I grew up in Alberta: That’s my excuse.
That’s my excuse for thinking that Halifax is a long way away: It used to be. I have no excuse for continuing to think so.
Our recent visit to the Cabot Trail reinforced my West Coast learning that coastal areas are slow drives, but completely upended my idea about where Halifax is with respect to where I am: Ottawa, in the event. I moved significantly eastward in 2002, but Halifax didn’t. That puts it a mere 90-minute flight away: roughly the same air-travel time to Vancouver from Edmonton or Calgary, both cities where I’ve lived. Both cities where I felt that the coast was not such a *long* way away.
Since moving to Ottawa I’ve been mildly grieving my separation from the West Coast. Not an immature pouting, you understand; more a dignified and understated expression of loss. Yet as it turns out, the East Coast is a decent substitute for the West. It’s not a replica but there are many similarities, both physical and cultural. Herewith, a few.
Ships & Boats
Nautical Decor. Everywhere.
Local Whimsy & Imagination
As for the poem that gave me my title, here *it* is. I don’t know what excuse I can conjure for misquoting its first line all these years:
I must go down to the sea again
John Masefield (*not* Mansfield) (another excuse needed here) clearly uses the plural, seas. Yes, there is more than one.
When I’m not near the seas I love
I’ll love the seas I’m near.
– Burton Lane, Finian’s Rainbow (as modified, no excuses)