My wife and I used to travel to the U.S. regularly, but COVID-19 brought that to a screeching halt.
Last fall, we decided to make that venture again and came home disappointed. Prices were higher down there than up here and with the exchange rate, well, buying trips no longer made sense. We decided to suspend our shopping trips. At least for a while.
Recently, I crossed the border to attend a Memorial Day service. It’s something that I’ve wanted to do for my 11 years living in Carnduff. American veterans attend our Remembrance Day services in Carnduff and I’ve wanted to show my respect for their veterans. I’ve been unable to, though, as we always have school on their Memorial Day and it’s hard for me to take the day off, as I drive a school bus. But this year, we had no school on Memorial Day.
I get nervous crossing the border because of horror stories I’ve heard about border guards. Catch one in a lousy mood, I’ve been told, and it can be a pretty rough experience. I don’t know how many times I’ve crossed the Carievale/Sherwood border, but I’ve never seen anything to substantiate those things I’ve heard.
In fact, I see the opposite. Helpfulness, courteousness and even friendliness at times.
When I crossed the American side, a young officer approached my car and asked the standard questions. I told him I was going to the Memorial Day service. He took my passport, went to his office and was back in less than half a minute. I jokingly said that I should always use the Memorial Day line if it made things this easy. He laughed and responded immediately that it would get me in trouble 364 days a year. It only worked one day a year.
A few hours later, I stopped at the Port of Carievale. An officer who I seem to get most of the time at the border approached my car and asked the usual questions. I told him where I’d been and then told him he was my favourite officer. He put his fingers to his lips and said not to say that too loudly.
He had endeared himself to me several years ago. My wife and I had returned from the States, transporting more dog food than we were allowed. We had a 50-pound bag on the back seat, in plain sight, and he asked me how many dogs we were feeding. I told him we had two and he asked where they were. “At home,” I replied.
He informed us that we were only allowed enough dog food in the car to feed them, provided they were in the car. Since they weren’t, we could not bring any dog food into Canada.
I confessed, voluntarily, that we had two more bags in the trunk. That was definitely a no-no. He went on to tell us why dog food wasn’t allowed to be brought into Canada, a speech that took about 10 minutes.
I won’t tell you what the end result was. Suffice to say that he was somewhat sympathetic to our lack of knowledge and our rapt attention to his lecture.
When I told him recently that he was my favourite officer, he asked why. I reminded him of our encounter years ago and of the lecture he gave me. He laughed and said it wasn’t a lecture but a teaching moment and then he waved me on my way.
I don’t know why those uneasy feelings still pop up whenever I approach a border crossing. I have never had a negative experience in crossing the line. In fact, I have a deep appreciation for our border officers and I’ll tell you why another time.
