My Dear Canada
A Midsummer's Daydream
Hello neighbor, I am reaching out to tell you how much I appreciate you. I love having you so near and knowing that I have always felt welcomed to visit and enjoy your home. And likewise, for you here at my home. It’s a comfort of shared values and warm hospitality.
That’s why I am so sorry that you are now hurt, offended, and angry. Not by anything I have done or said, but the toxic actions of someone else have made you not want to visit my home. And sadly, I am now embarrassed to visit your home.
That’s why I am writing this letter to you. To express how sorry I am.
My Dear Canada,
We share much more than just 5,500 miles of border. But lately, that trust and friendship have been broken, and I don’t blame you for being pissed and not wanting to visit. I completely understand why you take pride in everything you have at home and why you want to prove you don’t need us.
But, selfishly, the sensible people in the States (and trust me, there are many of us!) need and want you. We value your friendship and share a mutual love for one another. I live just six hours south of your fantastic city, Vancouver, and over the five decades I have lived on Earth, I have visited many parts of your great nation. Granted, most of it is the populous southern area, but I have dreamed of pushing higher and deeper. I told myself I would do it one day. But you are a vast country with a lot more open land than the US.
It would take time.
A lot of time.
However, I have always had wonderful visits to Vancouver. I’ve explored that entire city on foot and by bike. I wandered through its beautiful Stanley Park, watched people with New Year’s Day hangovers take the Polar Bear plunge on the West End shoreline, browsed your record bins, enjoyed drinks at your bars, and had the greatest ramen of my life in your city. I have also been in a helicopter circling your tall skyline while watching the sun kiss the towers good night as it dipped below the horizon, beautifully sculpted by Vancouver Island.
In 1992, while still in college, I took the train from New York and spent four frozen days in your cultured and sophisticated city of Montreal. My French is terrible, but I tried my best. I promise.
When I was still in my Master’s program, my girlfriend (now my wife) would visit from London, and we would often jump in my 1981 Honda Prelude and go on long road trips. We once drove from Albany, New York, to Niagara and then over to Toronto, where we spent two wonderful days in your largest, most diverse, and cosmopolitan city. On our way back, we drove the entire length of Lake Ontario’s Canadian coastline to New York State.
After graduating with my Master’s degree, we drove northeast to Nova Scotia. We made a brief pit stop in St. John, New Brunswick, where we had dinner, played pool in a bar, and drank a few bottles of Moosehead before crashing for the night at one of your cheap hotels. We eventually made it to Cheticamp on the northwestern shore of Cape Breton Island, where we spent several foggy days. One morning, we paid a fisherman to catch some crabs for us. We collected it later that day and took it to a local restaurant that offered to cook it for us. We then traveled south through the entire length of Nova Scotia, spent a night in the gritty port city of Halifax, and continued down to the rugged shores of Peggy’s Cove, where just a few years later, it would become known worldwide due to a tragic plane crash.
From Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, we ferried across the tumultuous Bay of Fundy to Portland, Maine, and spent many hours being violently seasick, vowing never to do it again!
In the summer of 2006, when I was still living in London, we visited my sister in Syracuse, New York. We all took her boat from Alexandria Bay on the St. Lawrence Seaway, through the Thousand Islands, docked in Kingston, Ontario, and enjoyed a lovely lunch in that small limestone city.
And, just a few years ago, I donated an authentic and fascinating example of a Congolese Nkisi figure to the University of British Columbia’s Museum of Anthropology. I spent a few terrifying hours being interrogated by your border police for it, but eventually the Head of African Studies convinced them to let me through.
One day, I promise to write that story!
My Dear Canada,
You see, my love and appreciation extend far and wide, and go back to my childhood. As a young boy, I loved hard rock music, and I eventually discovered Canadian legends April Wine and Triumph. For whatever reason, I always liked these two bands more than your beloved Rush. I also saw them both when I was twelve. Triumph were on their Allied Forces tour, and I saw April Wine during their Nature of the Beast tour. To this day, I still have a soft spot for ‘70s-era April Wine, and I have also always thought Triumph’s Rik Emmett is one of the most overlooked and underappreciated rock guitarists.
But it was when I was a teen and fell in love with psychedelic rock and hippie music that I discovered some of the obscure bands from your past. There are many that I dig, but it is the wonderful communal hippie freaks from Stratford, Ontario, who called themselves The Perth County Conspiracy Does Not Exist, that I really fell in love with.
If you, my dear Canada, have forgotten about them, I once wrote about this magical band of hairy poets, musicians, and theatrical friends here:
The Perth County Conspiracy Does Not Exist
Feel free to read about them. They may not be as universally known as Joni, Neil, Rush, The Band, April Wine, Triumph, The Guess Who, or even Steppenwolf. However, they are still a wonderful part of your rich musical history.
And now, here we are, in this terrible situation where a bully is trying to destroy all that we share. Please understand that this hostility isn’t coming from us, the rational people of the United States. It is not a result of anything you have done either. This bully is also inflicting harm on his own people. He is causing fear and violence here, too. My own daughter is anxious and scared simply because of who she is. However, take comfort in knowing that the sensible people won’t let him rip it all apart. We will stand up to the bullies and do everything we can to mend what he has shattered.
So please feel free to visit anytime.
The kettle is boiling, and dinner is in the oven. I also bought us a bottle of Lot No. 40 Canadian Whiskey, which we can enjoy. Let me throw another log on the fire, and I will pull out my Perth County Conspiracy albums. I have much to share and say about that merry band of yours.
But before that, close your eyes, and let me play you Rik Emmett’s beautiful ‘Midsummer’s Daydream.’ This acoustic interlude is stunningly gorgeous and stands out on what is an otherwise straightforward 1980s rock album. But I have always loved this tune.
More importantly, however, I, too, am daydreaming about the end of this American nightmare.
So, let’s now dream about our futures together, as neighbors who once again care for, respect, value, and look out for one another.
Afterall, that is what friends are for.
And, you are always welcome here.
Well, speaking from a place you refer to as gritty, I can say that I owe a lot of my success (and for the past few months what bills I have been able to cover) to folks below the 49th. So I've lost no love for America or Americans, even if I fear that your leader may annex us and ruin my life in every conceivable way. Until such time as I can travel there withouth worrying about my passport or what I've written about the orange brute, I'll send warm vibes back to you from this side of the border. And know I'm not alone in that, but I don't think many of us will be crossing that line for a while.
You’d be very welcome for a return visit. 🇨🇦