying.
Storm day food doesn’t need to impress. It just needs to take care of you.
When Staying Home Became a Gift
Years ago, I would have tried to get to work no matter how stormy it was.
I didn’t see storms as a reason to pause. I saw them as something to push through.
That didn’t really change until I worked at a college in Charlottetown. One day, during a storm, the college had officially closed. But I figured if I could get there, I might as well go in and get some things done.
My direct supervisor was also there that day. And the moment he realized I was working, he sent me home.
No debate. No guilt.
It was the first time I truly understood the value of being home. Of being present. Of not feeling like I had to prove anything by showing up when everything else was telling me to slow down.
Why Storm Days Feel Different Now
That job shifted something in me.
It gave me permission to appreciate being home. To be there with my kids without that quiet pull telling me I should be somewhere else.
Since then, I’ve noticed something about myself.
I’m almost like the kids now. Quietly hoping for storm days. Wishing for just enough snow that we can all be home together. Warm. Safe. Unrushed.
Storm days aren’t interruptions anymore.
They’re invitations.
To gather.
To cook.
To remember.
To put the kettle on.
To watch the snow fall.
To feel the house settle around you.
And to stay.
Lots of Love,
Marsha
