O Canada

Getting There

Four flights, with a total flying time of twenty-one hours.  Five hours (maybe more) waiting on the tarmac. Eight airport terminals. Three trips through security and two trips through immigration. Two waits at luggage collection.  More than twelve queues, one lasting nearly an hour.  Six episodes of James sprawled on the floor declaring he’s about to die (His mother secretly sympathetic but insisting that he get up post haste).  Four Saturday morning breakfasts, one lunch and no dinners all on the same calendar day.  Thirty-five hours total door to door, ending with a two-hour car ride from midnight to 2am.  Two entire nights of sleep gone forever.

 Was it worth it?  You bet.  Read on and see if you agree.

Arrival

When we debarked from the final flight in Moncton, New Brunswick, I gulped in lungful after lungful of the fresh air.  Its unique scent, a combination of sea breezes, spruce forests, and earthiness that is unique to this part of the world, was the best possible tonic after thirty-two straight hours spent on airplanes and in airports.  I love the smell of New Brunswick air.  It has inspired me to list all of the other things I love about this corner of Canada.

Hospitality

Upon staggering into Cousin Maxine’s cottage at 2am on Sunday morning, the first thing I noted were the mournful calls of the loons from the other side of the lake.  The second was the still-warm rhubarb crumble waiting for us on the countertop. It seemed too good to be true. Perhaps Maxine intended to return the following day and carry it off to a special dinner.  And yet there it was uncovered … Hunger overcame any remaining scruples and we tucked in, savoring every last mouthful.

We discovered the next day, as we devoured a lunch of roasted chicken, broccoli salad, potato wedges, potato salad, and carrot cake delivered to us by Ross’s parents that it was in fact intended for us.  Maxine had stayed up until 11pm to bake it in time for our arrival. There are many places in the world famous for their hospitality.  Fredericton, New Brunswick should surely be given a spot on that list.

 Flora

Summers in New Brunswick are short.  Perhaps for that reason every bit of color possible is packed into those short months.  The flowers, set as they are against a background of the evergreens and silvery birch trees, are a feast for the eyes.  Now I love the fact that in Melbourne we have flowers that bloom all year long.  There is something special, however, about gardens that last only a few months before being covered again in a blanket of snow.  The lupin in particular have caught my eye this year.  The lavender and mauve blossoms are everywhere, from cultivated gardens to wild patches along the roadsides.

Family

 I am keenly aware that not everyone has family eagerly awaiting them on the other side of the world.  We feel particularly blessed in that regard.  We are warmly welcomed year after year no matter where we happen to be living at the time, and for that we are grateful.

 

Rivers, Lakes and Cottages

 If you look at a map of Canada, you will notice that it is dotted by hundreds of bodies of water.  A cottage on a lake is an iconic symbol of this country.  With its harsh winters, it is little wonder that Canadians spend every possible moment by the water during summer.  The city of Fredericton is located on the St John River, making for a pretty setting.  Numerous nearby lakes add to its attraction, including the lake where Maxine’s cottage is located.  We feel blessed beyond measure that she shares it with us for a few glorious days each summer.

As I type this morning I am looking out over a peaceful lake ringed by evergreens.  A brief rain shower recently cleared the air, and now gentle breezes moderate the warm sunshine. The stillness is palpable, allowing me to hear frogs croaking, loons calling, and dozens of nearby birds singing.  Occasionally a car passes by.  It is amazing to realize that it can be heard long before it approaches the cottage.  In Melbourne the noise of traffic is such a constant that one never notices noise from an individual vehicle.

 On this our fourth trip back to North America from Australia I have concluded that jet lag can be compared in at least one regard to childbirth.  You forget the worst of it until you go through it again.  Sophie and I have discovered one way this year of adjusting quickly to a thirteen-hour time difference.  If you spend fifty-five hours with a grand total of eight hours of sleep, and those eight hours broken into three interrupted chunks, you can pretty much sleep on demand after that point.  I can think of no better place to recover, however, than this little corner of eastern Canada.

 

 

Comments

[whit's end mom]

I always marvel that you make it. I mean, I think I would go crazy! Yes, comparison to childbirth is probably a good analogy.