By the time you’re reading this, Canada is finally starting to thaw.

There are small signs at first. Snowbanks shrink ever so slightly, the sun lingers a bit longer in the evenings, and people begin to emerge again, not in full summer mode, but with a cautious optimism that the worst might be behind them. It feels like the country is waking up.

Which makes it a strange time to reflect on winter, because in truth, I’ve only seen a slice of it.

We arrived here in February, not exactly ideal timing if you’re trying to ease yourself into Canadian life. It was straight into the deep end.

No gentle introduction, no crisp autumn or festive December build-up.

But strangely, when we first arrived, it wasn’t actually as cold as we’d expected.

For a brief moment, it felt like we might have got lucky. That didn’t last long. Within a couple of weeks, the temperatures dropped properly, and we got our first real taste of what Canadian cold actually feels like.

What struck me most wasn’t just the temperature, it was how different winter is here compared to back home.

Change from home

In Fermanagh, winter is wet, grey, and relentless in its own way. It seeps into your bones because you’re always damp, always dodging rain, always waiting for a break in the weather that rarely comes.

Here, it’s the opposite.

It’s cold, yes — but it’s a dry cold. And more surprisingly, it’s bright. Blue skies are common, even on freezing days.

The sun shines far more than I expected, which makes a huge difference mentally. You can be absolutely frozen, but if the sky is clear, it somehow feels manageable.

And then there’s the snow.

At the start, it’s exactly what you imagine, scenic, almost magical. The kind of thing you’d happily take photos of and send home.

Streets covered in white, mountains looking even more dramatic, everything feeling clean and still.

But after a while, it just becomes… normal.

You stop noticing it. It’s no longer an event, just part of daily life. Something to walk through, drive through, shovel, and occasionally slip on. The novelty fades quicker than you’d expect.

One thing I didn’t expect at all is this: it’s been nearly three months without seeing rain.

Slowly adjusting

Coming from Fermanagh, that almost doesn’t make sense. Rain is such a constant part of life back home that you don’t even think about it, it’s just always there in the background.

Here, you suddenly realise how much of your routine was built around it.

I haven’t missed it, to be honest.

What I have had to learn, though, is how to actually dress for winter. Layers are everything.

Charlotte and Patrick are settling into life in their new country.

The right coat isn’t a luxury, it’s essential. And good boots might be the most important purchase you make. It’s not about braving the cold it’s about respecting it and being prepared.

That’s probably the biggest takeaway from my first Canadian winter: life doesn’t stop because of the weather.

People still go out, still socialise, still exercise, still get on with things.

There’s no sense of waiting it out. Instead, everything is adapted to it.

Roads are cleared, buildings are heated properly, and daily routines continue regardless of what the thermometer says.

It forces you to adjust your mindset as much as your wardrobe.

Now, as spring slowly arrives, there’s a real sense of appreciation in the air.

People seem lighter, more energetic, as if they’ve collectively made it through something.

And even though I didn’t experience the harshest months, I can understand that feeling.

I’ve had a taste of it, enough to know it’s no joke, but also enough to see why people here take a certain pride in getting through it each year.

Ask me again after next January, though, and you might get a very different answer.