See thee rise

We spend as much time as possible in the little town on the ocean. Last summer Iain and Yvonne, Shawn and Jace built a small addition to our 150-year-old wooden house, faithfully in the same style. Town hall contacted us when it was done to say thanks.

A couple of weeks ago, during the 266th birthday of the place, with a clot of people crowded around the bandshell in the old parade square (and before a giant cake was carved up), the mayor gave us a Heritage Award. She made a speech about the people who landed down on the shore in 1753, and mentioned that her family had been on one of the boats.

This may give a hint as to why this is a good place to spend time. The tourists wandering around the harbour and thronging the stores, galleries and waterfront cafes are fun – Bandit loves the attention he gets – but it’s the depth of this small society that endures. On the first Canada Day, this Towa was 114 years old.

So I bought a stone bank on the main street (and mentioned this here a year ago). After tearing out the BeeMo wickets, ATMs and night deposit box, it was restored to its 19th Century floorplan. Now it’s a satellite branch of my Toronto-based business. My employees on Bay Street have to travel 53 floors into the clouds of a bank tower, high above the gridlock. Here they work one block from the harbour, in a little fortress with a vault and a dome. We had some extra space, so I donated it to the community. Now those running a sea school and a documentary film festival are colleagues, and there’s a young sculptor in the basement. The former BMO server room is now a studio, and smells deliciously of wood chips.

Two days ago some folks showed up to hoist the 30-foot-long maple leaf flag that few above the Peace Tower. On this Canada Day it graces the façade of the bank building, covering the windows and bathing the interior in pink. The day that flag came down from the top of Centre Block I was an MP. Walking onto the floor of the House of Commons, being elected twice in my life, was a singular moment. Nobody stays cynical after that.

Well, the 1753 descendants in a small place on the sea (one Tim’s, no traffic lights) extended their hands. The award now hangs outside Dorothy’s spiffy new laundry’s room (with a harbour view). Glancing at it helps remind what the country means. We’ll do it together.