I’ve always hated winter. It’s cold. It’s dark. My nose won’t stop running. When November rolls around, I pine for long summer days—paddling dark lakes, outrunning thunderstorms, trekking through swarms of mosquitos along muddy trails and stargazing at midnight in shorts.
So, I was surprised to find myself zipped into a parka on a snowy -15 C day in January, following the footprints of a fox—or was it a coyote?—along the snow-packed Sheffield Conservation Area trail.
My job as a travel writer takes me around the world. Typically, when the weather gets cold in Toronto, I fly to warmer climes—I go swimming in the Pacific Ocean in Costa Rica or enjoy flavourful Pho in Vietnam. But when COVID-19 hit, I had a choice: stay inside, warm yet sad, or learn…
