Please welcome guest blogger, Candice Walsh, from Candicedoestheworld.com

I freaking love my city.

(photo courtesy of Flickr member – NatalieLucier)

St. John’s has it all: complicated history, vibrant nightlife, undiscovered nooks and crannies, drunken bums and scantily clad women. Oh, and you know, those other things that make travel experiences rich, like humpback whales, icebergs, and a massive puffin colony located just outside the city.

But when September rolls around and the leaves start turning red and gold, a slow, heavy dread starts lining the pit of my stomach. This year it happened when my roommates and I cashed in all the empty beer cases left over from a summer of friends camping out on our futon in their skivvies, barbecues on the back patio, and hot afternoons dragging the kitchen table outside to play Risk.

It was a sure sign that winter was approaching.

There is no gradual transition to winter from fall. One day, it’s perfectly warm, sunny and calm. The next afternoon, a hurricane rips through the city and dumps 15 centimetres of snow onto your driveway, followed by icy rain pellets the size of tennis balls. The result is a thick 15-metre  impenetrable crust of hellish winter regurgitation to dig through with a plastic shovel.

St. John’s folks are hardy. Winter conditions do not consider our emotions and plans, thus simultaneously destroying both. The sidewalks do not get ploughed. Drivers curse pedestrians for occupying their road space. The snow is replaced with muddy slush, noses run constantly, and the wind rattles my 100 year old townhouse at night and slides my bed across the floor.

To be fair, there are some people who love the challenge of winter. I know of dedicated skiers who eagerly await the first snowfall so they can hit the slopes at 5 a.m. in Pippy Park. Others shine up their fancy snowmobiles or sharpen their skates.

I’m not one of those people.

But I get through it. We all get through it, those eight months of torture (yes, eight). And when the snow starts melting and the roads turn into rivers, something magical happens, something inspiring.

One day, slowly, and with great effort, the sun peels back a cloud and allows a little ray through. People in the streets drop their bags, peering up at the sky and shielding their eyes against the sudden glare. Pale skin turns to pink. Frozen hearts begin to melt.

Bowring Park becomes crowded with Frisbee tossers. Teams start rowing across Quidi Vidi Lake in preparation for the Royal St. John’s Regatta. George Street invites the masses for festivals and events where the entire street shuts down and people bar hop without paying all the cover fees. The restaurants with decks become so crowded, you’re apt to just eat your food on the sidewalk.

Because when those warm days start moving in, you appreciate them. You hold onto those hot summer nights, no matter how sticky and muggy, and you damn well appreciate them. You hug them tight to your warmth-deprived body, and you never let go. Everything changes. Everything is alive again.