Last week, I was standing around watching some high school students working in the local community garden. The students had been assigned to pull up all the dead plants, which made me think about indentured service, but it also made me think about roots, specifically my roots in this province.
I’ve just celebrated my 24th anniversary in Quebec. If Quebec and I were married, the etiquette guides say we should be marking the occasion by giving each other musical instruments. And then I might make a speech, like: “Even though it’s hard to keep the magic alive, and even though you drive me crazy most of the time, I still love you, Quebec. And you still make me horny – in a purely musical instrument kind of way, of course!”
I’ve established roots in Quebec. This is where I got married and raised a family. It’s where I’ve built my career. It’s where I learned that just because you can buy beer and wine until 11 p.m. doesn’t mean you should.
But every now and then – usually when the political climate turns nasty, as it seems to with cyclical predictability – I wonder what’s keeping us here.
Read the rest at Life in Quebec…