Nomad

Canada has proved to live up to its brotherly ways. The older sibling that knows the ropes, that is kind, open, and accepting. We have met some genuinely awesome folks that live a relatively quiet (at least in the winter months) life. The roads we walk are gravel and filled with dirt containing the cleanest snowmelt waters I have ever witnessed. When we arrived the snow had encased the entire world on this mountain and held it captive until only a week and half ago. I have never known air to smell so crisp. I can step outside, breathe deeply, and clear every worrying thought in my mind. Sunshine is abundant here. It wakes me up early in the morning and shines well into the evening, still waltzing its way towards sunset and even after, usually around eight pm.

We have a plague of houseflies that seems to show up when we get a scorching fire going in the wood stove. They dart into one another and smash themselves up against the glass all fucking day long. When they tire of that, they terrorize us by plunging into our drinks, our shirts, our boots. I have grown accusmed to the buzzing sound and sometimes, at night, when it is too cold for the assholes to be out, find myself missing that white noise they create. That’s usually when we turn the radio on. By that I mean, crank it on. We have sat patiently in the living room area turning and turning the handle listening to our favorite Canadian radio shows. The radio has been a savior keeping us connected to music and sound.

When we drive the hour to the bigger city, first down and around the mountain, then back up and over, the second thing I do after plugging the computer and cell phones into the charging outlet, is pick an album and blast it. On one hand it feels wrong to inch past the Buddhist Monastery with music at a volume of 25, but it feels so good to sing along to St. Vincent and rock my body back and forth like I am a fish out of water.  It also feels good to be in a town, even if it is ¼ of what I am used to. More things are springing to life as the season changes and fishermen and crews set out to do some work after staying inside for several months. We are no longer the newbies in town, people recognize us when we buy groceries or when we stop to soak up free Wi-Fi along the way and that feels good. It seems we are a bit of an easy target with a Pennsylvania license plate. Most folks comment on the Penguins or Sidney Crosby before sniffing us out and all of them are easily approachable wearing grins as they start to feel us out and figure out just what it IS that we are doing in this tiny place.

The thing with tiny towns is there always seems to be a steady flow of activity. The mail is going to go out, the dog needs walked, the trash needs to be taken out and the car needs gas. I look forward to the other tiny towns, and the bigger ones, of course, to settle back down and find a groove just like an old record player.