Some places stay with you not because everything went according to plan, but because of the little moments in between.
Our last days in Manitoba were filled with cold weather, old friends, animals, forests, and the kind of quiet beauty that made me want to slow down and remember everything.
Ice Fishing, and a Bombardier in the Snow
We went ice fishing, although I should probably tell you right away that we didn’t actually catch anything.
But somehow, that wasn’t really the point.
On our way there, we saw a Bombardier vehicle moving through the snow. It was glimmering in the winter sunlight—silver, almost impossibly shiny against all that white. It looked like something from another world.
The first time I wanted to stop and take a picture, Anthony said, “No, it’s -30. Keep walking.”
Fair enough.
But when we saw it again, I decided I wasn’t going to let the cold win. I stopped, took out my camera, and lowered it to take the picture.
And then, as if it had been waiting for me, the vehicle stopped right in front of us.
The driver got out and asked if we needed a lift.
As we talked, we found out that he had actually built his own Bombardier. Somehow, what started as me simply wanting to photograph something beautiful turned into a little adventure of its own.
We didn’t catch any fish that day, but we got a ride through the snow from a man who had built his own machine.
Sometimes the best parts of a trip are the things you never planned for.
A White Horse in a Winter Fairytale
Another day, we visited my friend Shashank. I think her name is French and means hyacinth, which somehow feels fitting.
She has four horses, and she invited us over for lunch—or really, a beautiful winter brunch.
She made us gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches, and I brought a bottle of wine. We sat in her kitchen surrounded by windows, looking out into the frozen landscape.
Everything outside was covered in frost. The trees looked almost painted, as though the entire forest had been transformed into a winter fairytale.
And then, while we were eating, a beautiful white horse gracefully walked through the pasture toward the water.
For a moment, it didn’t feel like we were simply sitting in someone’s kitchen in Manitoba.
It felt like we had somehow stepped into a storybook.
Of course, I wanted a picture.
I wanted the horse to come closer. I wanted to capture the moment exactly as I was seeing it.
But the horse didn’t cooperate.
It moved away, and the moment passed.
And somehow, that made the moment even more beautiful.
There is something about animals that reminds us that beauty doesn’t belong to us. We can photograph it, but we can’t make it stay.
Some moments are meant to be witnessed rather than held.
The horse kept walking. The light changed. The moment disappeared.
But I still remember it.
Maybe that is the point of a photograph—not always to keep the moment itself, but to remind us that we were there when something beautiful happened.
Pine Tree Hollow
Then there was Pine Tree Hollow, which felt very much like my kind of place.
I immediately fell in love with the goats.
It was my first time really discovering goats up close, and I was fascinated by their little rectangular pupils. Their eyes are so different from ours—almost like tiny horizontal windows.
We went with our good friends Kristine and Eric, and the whole afternoon felt wonderfully unhurried.
We talked about meaningful things, wandered around, looked at the animals, and spent time together without feeling like we needed to accomplish anything.
Even the gift shop was an experience.
There wasn’t an overwhelming amount of stuff to buy. Instead, every little shop seemed to have its own specialty, and the things were thoughtfully and beautifully made.
It felt elegant without trying too hard.
I didn’t need to buy much.
I just liked being there.
The Road to an Old Friend’s House
We love our times with the Beckers especially Mrs.Purple. She took care of us like a big sister. A relaxing evening after work with fish tacos, conversations and raspberry sour is what a good life is about.
One of the most touching parts of Manitoba was something much simpler.
We went to Fort Winnipeg and met friends we hadn’t seen in about ten years.
Ten years is a long time.
People move. Life changes. Friendships go through seasons. And yet, sometimes you can sit down with someone after all those years and find that the distance doesn’t feel quite as large as you expected.
One little thing especially stayed with me.
There was a photograph of our friend’s friends on his refrigerator. The picture had been taken more than fifteen years ago.
And looking at it, I realized that almost everyone in that old photograph was there again.
People who had once gathered together in one photograph had somehow found their way back into their friend's home, decades later.
It made me think of that saying about how the road to a friend’s house is never long.
Maybe that’s what friendship really is.
Years can pass. Life can take you to different cities and different chapters. But somehow, when you find your way back to one another, the road doesn’t feel so far after all.
The Last of Manitoba
Looking back, we didn’t do anything particularly extraordinary.
We went ice fishing and caught no fish.
We stopped for a picture of a snow machine.
We ate grilled cheese in a friend’s kitchen while watching a white horse walk through a frosted pasture.
We discovered goats.
We wandered through little shops.
We sat around with old friends and remembered another version of our lives.
But maybe that is what I will remember most about Manitoba.
Not the things we accomplished, but the moments that simply happened.
The silver machine shining in the snow.
The horse that wouldn’t stay.
The goats with their strange little eyes.
The old photograph on the refrigerator.
The laughter and conversations that picked up where they had left off.
Some moments are fleeting.
Some are impossible to photograph exactly as they felt.
And some are never meant to stay still.
Maybe we don’t need them to.
Maybe it is enough to have been there.
