As I write this blog post, I am listening to the constant sounds of "drip, drip, drip" just outside my patio door in the heart of the forest in the Almaguin Highlands, about 3 hours drive north of Toronto.

Many of my friends avoid the Canadian wiInter altogether by heading to warmer climates. Whenever I tell them how much I love winter, I get strange looks and invitations to come visit them in this year's warm location of their choice (it used to be Florida, Arizona and California. This year, it's more likely to be Portugal, Spain or Australia).

I don't generally go away during the winter because it's one of my favourite seasons of the year to listen. The soundscape is quiet and spacious. The sound of a lone crow can be heard from kilometres away. I listen to the sound of my boots on the snow, which changes depending on the temperature. On days where the snow has fallen lightly and the temperature is below zero but not too cold, I can barely hear my footsteps at all. On days where the thermostat rises above zero, the snow develops a crunchy crust. And on a very still day, I can hear a train approaching nearby South River, the closest town.

These are just a few examples of the sounds of the forest where I live. I am really excited to be taking part in a workshop called "Stories Through Sound - Winter Workshop Intensive", hosted by New Adventures in Sound Art right here where I live. It's being held from February 6-8, 2026.

There is still space if you'd like to join us! Watch this space for the piece I'll be working on, which focuses on the sounds of the lake (including ice sounds from in the water). And images of the beautiful lake, gathered in early December as it freezes up.