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Springtime in paradise


“Is it always this windy here?” the suited gentleman asks, and you feel your mouth curl into a sheepish grin.

Why should weather be embarrassing?

 

It’s not like he said your curtains don’t match or your shoes are scuffed. It’s not a reflection on you, other than the fact you choose to live here of your own free will.

 

It’s not as if you can control the weather. You can’t command the clouds to part or the Labrador Current’s icy blast to change direction.

 

Newfoundlanders have a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” They think it’s witty and thoroughly unique. It’s not unique.

 

You think about that tropical paradise your visitor is from: Toronto.

 

There, everything is already in bloom. The trees and neatly trimmed grass are greener than green.

 

The street vendors are peddling their summer treats: sausages, french fries and ice cream. The locals are flitting about in shorts and sandals, shopping and networking and generally being smart for living where they do.

 

Even their rain is enviable — great watery bucketfuls that slap off pavement and saturate the ground. And then it’s gone, just like that. Here, on the Atlantic, we shuffle about in half-hearted drizzle that can linger for days.

 

Ah, but then you think of what those clever Toronto folk will face in a few short weeks: heat like you’ve never felt before. Heat that makes a visitor from Botswana plead for cooling relief.

 

Steamy, unbearable heat that sends beads of sweat streaming down your brow and into your stinging eyes, as the cicadas squeal like a hellish Greek chorus: “Die, you Bay Street parasite, die!”

 

Weather shame can mess with your head.

 

Is it always this windy here? No.

 

Sometimes it’s windy here. Sometimes the breeze shifts and the temperature plummets, spoiling a perfectly good day.

 

Sometimes it blows such a gale that transport trucks tip over into ditches. Sometimes a stray hurricane creeps up the Eastern Seaboard and uproots ancient trees like tent pegs.

 

But there’s a reason for that.

 

It’s because when a bubble of warm air finally drifts into town and draws everyone out of their shells, there is no finer thing.

 

There is nothing like a warm Maritime day combing the shoreline or dozing in the sweet, wild grass; a day yachting in Mahone Bay or sinking your feet in the sand at Cavendish Beach; enjoying a leisurely picnic at the Ferryland lighthouse, or marvelling at the tidal bore in the Bay of Fundy.

 

Is it always this windy here? You bet.

 

But enough about spring. Our glorious Atlantic summer is just around the corner.

Why should weather be embarrassing?

 

It’s not like he said your curtains don’t match or your shoes are scuffed. It’s not a reflection on you, other than the fact you choose to live here of your own free will.

 

It’s not as if you can control the weather. You can’t command the clouds to part or the Labrador Current’s icy blast to change direction.

 

Newfoundlanders have a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” They think it’s witty and thoroughly unique. It’s not unique.

 

You think about that tropical paradise your visitor is from: Toronto.

 

There, everything is already in bloom. The trees and neatly trimmed grass are greener than green.

 

The street vendors are peddling their summer treats: sausages, french fries and ice cream. The locals are flitting about in shorts and sandals, shopping and networking and generally being smart for living where they do.

 

Even their rain is enviable — great watery bucketfuls that slap off pavement and saturate the ground. And then it’s gone, just like that. Here, on the Atlantic, we shuffle about in half-hearted drizzle that can linger for days.

 

Ah, but then you think of what those clever Toronto folk will face in a few short weeks: heat like you’ve never felt before. Heat that makes a visitor from Botswana plead for cooling relief.

 

Steamy, unbearable heat that sends beads of sweat streaming down your brow and into your stinging eyes, as the cicadas squeal like a hellish Greek chorus: “Die, you Bay Street parasite, die!”

 

Weather shame can mess with your head.

 

Is it always this windy here? No.

 

Sometimes it’s windy here. Sometimes the breeze shifts and the temperature plummets, spoiling a perfectly good day.

 

Sometimes it blows such a gale that transport trucks tip over into ditches. Sometimes a stray hurricane creeps up the Eastern Seaboard and uproots ancient trees like tent pegs.

 

But there’s a reason for that.

 

It’s because when a bubble of warm air finally drifts into town and draws everyone out of their shells, there is no finer thing.

 

There is nothing like a warm Maritime day combing the shoreline or dozing in the sweet, wild grass; a day yachting in Mahone Bay or sinking your feet in the sand at Cavendish Beach; enjoying a leisurely picnic at the Ferryland lighthouse, or marvelling at the tidal bore in the Bay of Fundy.

 

Is it always this windy here? You bet.

 

But enough about spring. Our glorious Atlantic summer is just around the corner.

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