I was suddenly reminded of this blog I had started back in 2009 to shed some light on working and playing on the Canadian West Coast when on my Twitter profile (another casualty of my techo-descent in the last two years, apart from a chat with one of the Empire magazine editors during the Royal Wedding). It seems as if having another child in the house increases the amount of child-related business you have to do exponentially as if you are the Old Woman Who Lives in A Shoe. This in addition to the 4-5 hours of nightly paperwork that come with a thriving family practice in rural Canada combined to make somewhat of an excuse for my radio silence. I feel like making up for it is going to be rather like an extended episode of How I Met Your Mother, without ever getting to the punchline, but I will give it a try.
However, my recent immigration woes have prompted me into action to catch up on the last 2 years and continue to write this ex-pat guide to Canada and the life abroad. Several times I have thought about picking this up again - when a patient came into the clinic and stated he couldn't be too long as he had to go and skin a bear that had been shot by the Gibsons RCMP - apparently he is the 'go-to' guy for this task. And again when my husband was late home from the store and said 'sorry, I had to follow the bear down the road'. Or possibly when I was cycling at night and a coyote gave me the evil red-eye and scampered off into the night.
After my last post things in rural BC moved onward and upward. My father unfortunately became very ill with Crohn's disease which necessitated a speedy trip to the UK and many visits to St. Richard's Hospital in Chichester. While I was there I found out I was pregnant and that I would be having a little Canadian - which of course has since transpired, but more on that later.
Gradually, we insinuated ourselves upon this rural community - via various groups of people we came to see what makes small towns tick. I remember in the 80's being in love with John Cougar Mellencamp and his song Smalltown, as well as the Boss' My Hometown. I watched Footloose endlessly and also around this time fell in love with country music - something that boasted of little southern towns, where there's a county fair every fall and your friends are there no matter when you call (borrowed from Where I'm From by Jason Michael Carroll)....This love never faded and was only reinforced by a later trip to Nashville and all night in a honky-tonk - much to the general amazement of everyone I meet (there is something odd about a doctor from central London who can sing you all of Tammy Wynette's hits.) However, is it really that strange? I grew up in a city where it was rare to know your neighbours and the stifling pressure of thousands of people surrounding you like an amorphous mass could be both comforting and isolating. I remember seeing Doc Hollywood, the dreadfully monikered but much underrated Michael J. Fox movie of the 80's about a hot-shot ER doctor from DC on his way to work as a plastic surgeon in LA who ends up doing 'community service' in a small town in the South and is lured by the informality, the warmth of feeling and of course, the beautiful girl in this outpost. Despite the old adage (townie is transformed by smalltown ways), there were some lovely moments in this film, especially one moment where the eponymous doc looks on as people watch an old black and white movie in the open air, with the mist of humidity in the light of the projector.
It is from this movie that I borrow a line frequently - 'you can't poop in this town without everybody knowing what colour it is'. I had always wanted to live somewhere where this may be true - and where you could leave your car unlocked, where you could drive home in bare feet and where you can see everyone you know while out shopping. And I have to say, now we do, it pretty much lives up to expectations - my poop is generally a warm ochre for those who wish to know....
This will be our 4th Canada Day in Canada - the embodiment of all things Canadian and also all things smalltown. The parade is a mysterious commixture of entities from the environs of the Coast - an autocade initially of the Coasters car club, pristine cars you could eat your lunch on meandering past with the drivers throwing candy to the children from the windows. Then children on the bikes they have spent all morning decorating, followed by a set of proud parents covered in crazy glue and propped up with caffeine. Then floats from various local businesses, occasionally the MP with large grin shaking hands and kissing children, the La Leche league (mothers for breastfeeding who I was mistakenly calling the Dulce De Leche league for some time - still I am sure the breastfeeding goes well with banoffi pie), the hospital auxiliary who tirelessly raise funds for our little local hospital and the war veterans whose mere presence in this procession makes me cry for those lost. Bringing up the rear - the emergency service vehicles, watched intently and cheered by my 3 year old - 'look Momma, a big fire truck'!
After this families pick up their folding chairs, umbrellas on occasion, Canadian flags and small children and amble to Hackett Park for the stalls and bouncy castle. Graham Walker is a local children's entertainer who makes great cd's full of music that don't make you want to kill someone (take note Wiggles) and often is playing here, with a field full of kids pretending to jump like frogs and buzz around like bees. There are craft stalls full of jewellry, pottery, carvings and glass, some of which is worthy of a purchase or two, and a huge bouncy castle. The First Nation have a salmon lunch stall where you can purchase BBQ salmon and sit and eat it on the empty bleachers which until recently were full of parental bums, cheering on their teens. After all of this there is usually a house party or two, and running through it all, the illustrious (or should I say industrious, as I feel the Canadian flag works hard) Maple Leaf.
This was what I had dreamed about - on this day we sit on 'our corner' with a bunch of friends. We speak to everyone and there is a congeniality and warmth that feels welcoming and undemanding. Small town life at its most picturesque and accessible.
But just remember, I also love these lines -
And that road rolls out like a welcome mat
I don't know where it goes but it beats where we're at
We always said someday somehow
We were gonna get away gonna blow this town
So maybe one day I will. But it's not going to be anytime soon.
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