Despite the fact that I’m a born and bred New Englander, I’m the first person to run for the hills when the temperature starts to drop. There’s just something about the endless stretch of dark, grey days between January and March that I can’t stomach – and an April snowstorm, which happens pretty much every year, is beyond the pale. But there are beautiful things about the winter: the singular joy of cozying up by the fire, the warming sensation of a whiskey cocktail, the pleasure of diving into a plate of pasta with reckless abandon… it’s enough to make you forget that when you leave, you’re walking into a frozen wasteland. I wrote about the joys of winter in Providence – there are more than a few – in this story for Forbes. Bundle up and read on.