Welcome to Winnipeg - Don't Forget Your Coat.

It’s a tale as old as time. Girl grows up, girl leaves town, girl moves to the big city, girl realizes she doesn’t need said city, girl moves home. At least the last time I checked. Well, that was certainly the case on August 3, 2020. After a grueling 3-day road trip across the country, and a 4-year hiatus, my minivan and I hurled back into orbit of my beautiful, old, prairie hometown. It was a moment I had tried to evade for years and yet, I couldn’t have been happier. What began first as a reentry into reality became nothing short of a love story. A story about old love, and about falling back in love.

Welcome to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. A city yet a town. A field yet dry concrete. A house yet a home. Right on the cusp of the Canadian Shield. This is where I grew up. I am used to answering the common question “Where are you from?” with, “You wouldn’t know.” Now, this is my opportunity to shine. I am here on behalf of all of those who don’t know a darned thing about Winnipeg. Buckle up, because I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time.

First off, the winters are cold. I mean really cold. It’s the type of cold you feel well after you’ve thrown on your thickest pair of socks and coziest blanket. The type of cold that sneaks into every little crevice of your zipped-up jacket. Most of us grow up hating the cold. We dream of the ocean and swear that one day we will pack our bags and leave it all behind. The thing is, Winnipeggers don’t leave. They bundle up, acclimate, and rise each morning with a heavy cup of coffee and a new zest for life. It took me a long time to understand the lessons a harsh Winnipeg winter can teach, but after boarding my many flights to paradise, I came to understand what I had left behind.

You see, it’s also the type of cold that has you laughing in a crumpled heap with your best friend as you struggle with your third layer of pants. It’s also the type of cold that melts next to a fire and a hot chocolate, at least for a moment. It’s the type of cold that makes you put up a fight on your walk to your boyfriend’s house, one that you learn to win. It’s a type of cold that ignites a flicker of understanding in every Winnipegger’s eye, as you exchange glances at the supermarket. Resilient, disciplined, and grateful- we step out of this 6-month deep freeze with celebration and a love of life. As much as I hate to admit it, that is something a California coastline just can’t buy.

Okay, so the cold is here and it’s a life lesson in the making. How do you pass the time? Luckily, Winnipeg is a goldmine for winter activities.

First up is Canada's longest river skating trail. The Centennial River Trail claimed its spot as the world’s longest skating trail and has even kept a Guinness World Record since 2008. Each year the trail is created a little longer or manages to take an unexpected turn, but this year it can be seen leading skaters from the Forks in downtown Winnipeg to Hugo street.

The skating path stretches approximately five kilometers down the Assiniboine River and features several warming huts designed by local Winnipeg artists and architects. This year, I managed to venture out as temperatures plummeted to near negative fourty celcius, and the evidence gathered supports my theory. Winnipeggers' love to skate.

Like, a lot.

During the winter, places like the Forks serve as your own personal winter wonderland. Got a date? The Forks. Craving those homemade cinnamon buns from Tall Grass Prairie? The Forks. Want to explore the culture and history behind the city? You can learn about it here. The Forks has a museum and shops turned into a beautiful market from what used to exist as an old stable. The Forks got its name from where it stands. At the intersection of the Red River, and Assiniboine River. This place has never changed, and this is where I used to run around as a toddler in tiny winter boots and ice skates.

Every city or town has that one spot. It may be a bar, it may be the parking lot of a 7-11. It's the place where everything happens. Where memories are made and hearts are broken only to be mended in the same night. Where music plays loud through the cracks and windows of that hole-in-the-wall pub. In Winnipeg, that "place" is a street called Osborne. Running only a couple blocks, Osborne Village has everything, and when I say nostalgia runs high, boy do I mean it. From the best bar in town to the best pizza, this is where I can feel the energy of my hometown the strongest.

As I wind my way around the ice and snow, I am reminded that Winnipeg is a prairie town. With a population of roughly 700,000 people, Winnipeg will make you feel like you’re a little bit country even if you really, really aren’t. Surrounded on all sides by a sea of gold prairie grass and easily accessible stretches of highway, It’s hard to avoid that small town influence.

Whether it’s a local band passing through, or your friends jamming at a house party, you will eventually melt into the folk essence that pulses through this city. Each year, The Winnipeg Folk Festival brings some of the most saught after and talented musicical folk artists, and draws crowds from all around the world. As with any festival, there is nothing better than surrounding yourself with good people and good music, but there is something else at play here. A true Winnipeg Folk Festival experience will not only leave you with a bad sunburn and laugh lines, it will make you an honorary Winnipegger. This is where the community really shines, and each year I look forward to what feels like a beautiful family reunion.

Winnipeg is my home, and the thing about home is it is often difficult to define. I can’t photograph the memories I’ve already made, and If I tried to write out the expanse of history I hold with this city, we would all be here forever. The places I have loved the most were the hardest to photograph. The streetlights I’ve kissed under, the stairways I’ve cried in, and the empty rooms in which I’ve danced my heart out will stay with me always. I am grateful for knowing I belong unconditionally, that the foundation of who I am is rooted in this place, and that during times in which I did not know how to love myself, the echoes of my hometown sang, “I do.”

Music by Sophia Scott.