In less than a week, we’ll be heading south to our Florida home, where we’ll spend the next six months. We’ve been doing this since 2002, except during the coronavirus pandemic, and we currently live in our third home. To say we’ve been blessed is an understatement.

We used to take it for granted that we’d be going every year, but that assumption has been modified somewhat—first by the pandemic, then by the American political situation, but mostly by our advancing age. We still plan on going each year, but don’t count on it; the vagaries of health are a reality.

Well-meaning friends (and others) have asked us why we continue to go. Are we not worried about the hostile political rhetoric? Are we not angry about the economic warfare imposed on our country by a formerly-friendly ally? Are we not patriotic enough to support a boycott of all things American?

We are aware of such concerns, of course. And we’re all too cognizant of the hurtful exchange rate on our dollar. But honestly, we don’t believe our going or not going matters one iota to the big picture. It’s reported that thousands of Canadians have stopped going south—which has caused a significant loss to
American businesses, tourism especially—but our individual decision wouldn’t make a dent in that. And many of those who have stopped had other reasons for doing so, as well; the political squabble merely lent impetus to their decision.

So, why do we continue to go? Well, first of all, it’s like going home. We live in an active, caring community, surrounded by people like us, most of them transplanted Americans and Canadian snowbirds. Some of our good friends here in Canada now are people we didn’t even know until we met them in Florida.

No one in our community worries about where we’re from, or what we used to do, or how we worship, or how we vote. When they find out we’re Canadian, they’re almost apologetic about the tension on the international scene. We accept each other for who we are.

Our current next-door neighbour, a Michigander, was in her garden when we arrived last year. She came to offer a hug and a cheery, “Welcome home!”

And that’s how it always feels.

We go, too, to escape the perils of a Canadian winter. Time was, we enjoyed winter’s offerings, especially during the years we lived on a northern lake. Hardly a day would pass when we weren’t outdoors—skiing, snowshoeing, skating—or indoors at a curling rink or hockey arena. Long walks across the frozen lake under a starry canopy, bundled up in parkas and mukluks, were joyful experiences. And cozying up in front of the fireplace on a blizzardy day was wonderful.

Alas, age has snatched many of those joys away. Were we to go outside now for a wint’ry walk, it would be with halting steps, mindful of the precarious ice, vigilant against a fall. I have this ludicrous image of myself after tumbling into a snowbank, unhurt but flailing madly, unable to stand up.

At home in the south, by contrast, we are outdoors every day—walking, gardening, exercising, swimming, mostly clad in shorts and tees. Why, from mid-November to mid-May, I don’t even wear socks!

Our children and adult grandchildren come to visit us when they can, and always at Christmas. And it’s such fun to see them experiencing the same things we did when we used to visit my parents in their Florida home. At our age now, we get tired just watching the young uns’ non-stop pursuits.

I try to refrain from telling them, “I used to do that back when…”

This will be the twenty-fifth season for us since buying in Florida, and at the time we bought, neither of us ever thought about when it might end. We were going to be there…well, forever! We’re more than aware now, however, of its inevitable end—though, like King Canute’s effort to hold back the tide, we keep pushing it off, year after year.

Our son-in-law and his brother left last weekend to drive our car to Florida, and are now enjoying a week of golf. When we fly in, they’ll meet us at the airport and fly home. The house will be open and organized when we get there…though with an empty fridge, I’m sure.

And we’ll be home again