In the end Trudeauphobia may turn out to be, if not as boring as Trudeaumania, just as ephemeral. Maclean's thought it might be fun to find out whether the people who were once crazy for Pierre to the point of actively campaigning on his behalf (Remember the “I’m for PET” petitions the academics carried around in the pockets of their corduroy jackets?
Having just moved away from New Brunswick to continue my education, and still feeling homesick, I found Wilhelmine Thomas’ column Home Is A Place They’ve Wrapped In Foil (December) particularly significant. But I must add one thing: the people who were the original farmers, and their kin, are no longer on the land, but there is a group of the new farmers, those who saw death in the cities and came from their universities or jobs to live again on the land.
Once upon a time, a countryside of men and women, ignorant of the conveniences of finger-lickin’ chicken and Chinese takeout, ate porridge and apples, mince, muffins and mutton, jam junket and jumbles; went nidding, nodding in the garden during warm afternoons and after dinner retired to drawing rooms with the books of Mazo de la Roche to be assured that Surrey was, after all, only a stone’s throw from Ontario.By SID ADILMAN9 min
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