In the barn, where our farm glamping guests gather for morning coffee, we have a metal cutout of the silhouette of Gord Downie, the late frontman for Canada’s rock band, The Tragically Hip. I bought it from an artist in Harriston.
It’s hung above the barn door so that Gord sees all who pass through. He guards and blesses this space. It’s a divine symbol for the Carpenter and I. Like the horse shoes tacked up on the barn boards from previous owners, his image is a sign of luck and hope for the future. The spirit of Gord. The religion of The Hip. The nostalgia for a sound that became our nation’s own. It’s a Canadian thing.
Gord’s silhouette features his brimmed hat, made famous on the band’s final tour. He’s singing into a microphone held up with one hand, while the other hand is raised, fingers spread out, in a pose that looks as if he is telling an epic tale, with a grand vision he wants us all to see, a lyrical story of our nationhood, mysteriously undefined yet authentically true. If you know the band, you know what I mean. It’s a Gord thing.
You know what else is a Canadian thing? Living in peace. We are so fortunate, and as such, we’re spoiled. What we take for granted makes me wonder if we appreciate our Canadian status. It’s the important things like the right to vote, the right to own your own body, to have medical care accessible to all, public education, and the freedom to love who you love without fear or persecution. You know, little stuff like that. Sure, systems are broken, but they exist because they are our values. If we value them, we must work on them.
We recently had a family visit our farm. The father was Russian. The mother was Ukrainian. They brought their two young children to start a life in Canada two years ago. We talked about country life versus city life, raising children, our childhoods and families. We had much in common except that one large, looming cloud: war. The Carpenter and I grew up in a country where our rights and freedoms were a given, while these two grew up in the shadow of conflicts that weaved through their ancestry, a lineage that witnessed things we’ve only read about, through to their present day, where the news isn’t a headline, but a hometown. They both laughed explaining how often they get asked if they are even allowed to be married, given their countries of origin. But their love for each other and their children was evident in every gesture.
Like us, they want their children to know peace, equality, safety and opportunity. A healthy future in a resilient land; a good life. Canada. I asked them if they felt the politics of division here, spurred on by our fascination with American politics that, shamefully, influences our own. The man smiled. He said he didn’t pay attention to those headlines. His focus is on building a positive life for his family here.
He explained, “In America they strip away who you are so you can fit in. Here, you can be who you are and celebrate your origins and everybody else’s too, and you’re welcomed to do it and still fit in.”
Gord would love that. That’s who we are, Canada. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, even if they’re waving our flag.
