We're a Country of Winter — and I Think the Market Knows It

Ask anyone who's spent a July in Manitoba: our summer is a gift, and it's short. The lake calls. The cottage calls. The patio calls. And for about eight weeks, a lot of the country quietly agrees to deal with the important stuff later.

I've come to believe our markets do something similar. Call it a hunch earned from years of watching how people actually behave with their money — but the more I dig into the research, the more the data seems to agree.

"Sell in May" isn't just a rhyme

There's an old market saying — "Sell in May and go away" — that sounds like the kind of thing your uncle repeats at a barbecue. Except researchers took it seriously, and it held up far better than almost anyone expected.

A landmark 2002 study by Bouman and Jacobsen looked at 37 stock markets around the world and found that returns from November through April were meaningfully higher than returns from May through October — in 36 of the 37. Later work stretched the data across three centuries and dozens more countries and found the same lopsided pattern held in the large majority of them.

Here's the part I find most telling. After testing explanation after explanation, the researchers kept landing on the least glamorous one: vacations. When the people who move money ease off for the summer, the market's engine quietly idles.

That's not a spreadsheet talking. That's human nature. And I don't know a place that lives its summer more intensely — or more briefly — than Canada.

Why I think Canada shows it more clearly than the U.S.

Now for the honest wrinkle, because good arguments earn trust by facing the awkward parts.

The seasonal pattern is strongest in Europe. In the United States, it's real but muddier — several studies find you can't reliably trade on it, and Wall Street mostly shrugs at the calendar. At first glance that looks like a strike against my theory. I actually think it's the best evidence for it.

Consider what New York runs on. It's the front door for global capital, and its market is dominated by technology — companies whose customers and shareholders span every time zone and every hemisphere. When it's summer in Manhattan, it isn't summer everywhere, and a data centre doesn't take August off. The U.S. market is diversified enough, and global enough, that no single season gets to set the tone.

Canada is a different animal. Our market — the TSX — is concentrated: financials, energy, and materials make up roughly two-thirds of it. That's a market tied to banks, oil, and mines. Cyclical, physical, driven by real-world demand that has its own rhythms. It's also more domestic. And our decision-makers, our advisors, our business owners — we are, culturally, a country that clears out in July.

Shorter summer. More concentrated market. More local capital. To me, that's a recipe for a market that feels the seasons the way the rest of us do.

The catch — because there's always a catch

If you're reading this in the summer of 2026 and thinking, "Lei, the TSX is having one of its best runs in history," you're right. Canadian stocks have outpaced the S&P 500 for three straight quarters, oil and gold are doing the heavy lifting, and a noisy political and trade environment is throwing markets around week to week.

So does that break my theory? No — but it keeps me humble.

Seasonality is a tendency measured across decades, not a promise about any single summer. In any given year, a trade war, an oil shock, or an election can drown out the quiet seasonal signal entirely. 2026 is a loud year, and loud years are exactly when the calendar takes a back seat.

That distinction — signal versus noise — is most of my job. Patterns tell you what usually happens. They never tell you what will happen next.

So what do I actually do with this?

Nothing dramatic. I don't time the market on a rhyme, and I'd gently steer any client away from trying. Missing the market's best days is a far more expensive mistake than sitting through a sleepy summer.

If you’re interested in taking a more thoughtful approach to your financial planning, you can learn more about our approach here.

What seasonality gives me isn't a trading signal — it's a lens. It reminds me that markets are made of people, and people have seasons. It helps me set expectations, so a quiet summer doesn't feel like something's broken. And it's a nudge to do the boring, valuable work — rebalancing, planning, tax housekeeping — in the seasons when everyone's actually paying attention.

We're a country of winter. Our market, I'd argue, is too. And there's something reassuring in that: even the markets, it seems, know enough to take the summer off.

What do you think — does the calendar still matter in a market that trades globally around the clock? I'd love to hear from the advisors and investors in my network.

This article reflects my own views and is for general information only. It is not investment advice or a recommendation to buy, sell, or time any security. Past patterns don't predict future results.