Last December, Will and I spent our Christmas holidays in Mississippi with his side of the family. While we both really love each other’s families and enjoy spending time exploring each other’s old stomping grounds, I don’t know if I’ll ever shed the longing I feel for Canada when the holidays roll around. Christmas especially.
It was after I’d gone to bed on Christmas Day eve when I found myself most homesick during that holiday season, and it wasn’t just for family or my hometown, but for my country. Unable to sleep I grabbed my ipod, propped myself up on my elbows and scrolled through my playlists…everything that appealed to me seemed like perfect tear-jerker material. Not what I needed. I skipped over to the podcasts and found one of my favourite comforts, “The Vinyl Cafe”. Now “The Vinyl Cafe” needs no introducing for most Canadians, but for those south of the border and beyond unfamiliar with all things ‘CBC’, let me provide you with a bit of context. “The Vinyl Cafe” is a weekly radio production hosted by a wonderful storyteller by the name of Stuart McLean. The show is featured on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s radio national broadcast and also tours through the same towns and cities where its listeners reside. Live tapings of the show take place in halls and auditoriums across the land and when these shows air, the energy of the audience seems almost tangible. The aura is both electric and cozy at the same time and I often wonder if that same blend of wonder and warmth was present during old-time radio broadcasts. Even though I never lived ‘back then’, I feel like I’m stepping back in time when I plug in my ear-buds and slide the volume up on my touch screen. Ironic, I know, but still…it’s the content, not the technology that seems nostalgic. The stories Stuart tells are mostly heartwarming, sometimes heart wrenching; some are fictional and written by Stuart and some are sent in by listeners and read aloud. It’s the kind of thing that Will and I have used to replace television in our home. With a bottle of local cab, a real wood fire, and our feet tucked into fur-lined moccasins, who needs Prime Time!?
Anyway, that crisp Mississippi night as I lay bundled up in bed next to Will, I tuned into “The Vinyl Cafe” and was glad to discover that the most recent broadcast was an in-studio show featuring letters written by listeners living abroad. Letters home, from a world full of expats who tune in from afar just like me, and feel instantaneously closer to our ‘home and native land’ the moment Stuart introduces the show. How utterly appropriate that I should get to lie in bed, thousands of miles from home, and listen to descriptions about what “The Vinyl Cafe” means to Canadians living and working abroad. An hour later, I fell headlong into a cozy slumber.
Far too early the next morning, I awoke to a new day, but still the same old feelings of homesickness. It’s odd, I rarely got homesick while traveling for weeks or months at a time, but taking up full residence in another country has definitely done a number on my heart. I used to think myself so adaptable, so able to disconnect from home when the time called for it. No, I’ve officially become a sappy, sentimental schmuck, but an infinitely more grateful one, so I guess the trade-off is worth it. Anyway, I was frustrated by the slump I’d found myself in yet again, and was determined to clear my head. Needing an escape of sorts, I bundled up and broke out into the dawn’s frosty morning air. Will was already out hunting and the rest of the family was still asleep, so I had the fields and woods near the house to myself. Standing among the icy field grasses, I dug a mandarin orange out of my pocket and peeled it as I thought about how seeing my breath reminded me of home. The warm, juicy slices of mandarin did the same thing; I’ve never been able to find seedless mandarins in the South, so when I saw them in California I brought a whole box with me for the holidays. Growing up in Canada, ‘Christmas oranges’ were integral to my yuletide experience. Finishing up the pint-sized orange, I tossed the peels into a shrub, stuffed my chilled hands into the pockets of my olive-green peacoat and looked around. There underfoot and throughout the field around me lay THOUSANDS of frosted maple leafs, their outlines traced by a sparkling halo of frost. HOLY MOLY!!! I just about started hooting and hollering, but thought better of it…no need to wake everyone up…I wanted these moments to myself. It was like my manna from the heavens, a sign that the Promised Land was not so far after all. Giddy as a pig in…merde, I unclipped the lenscap from my camera, crouched down and started photographing my beloved maple leaves. I probably shot a few dozen compositions and clusters of leaves. I shot until the sun rose high enough to begin thawing them out. My mood had altered instantly and I couldn’t wait to inform Will of my find.
Will’s boots were propped up on the porch when I got back to the house and I let the screen door slam as I went inside to find him. I wiped the fog from the camera’s LCD screen to show him my discovery, and as he peered at my shots, a look I didn’t know what to make of crossed Will’s face. My brows turned down in a scowl. What was he thinking, I wanted to know. And then the boom lowered. Those weren’t maple leaves. They didn’t HAVE any maple trees on that part of the property. Those were sycamore trees. I felt my heart slide down my left leg all the way to the floor. Way to burst my bubble. I was not impressed. I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted Will to go along with me just for the sake of it, but still I was pretty bummed. The slump reared its ugly head.
Eventually, obviously, I was fine. At some point within the next 24 hours I regained a cheerful spirit and moved on. A day or so after, we left for a wedding in Switzerland and I left the maple/sycamore leaves behind, both physically and mentally. Recently however, I recalled the incident and laughed at my incorrect observation. That is, until I remembered that those leaves really did pull me out of my temporary funk. They were a substitute of course, but they fooled me good. The sheer excitement I’d felt when I thought I’d found ‘home’ scattered across the back field is something I am still grateful for and seek out even now. I love living where I do and am pretty content to be there, but there’s nothing quite like finding home away from home. Which is why I decided to throw myself into hosting a Canada Day BBQ at our place in California on July 1. We served venison burgers, (shot by Will, made by me) potato salad featuring Mennonite farmer sausage straight from Winkler, MB., and a national dessert favourite, Nanaimo Bars. Canada flag lanterns were strung, a Canadian-artists-only playlist created, and Canadian gastronomic goodness served up. Home away from home. But home wouldn’t be the same unless good friends were there to share life with, and thankfully, we had some pretty fabulous ones turn up to help celebrate the things I miss about Canada.
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What do YOU miss when you’re away from home?
wow, sounds like you celebrated Canada right! Well done!
I was in Washington most of Friday after a week of being in the States. I crossed the border by Osoyoos around 8:30pm and was elated to be in Canada for even a few hours on Canada Day, even if all but one of those hours were spent in the car by myself!
I thought of you abit on that drive home. I wondered if the same displaced sense of ‘being away’ from home, and then the near-giddy sense of contentment, grounding, and ‘home’ that I felt while crossing the border, is something that follows you forever, or if after awhile you get past it.
I’ve never really thought that much about it, until I was away – and at that only for a week. I have new appreciation for how you live your life so beautifully, with feet firmly planted in both countries.
Hey Missy! I get giddy every time I come near the Canadian border….I don’t think that’ll ever change!!! I almost kiss the ground every time I land at YVR or YLW and sigh with contentment every time I see Vancouver or the Okanagan from the air. When I see something ‘Canadian’ in another country, esp. in the US, I get ridiculously excited. And I’ve never met another Canadian expat who feels anything different!