Oh Canada!

Welcome to Canada, it's the Maple Leaf State.
Canada, oh Canada it's great!
The people are nice and they speak French too.
If you don't like it, man, you sniff glue.
The Great White North, their kilts are plaid,
Hosers take off, it's not half bad.
I want to be where yaks can run free,
Where Royal Mounties can arrest me.
Let's go to Canada, let's leave today,
Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait.
They've got trees, and mooses, and sled dogs,
Lots of lumber, and lumberjacks, and logs!
We all think it's kind of a drag,
That you have to go there to get milk in a bag.
They say "eh?" instead of "what?" or "duh?"
That's the mighty power of Canada.
I want to be where lemmings run into the sea,
Where the marmosets can attack me.
Let's go to Canada, let's leave today,
Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait.
Please, please, explain to me,
How this all has come to be,
We forgot to mention something here.
Did we say that William Shatner is a native citizen?
And Slurpees made from venison,
That's deer.
Let's go to Canada, let's leave today,
Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait.

It smells like the moment before a gun shot.

12 steps away from getting run over and two blackberries later,

I am home.

It's nice to be here again.

how summer thoughts are spent.

Sometimes I think I have the stupidest fantasies ever.

Who dreams of canning vegetables and picking strawberries in patched overalls?

Why do I keep thinking about wrap-around porches and sun tea and riding horses?

Will I give a speech when my squash wins at the county fair?

I get emotional about a rustic smell that will become familiar after we've spent the afternoon splitting fence posts and baling hay.

Calico will be my fabric of choice. Followed closely by gingham. Burlap for the flour sacks. Because we will have those, dammit.

I want to dance to Brooks and Chesney without it being a joke.

Wheat will be in my mouth at all times, except when I am kissing my toned shirtless farmer at sunset whose skin can be found somewhere between dirt and sweat.

There will be barn parties and early morning suns with handmade quilts and fresh black coffee enjoyed in a rocking chair.

There will always be cold lemonade in a mason jar for the weary traveler, and trips to town will be a planned affair.

Perhaps an RV, just in case the farm life gets old.

But I don't think it will. And anyway, maybe thats the point?