The winter that simply won’t end sent yet another blast of snow our way. The large snowflakes fell in beautiful clumps that made photography a real challenge – keeping the camera dry, keeping the lens clear, getting the focus to settle on something other than an airborne snowflake – but it was worth the effort. A trip to Sir Casimir Gzowski Park at the lakeshore reminded me of all the beauty this harsh season can hold, provided I actually leave the house.
Driving north on Reesor Road in Markham, I caught sight of some abandoned buildings that exerted a magnetic pull on my car. Two feet of snow still blanketed everything, but I couldn’t resist getting out and trudging through the drifts to take a closer look.
Note to self: if you want to have a more successful spontaneous exploration, plan ahead.
It’s one of the snowiest winters on record, I’ve just gotten my camera back from the repair shop, and with some errands north of the city yesterday, it seemed the perfect time to do some winter landscape shooting. I can’t count the number of times beautiful scenery has whizzed past the window when I haven’t had time to stop (or couldn’t figure out how to exit/park/not get killed on a highway).
But the fates were having none of it. I shot some wintry suburban streets at the start of my trek (stock photo want lists ingrained in my head), but outside the city all the side roads I chose through Newmarket and Aurora seemed to lead to more cookie-cutter construction. And dead cornstalks, lots of dead cornstalks. There were no happy accidents to be had.
Feeling a bit dejected, I stopped by my parents’ house for the cure-all cup of tea, and they suggested I head over to a nearby farm with an old-fashioned skating rink. I vaguely recalled a family trip there twenty years ago, but didn’t really know what we’d find when my mom and I pulled up to the locked gate.
And there began my happy accident.
New York’s been in the news a little more than usual lately, what with their new mayor finding his snow legs (we can only dream of such minor squabbles over snow removal here in Toronto), and Jimmy Fallon about to move The Tonight Show back to its 30 Rock roots next month. It’s made me nostalgic for the one and only whirlwind experience I had in the city, which may not have been an ideal approach, but gave me a taste of the Big Apple.
I flew down to New York in March 2005 on business, to art direct a one-day photo shoot. A tight expense report allowance dictated the cheapest accommodation possible, a blessing in the end because I could afford to add a couple of personal days on my own dime. I was single at the time, and my mother was happy to join me and make it a girls weekend. That’s my mom in a nutshell – game for anything!
Little did she know what she’d gotten herself into.
We didn’t take the storm warning seriously. That is, until the thunderous sound of tree limbs hitting the ground around our home at 3:30 a.m. brought us sharply awake.
After trying eleventy billion coffee shops in the GTA, we found one close to home that in combination with a dog walk through Playter Estates became our daily ritual.
Not only does Broadview Espresso make a consistent cup of coffee, the offerings in their bakery case are plentiful and all equally delicious. There are regulars who convene for a klatch in the Muskoka chairs outside, and there is just enough seating indoors to perch yourself in a corner and read something from their library nook. No WiFi, so you are unlikely to find your personal space invaded by laptops on all sides.
An unfortunate dietary turn of events has outlawed caffeine, gluten, and enough other staple foods to make coffee house excursions inadvisable. Best to enjoy one’s cup of herbal tea laced with bitterness at home.
I miss you, Broadview Espresso.
The cold had a real bite to it today, but Torontonians were too angry to stay home.
I arrived early, and funnily enough one of the first people I saw was a former coworker of mine named Mark, holding the great sign above. We had a brief chat to commiserate about the ridiculousness of the situation, and how long the laundry list of offences had to get before Canadians would say “enough is enough”. Some people managed to maintain a sense of humour to offset their anger:
The crowd was sparse at first, and I feared people wouldn’t be able to make it to the protest on a work day, but within minutes they were pouring into the square on their lunch hours. There was no mistaking the overriding sentiment.