Stella Reddy's Story

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The Winter Storm That Swallowed St. John’s

Monday, February 23, was another Snow Day! Even today, some places are still closed! So much snow! We came close to a “State of Emergency”, as noted in the article linked below.

Metro Schools Closed Again as Snow Cleanup Continues on Northeast Avalon | VOCM

I woke up Sunday to that familiar, muffled quiet—the kind that only happens when the world outside is buried under fresh snow. St. John’s had been hit again, hard. Hubby got the day off yesterday! Reports were already saying more than 50 cm had fallen across parts of the city, with more coming later this week. It has caused me to stay home once again.

It is the most snow I have seen in many years. Would you believe it is 5 degrees Celsius now, with rain? Hubby informed me there were rivers of water on the streets this morning on his way to work.

As I looked out my window, I felt that old mix of awe and resignation. Living here, I’ve learned that winter storms aren’t just weather events—they’re part of the rhythm of this place. But this one felt especially heavy. The snowbanks were already shoulder‑high, and the wind had carved strange shapes into the drifts overnight.

Environment Canada had warned us that this system would bring heavy snowfall, blowing snow, and near‑blizzard conditions, and they weren’t exaggerating. Visibility dropped to almost nothing at times, closed roads, and the wind rattled the house like it was trying to come in for a cup of tea. I even lost power for a bit…

By midday yesterday, the plows were still struggling to keep up. Some streets looked like narrow tunnels carved through white walls, with no sidewalks cleared. The storm had already shut down services last week, and this new round of snow only added to the chaos.

But there’s a strange beauty in it too. I found myself wanting to go out and play in the snow yesterday, and if my body were more able, I would have! Seeing all this snow makes me want to be a kid again for the day.

I’ve lived through enough Newfoundland winters to know that storms like this become stories we tell later—about the day the snow swallowed the cars, or when the wind made the world disappear. But in the moment, it’s just me, and the quiet determination that comes from living on this rock in the North Atlantic.

And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it. Not the snow, not the storms, not the way this place demands resilience and rewards it with beauty. I love it here and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else!