Borderline

From Maine Diane and I traveled northward until we reached the border of a great unknown vastness. The locals call it home. Some Americans call it the fifty-first state. All call it Canada.

On this trip across America we have gotten used to being strangers in our native land. Even so, we find that this fifty-first state is unlike any of the others. We don’t know what to make of it. Take the cities, for instance. From a distance they look like big American cities. This is St. John, New Brunswick.

But up close they’re much smaller. To my trained eye, St. John’s could pass for a mini San Francisco, CA.

Except that the men are more brave, the beasts are more ferocious…

… and the rivers run backwards.

Yup. We’ve seen it with our own eyes.

And now so have you. So it must be true.

Which is to say that Canada is a strange place that overflows with possibilities. Anything can happen. It’s a scary and yet freeing sort of sensation. It’s as if this place invites to completely reinvent ourselves. A hands-on visit to a Museum of Industry allowed us to try a few new personas on for size.

Diane got on the Ball as a hard-working gal in a chocolate factory…

… while I cast myself in the dual role of loud mouthed know-it-all union boss…

…and artless dodger.

Not that I have an experience with unionized labor or anything.

Regardless, this much is certain: The farther we go into the unknown wilds of this great white north, the more drastic we will change. There’s no telling who we will become; and there’s no telling how.

Maybe we won’t stop until we reach the top of Nova Scotia. Just looking at the map we can tell that’s a long way from here. All there's left for us to do is get in the bus and go.