When I first moved from Mexico City to Vancouver, after experiencing my first Canadian winter, I emerged from my home to discover the magical way seasons change in Canada. Back in Mexico City, the weather shifts only slightly—mildly colder or mildly warmer—so I had never experienced a snowy Christmas or the excitement of leaves turning red at the end of summer.
After that cold winter, flowers in Vancouver began to bloom, along with the reappearance of small animals I hadn’t noticed for months. Hands down, the cutest were the chickadees. A friend showed me how they would instantly come if I extended my hand with bird seeds, and so my tradition of feeding chickadees began.
A black-capped chickadee at the end of the winter. Vancouver 2015
Soon after, the cherry blossoms appeared, painting the city with a magical foreshadowing that warmer days were finally coming. I was particularly mesmerized by the blossoms, as they don’t grow in Mexico due to the climate.
I thought I’d gotten used to Canada’s dramatic seasonal changes—until I moved to Toronto. I arrived in the fall, just in time to see every imaginable shade of red, orange, and yellow. To my delight, chickadees still came to feed, this time on the ginkgo trees outside my Toronto apartment, just as they had on the cherry blossom tree in Vancouver.
Then came winter—the first year was the coldest—and with it, the worst seasonal depression I’ve ever experienced. But, as always, spring eventually arrived, bringing tulips, daffodils, snowdrops, magnolias, and cherry blossoms back to life.
Hey Dreamcatcher. Toronto, 2024.
I titled this piece inspired by the song Sleepwalker by The Killers.
“Hey, dreamcatcher, come out and see the leavesThe mountainside’s all watermelon redSoon enough, they’re gonna rust and fallLeave the mountainside cold and bareBut when the longer days of sun appearThey’ll be rising like an answered prayer.”
While I find the changing seasons in Canada breathtakingly beautiful, it was difficult to adapt at first. Coupled with the challenges of moving to a new country, I often felt transient, unable to form deep connections in my new home.
In Mexico, friendships are essential, built on deep and lasting bonds. In contrast, I realized that Canadians, just as I was experiencing, can also feel transient. It takes years to establish close relationships, and I came to understand that this wasn’t personal. Canadians often rely on dating apps instead of striking up conversations with strangers; friendships can feel superficial; and jobs come and go. Initially, I thought this detachment made them cold, but over time, I began to see Canadians as ephemeral—like their seasons. Just as the weather constantly changes, nothing stays the same for long. It’s best to enjoy the moment while it lasts, knowing that in three months, everything will be different again.I still have a love-hate relationship with this aloof Canadian attitude. It has made me feel lonely, yet it has also taught me to adapt to all kinds of change.
West Coast Spring. Toronto, 2024.
Now, I must confess: I don’t think I’ll ever fully adapt to Canadian winters. I usually escape to Mexico in January and February. But on the rare occasions I’ve braved the entire season, I try to keep a positive outlook, reminding myself that the cold and darkness are temporary and cyclical. After all, no matter how long the winter feels, my chickadees always return, ready to be fed, announcing that spring is just around the corner.
Under Mountains in the Moon Souvenirs
Want to bring my papercutting chickadees home?
Find them in my greeting cards displaying the beauty of both spring and fall.
