Sel de Noël

Flying to another province is exciting in itself. You're not just driving six hours to Winnipeg. You're getting on a plane and getting away.

You know that you've arrived in a completely different environment, however, when you take a deep breath and the salty air settles on your tongue. This is not thin prairie air; it's the heavy, water-speckled stuff that skims above the ocean.

We've been balancing turkey dinners and ever-replenishing dainty trays with walks and runs to the Lawrencetown Beach.

Likes: a spicy Shiraz, chocolate haystacks and long walks on the beach.

Steve's found driftwood and stones swept into yin and yang formations by the waves and wind.

Seaweed has become my muse. Ganglion-like reeds and fronds, the plant-life of the Atlantic. It's 0 degrees out there, but the wind whips my fingers cold as I manipulate the weeds for a photoshoot.

Everyone has their traditions. On Christmas Day we arrived to find four surfers dipping through the waters, enduring the brainfreeze to be able to ride for a minute before starting again.

Christmas: Must love family. The sel to my Noël.