People are largely wrong about a lot of stuff - even on both sides of any discussion. We are creatures of comfort in that way. One biggies in this respect is the perceptions we have of places we have never been. Maritimers like me disliking what is still called "Upper Canada", Canadians thinking Americans are boorish and loud as a knee jerk. Often there is little truth because truth wasn't a factor taken into consideration when the knee twitched.

One such thought of mine is always dashed when I come to small town southwest Ontario, the land of long straight roads and in-laws, Mennonite buggies and regional supply towns. Balloons at the ends of lanes, garages as a third space, BBQs on Saturday night where no one much worries about whether any of the chip dips were homemade, where pork and fish are exotic meats and where the headlights of the car can extend the horseshoe game over by the ballpark. Neighbours bringing lawnchairs and beers not made by craft talk over the din of crickets as happy kids shout night night from bedroom windows. No high school glory days talk because they never moved away in the decade since - just plans for a better deck, talk about sports requiring internal combustion engines and whether poker would cap the night. It's special in that it is so common given what this continent can give. But if you come from something else like a place where having a cottage or even a lawn is beyond the imagination let alone the budget, where distance is too great to support the factory in the next town that pays all these mortgages or where class differentiates you may see it.