How can anyone not love gorgeous Canada?
It is wild to me that my first visit to Canada was 67 years ago! I was six. Friends in our church had family in New Brunswick and we were invited to visit there.
They lived some distance from Fredericton, north. The family still did some logging with draft horses. This was a very different time, with no helmets or knee pads.
I was horse-mad (I carried a piece of string tied in a loop so I could catch a wild horse when I finally found one) and begged incessantly to ride May, a white (technically grey) mare.
Finally they gave in and I was heaved onto May’s broad back and somebody slapped May’s rump to get us going. My legs were splayed out nearly straight, but there was lots of harness to hang on to. I was in heaven.
When we were approaching the barn (May required no guidance, she was going home for dinner!) the barn door was half open. The bottom half was open. May plodded onward and I was gently scraped off her back into the dust. I was unhurt and delighted by my adventure.
The patriarch of the family was a man who liked his privacy (I assume that was the reason) and at 75 still sometimes snow-shoed further north to a little cabin where he’d stay for a week or two, hunting and/or fishing.
One morning we were up around dawn and setting off to pick wild blueberries. Someone had gone fishing and brought home trout. That meal - blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and fresh from the stream trout - will never be forgotten. I hope.
Splendid scenery, kind and generous people, and a glimpse of an earlier time.
How can anybody NOT love Canada?