I’m in Montreal this week, and despite El Niño’s best efforts, the weather here is the polar opposite of a day at the beach. Just minutes after stepping off the plane, I heard a word that essentially left my vocabulary since we moved out west more than a decade ago – windchill. This kind of cold makes you appreciate the heartier things in life. Things like wool, and soups you can eat with a fork. And so, as I made my way through a snow storm this evening, I had visions of a kindly St. Bernard coming to my rescue with a small barrel of beef-barley and a pair of Woolrich Eagle boots. (via Freshness)