My nose was cold, my cheeks were cold

But the rest of me was warm

When I woke on a winter morning

In my bedroom on the farm.

I’d snuggle deep in layers of quilts

I knew I’d hear Mom call,

“Time to get up, my sleepy heads”

From her bedroom down the hall

Dad was already up and dressed and ready for the day

He’d been tending to the furnace but it always had a way

Of being slow to warm the house

On those icy winter mornings

We’d think that all was going well, and then, without a warning

The silly thing would smoulder out

We’d dress with extra speed

And hurry to the kitchen stove to find the warmth we’d need

Now we wake up in tropic warmth. We’ve left the northern chill

But our memories of Prairie winters stay with us and always will.

— Edie Mowat, Brandon, Manitoba