In the Fraser Valley last week, I was leaving a hotel lobby to return to the room. The night air felt brisk on the face; snow or rain may have been falling. <\/p>\n
Feeling the cold’s sharpness, I was hurrying to return indoors, but slowed to do a double-take. Twenty feet outside the main doors stood a tall man in cowboy hat and boots and a sports shirt. Behind him, a pickup truck idled; on its other side stood his friend, dressed similarly. <\/p>\n
By their posture, the two men were in their twenties. I could tell they are taller than I am, and fit. Neither wore a coat, nor were they in any hurry to enter the hotel. They looked at me, in my quilted bright orange winter jacket, as if I’m from the moon. Then they resumed talking.<\/p>\n
“They must be from Alberta,” I realized. Glancing at their license plate, I saw red numbers.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it might take a Canadian to know another one. Furthermore, Canada is big enough – and old enough – to have its own distinct ethnicities. The ability of those Albertans to cross the Rockies, then stand in a Fraser Valley parking lot like it’s their backyard, is delightful.<\/p>\n
Happy holidays:)<\/p>\n