As the tundra thaws.

Can it be that it was all so simple then,
or has time rewritten every line ...

That couplet query from the classic tune "The Way We Were" has been crooned by everyone from Doris Day to Gladys Knight, Bassey to Beyoncé - even sampled by Wu Tang, but originally featured in Barbara Streisand's 1973 film of the same title.

Undoubtedly intended for wistful romanticism in the context of the screenplay, the universality of sentiment lends itself to broader interpretation, in the tradition of the greatest song lyrics.

A chilly mid-March trip to Ottawa, the stoic capital of Canada, and a foray to its impressive Museum of Civilization, stirred some misty watercolor memories in the corners of my mind, which I've parlayed into a dot-to-dot, didactic dispatch from the diaspora.



Images of imperial impetus, implicit on London's festooned Coronation Arch, surpass largesse and God's love for King.

This was in fact, brilliant billboard marketing strategy by Canadian politico Sir Clifford Sifton, in encouragement of immigration en masse from Britain, amid the euphoria of Edward VII's crowning.

Invite them and they will come. All so simple then, in 1902.

However, just as each successive singer re-interprets a familiar standard, so too is history, in time, rewritten ... every line.

Sifton's Conservative immigration policies expressly discouraged such "undesirables" as Asians, Jews and Blacks, while millions of Continental Europeans were seduced and settled. Still, post-war, and particularly post-Expo '67, patterns of immigration ensure what's too painful to remember, we can't simply choose to forget.

 

 As my scattered pictures can attest to, the social fabric of Canada is sewn with imported memories from disparate realities and far-flung motherlands. We are a populated, yet sparse Precambrian template where tropic meets temperate, turning tundra into hybrid identity.

Don't tell me Jerk Poutine doesn't make sense in this melange.

Back in the sanctuary of my venerable copper-roofed refuge, the Lord Elgin Hotel (on, you guessed it, Elgin Street - after James Bruce 8th Earl of Elgin who became Governor General of Canada in 1847), I mine for more insight into the way we were.

And I find gold.

It turns out that our good peer, was deployed northward after four challenging years as Governor of Jamaica. From one territory reeling from profit-loss after the end of four hundred years of enforced agricultural labor, to another where farms were selectively granted gratis.

Both lands requiring responsible structural self-governance. A cooling Carib-cauldron, for flux of a frigid frontier, warming up.



But, as I've discovered during this throwback winter-of-old, it can't have been easy as a pioneer, regardless of circumstance. So much so, that even when the weather improves it's advisable to keep looking above, as the thaw presents a discrete set of issues.

This is testimony that nothing is ever truly simple, answering one question in the song - the one about simplicity and time, yet highlighting the next conundrum therein.

If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? could we?

Home is where the heat is.

Wintertime must be the mightiest of seasons. During this season few non-arctic organisms can function to full potential without compromising to the elements. This alone suggests mankind and short haired mammals weren't intended to inhabit regions where winter is so powerful. People who do, have adapted in order to do so. The remainder of us prefer to ... er, hang back on that strategy.

Even winters in the Caribbean can be noticeably cooler, but I can't think of a single tropical animal that has to hibernate.

Since there's an exception to every rule, I expect some bright spark to find a South American Singing Tree Sloth that takes long naps, and hype it to counter my argument. Namely, said hypothesis that we ain't supposed to be dealin' wit' environments which make hard, brittle things, out of soft, pliable ones.

Today was so cold I witnessed a traffic signal go from red, to yellow, then not to green, but to blue! Of course that could've been due to an optical illusion that occurs when your cornea freezes, but it's a minor quibble. It sure looked BLUE!

And this is after I saw what happened to that water inside my shut car. Which was inside my closed garage. Yep, you guessed it - frozed up real good, inside the plastic bottle.

That's, like, triple insulation, is it not?

Regional News is reporting loud, unusual subterranean noises. And ground shaking. Frost quakes they're calling them.

Whatchootalkin'boutWillis?

I ran this by the likable local limnologist who lives down the lane. This is Canada. Here, everybody has one of these.
"It makes complete sense," was his confirmation that we are dealing with cryoseisms resulting from the current deep freeze.

If I was a lawyer I'd feel I could rest my case at this point.
Clearly, beyond a reasonable doubt, we need to reassert our national entitlement to the Turks and Caicos Islands.

It's gonna be a long, long winter, for me.

Up around the bend.

Before snow settles on Great White North,

a sunny day pictured, may flatter warm. 

Bright perspective. Ambitious roadside grass,

could too, in the heat of your car,

trade winter-weary wonderment for arrid solstice.

It's good to throw evocative image at the soul,

keep blood flow to tropics of imagination.

Temperate lobes need massage too.  

Leaves on the ground.

Spent verdancy. Can't see forest for bare trees.

Carpet-floor, mossy-rock green. Anticipate a layering blanket.

Then. Remembrance Day scene. Normandy newsreel.

Alice In Wonderland snowball bauble.

Foreboding, even to look outside.

It's gonna be a long, long winter, you see,

as Wailers homage Impressions in

select soundtrack this season. Cold, and dreary, and blue.

 

A longer longtime coming. Simply safe and secure.

Roofs cave in winter without a strong heart.

But turnaround is still fair play,

and full lives continue to grow,

through rotating deep freeze. Long.

Just long enough, 'til time for Tamarack to rewake. 

... paradise by the dashboard light ...

... cross country bladers, recreational boarders and avowed winter buffs will take issue with the cliche of paradise as a sunny hotspot, but this year, 2011, found Ontario's Muskoka region atop National Geographic's touted list of summer destinations ...

... even though "paradise" sorta rhymes with "snow and ice," the comparisons end there if you are hot-blooded, thin-skinned or partial to polar fleece and fur ... left unheralded is the under-appreciated, out-of-season visceral beauty to be experienced when Arctic perimeter expands through the area ...

... allow yourself to picture that chilled winter wonderland, warmed by in-seat heating and auto climate-control, dusk and nightfall suggesting the urgent carnal condition Meat Loaf sings of on 1977's "Paradise By The Dashboard Light"... my best guess is - your imagination excludes freezing rain, sludge and road-salt ...

... that said, and in the interest of honoring the grandeur of the universe, I can still make a case for low-temp surrealism ... in this instance, tab snapshots taken in the same evening by you and I, lovers driving separately through unconnected weather systems, hint at a synchronous spark across time and space ...

... inside-out, eerie eye-views speak of the driving conditions ... please note telltale tachometers, indicating the foolish needn't also be foolhardy ...