Winter Beauty... Photographs by Nina Munteanu

 

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

When Snow Dazzles...

I grew up in southern Quebec, where the first snow of the season often came from the sky in a thick passion. Huge flakes of unique beauty settled on my coat sleeves and within minutes I was covered in snow. I would stand enraptured and study each one as I could. Snow wraps everything in a blanket of soft acceptance. It creates a dazzling face on a dark Earth. It refuses to distinguish between artificial and natural. It covers everything—decorated house, shabby old car, willowy trees, manicured lawn—beneath its white mantle. It quiets the Earth.

Have you ever gone for an evening walk in the fresh crisp snow, boots crunching, snow glistening in the moonlight? Each step is its own symphony of textured sound. A kind of collaboration with the deep of the night and Nature’s own whisperings.

Snow is a shape shifter, charging down in a fierce blizzard and as glittering hoarfrost that forms on cold, clear nights. Snow is a gypsy, conspiring with the clever wind to form mini-tornadoes and swirling on the cold pavement like misbehaving fairies. It drifts like a vagabond and piles up, cresting over the most impressive structure, creating phantoms out of icons. Some people, fearful of the chaos and confusion that snow brings, hide indoors out of the cold. Others embrace its many forms, punching holes through the snow crust to find the treasure of powder beneath or ploughing through its softness, leaving behind an ivory trail of adventure.

Snow is magic. It reveals as it cloaks. Animals leave their telltale tracks behind their silent sleuthing. No two snowflakes are alike. Yet every non-aggregated snowflake forms a six-fold radial symmetry, based on the hexagonal alignment of water molecules when they form ice. Tiny perfectly shaped ice-flowers drift down like world peace and settle in a gentle carpet of white. Oddly, a snowflake is really clear and colourless. It only looks white because the whole spectrum of light bounces off the crystal facets in diffuse reflection (i.e., at many angles). My son, who skies, extols “champagne powder”—very smooth and dry snow, ideal for gliding on. On powder days, after a fresh snowfall, mountain trees form glabrous Henry Moore-like sculptures. Skiers wind their way between the “snow ghosts,” leaving meandering double-helix tracks behind them.

Snow is playful. It beckons you to stick out your tongue and taste the clouds. Snow is like an unruly child. Snow is the trickster. It stirs things up. Makes a mess. It is the herald of change, invigorating, fresh and wondrous. Cars skid in it and squeal with objection. Grumpy drivers honk their horns, impatient to get home; while others sigh in their angry wake. Brown slush flies in a chaotic fit behind a bus and splatters your new coat. Boys and girls of all ages venture outside, mischief glinting in their eyes, and throw snowballs. Great battles are fought in backyards where children build awesome forts and defend them with fierce determination.

In the end, snow—a solid form of water—remains implacable, untouched by our spurious activities. It lies beyond our tedious attempts to salt it, dirty it, move it or make it, turn it into slush, sublimate it or even desublimate it. Snow, like the water it is, cannot be ‘owned’ or kept. Ultimately, it will do its job to energize the earth, give life, then quietly transform, take its leave, and move on. Along with its various water cousins, it will move mountains particle by particle with a subtle hand; it will paint the world with beauty then return to its fold and rejoice; it will transcend time and space to share and teach and transform a world.

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

When Snow Turns Into Passion...

 

It started with a sudden hail then light snow followed by sunshine. But even as the sun shone, more snow fell. The stubborn river kept glinting in the sunlight. Huge flakes fluttered down and the river sparkled. Some trees lit up like torches behind the thick snowflakes. 

When I got to the marsh, the snow came down in a passion and the wind picked up. Huge flakes fell in a slant and covered the thin ice on the marsh edges. It covered the ducks, their backs full of snow, who ignored it all and just clucked and quacked and drifted close to me in curiosity. 

The clouds grew dark. Then the snow filled the sky and I could barely see the trees as I walked through the forest… 

By the time I made it to the path by the river, the snow was seized by a fierce wind and flew sideways.

Then, suddenly, like a hand on a shoulder, it all stopped. The wind and the snow. The sun emerged behind a dark scudding cloud and lit the water, now calm in the beauty after the storm.

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

Falling in Love…

Last fall I drove across America with Toulouse to make a new home in Nova Scotia. I’d left behind a marriage of twenty years, a son in university and some wonderful friends to make a new life as an artist on the east coast: I didn’t realize it but I was really travelling in search of love.

While my mind was prepared for the unfettered and uncompromising—though at times lonely—life of an artist, my soul was seeking something far more elusive. I’d picked the Maritimes as a home-base, based solely on what I’d heard of their simple genuine nature and their celebration of art and a vision I’d had of living there; I didn’t know a soul.

Toulouse and I made our way across the northern states and Canada, over mountains and dusty plains, revisiting old haunts like Murdo, South Dakota; Louisville, Kentucky; Toronto, Ontario and Montreal, Quebec. As I got closer to the east, a strange thing happened…

First, let me tell you that my roots are in the east. I grew up in the French Canadian town of Granby, in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, a landscape dominated by the four seasons. Where the wind is like a fist. My favorite season is the autumn, when Nature bursts with the brilliance of a diva on stage. She scatters flaming colors across the road. They soar like flocks of exotic birds, vaulting to a chaotic chorus, and cover the earth in a mantle of russet warm tones that smell of home.

…As Toulouse and I crested the mountain range into Wisconsin, tears of awestruck joy welled in my eyes. The most breathtaking and welcoming view unfolded before me: a vast carpet of rolling hills, quilted in the warm and brilliant reds, yellows and oranges of autumn. I knew I was home.

I ended my sojourn in the charming fishing port of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, a UNESCO designated World Heritage site, known for its ship-building, particularly the Bluenose II, and its fine dining, art and culture. Toulouse and I settled there and very quickly made some good friends.

But it was on my solo journeys through the South Shore area of Nova Scotia that I fell in love.