Preville on Politics

Our squishy urban winterscape

Posted on December 19, 2007 by Philip Preville

Nice post today on the Spacing Wire about navigating the snowy sidewalks with a baby. I’m so there. On Monday I walked my son to daycare in his stroller, and we did some serious off-roading in his three-wheeled Zooper. The best fun was the snowbank-hopping: lift the front wheel, take a run at the bank, get halfway up the slope, plant the front wheel, lift the rear wheels, and forge down the far side. My son loved it. But as the week goes on and city crews fail to make further progress while the snow melts, the walking only gets worse—baby or no.

In the Yorkville shopping district this morning, lake-sized puddles created by the glacial thaw had gummed up the Bay-Bloor intersection. (Same thing at Broadview and Danforth.) The frustrations are leading to signal-disobedience anarchy by both drivers and pedestrians. And—yikes!—both the thaw and the last-minute shopping have only just begun. I know city crews are hard at work on this, but what is the point of clearing the sidewalk without clearing the storm drain, except to beat pedestrians a clear path to a swampy impasse?

P.S.: Trash collectors came down my street this morning and rolled along right on top of the snowbank, flattening it out and spilling mounds of slush back onto the neatly-cleared sidewalks, making them impassable for strollers once again. Thanks fellas! I know I’m supposed to be grateful that the trash collectors, like the postal service, are undaunted by bad weather, but there is a better way. Montreal understands snow management best: you can’t just pile it up. You’ve got to cart it away. Fast.

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Philip Preville

Veteran freelance writer Philip Preville lived much of his life in Montreal and Edmonton before he was lured, like so many Torontonians before him, by the promise of more work and a better living. A National Magazine Award winner and former Canadian Journalism Fellow at the University of Toronto’s Massey College, Preville writes Toronto Life’s politics column. He lives with his wife and one-year-old son in Riverdale, just close enough to the Don Valley Parkway that he can hear it when he steps outside his house—but just far enough away that it doesn’t keep him awake at night. On his office wall hangs a 1938–39 press pass belonging to his grandfather, Elias Gannon, who wrote for the Montreal Star.


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