{"id":3042,"date":"2010-11-13T22:31:30","date_gmt":"2010-11-14T03:31:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/?p=3042"},"modified":"2012-04-27T08:54:15","modified_gmt":"2012-04-27T13:54:15","slug":"lamericain-errant","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/?p=3042","title":{"rendered":"L&#8217;Am\u00c3\u00a9ricain Errant"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><!-- Start of StatCounter Code for Default Guide --><br \/>\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\">\nvar sc_project=3916081; \nvar sc_invisible=1; \nvar sc_security=\"41f88bb5\"; \n<\/script><br \/>\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\"\nsrc=\"http:\/\/www.statcounter.com\/counter\/counter.js\"><\/script><br \/>\n<noscript><\/p>\n<div class=\"statcounter\"><a title=\"tumblr site\ncounter\" href=\"http:\/\/statcounter.com\/tumblr\/\"\ntarget=\"_blank\"><img class=\"statcounter\"\nsrc=\"http:\/\/c.statcounter.com\/3916081\/0\/41f88bb5\/1\/\"\nalt=\"tumblr site counter\"\/><\/a><\/div>\n<p><\/noscript><\/p>\n<p><!-- End of StatCounter Code for Default Guide --><br \/>\n<strong><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-2992\" style=\"margin: 5px;\" title=\"nablopomo102\" src=\"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/11\/nablopomo102.jpg\" alt=\"nablopomo102\" width=\"90\" height=\"34\" \/>November 13, 2010<br \/>\nSaturday<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&#8220;To gallivant&#8221; is to go from place to place seeking diversion or pleasure, or to go about without useful purpose, or to gad about with the opposite sex (definitely not for a useful purpose). I first heard the term when my parents acquired a 1965 turquoise Corvair for the sole purpose of\u00c2\u00a0allowing me to get\u00c2\u00a0back and forth to my classes at Harrisburg Area Community College.\u00c2\u00a0&#8220;That car is not for gallivanting,&#8221; my father said one evening when I went out to buy a desk lamp and the trip took three hours, because I stopped to visit a friend.<\/p>\n<p>Regular readers of this space know what I mean when I use the term &#8220;gallivant.&#8221; I&#8217;ve applied it to my trips to writers&#8217; conferences, to residencies at cabins in the woods, to museums, to the island of Iona in the Inner Hebrides\u00c2\u00a0to pray\u00c2\u00a0(&#8220;There&#8217;s a different God in Scotland?&#8221; Ron asked), to Wyoming in 2005 simply because it was there. I gallivant to learn, to see, to clear my head. In so doing, I enact the heroine&#8217;s journey: a woman leaves home; a different woman returns. As I have said, I don&#8217;t go on vacations. I have adventures.<\/p>\n<p>Sometimes, when the Gallivant is for the purpose of staying in one place for a period of weeks to write or to learn, I take a Gallivant\u00c2\u00a0during the Gallivant. When I was at Hambidge in Georgia in 2009\u00c2\u00a0I went to church in Walhalla, South Carolina twice a week. Last week I went to Burlington for the day just for a change of scenery and purpose. Today, not only did I take a Gallivant\u00c2\u00a0during the Gallivant, I Gallivanted during the Gallivant\u00c2\u00a0that was during\u00c2\u00a0the Gallivant.<\/p>\n<p>I set out for St. Albans, Vermont early this morning. It&#8217;s about 25 miles from Johnson, and I actually had a purpose. I wanted to go to a Weight Watchers meeting, kind of check in there, get my bearings. I&#8217;ve been walking more than I ever do at home, and rarely eating between meals (because there is nothing\u00c2\u00a0left out in the dining hall\u00c2\u00a0and it&#8217;s too much of a hassle to obtain and store and fix snacks). But I haven&#8217;t been weighing and measuring anything or making sure I get five fruits or vegetables or drinking any milk at all.<\/p>\n<p>St. Albans is a typical Vermont town. The Weight Watchers meeting was listed as being at &#8220;St. Mary&#8217;s Church.&#8221; My GPS called out &#8220;arriving at destination, on right!&#8221;\u00c2\u00a0at a spot where there were about four churches clustered in two blocks. One was called &#8220;Immaculate Conception&#8221; parish. I figured that must be Saint Mary&#8217;s.<\/p>\n<p>The WW meeting in the\u00c2\u00a0 parish hall was a typical WW meeting, except for the large crucifix hanging behind the presenter and the posters illustrating &#8220;Parts of the Mass.&#8221; (It was a primary grade classroom.) My news at the scale was more neutral than it was good, but it wasn&#8217;t disheartening. It was about what I had expected. I was glad I&#8217;d made the effort to go.<\/p>\n<p>After I left, I drove down the hill and turned right because I couldn&#8217;t turn left. I found myself headed out of town, toward the shopping center district and what any town will call &#8220;Hamburger Row.&#8221; Oh yes, the Golden Arches called me, after three weeks of breakfasts that alternate Porridge Days with Scrambled Eggs Days and you don&#8217;t pop an English muffin into the toaster unless your fellowship extends another month or so.<\/p>\n<p>When I left McDonald&#8217;s I turned north again, and presently came upon a sign that said &#8220;Canada \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 15.&#8221; How can I be fifteen\u00c2\u00a0miles from <em>another country<\/em> and not want to go there, even for a short time? If I was willing to drive two hours to be able to say I&#8217;d been to <a title=\"Git Along, Li'l Cowgirl\" href=\"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/?p=221\" target=\"_blank\">Montana,<\/a> couldn&#8217;t I go 15 miles to say I&#8217;d been to Canada this trip?<\/p>\n<p>The 15 miles turned out to be more like 30, and became 40 by the time I was ready to turn around and head back to Johnson. I had with me the documentation that the handbook from VSC advised \u00e2\u20ac\u201d driver&#8217;s license, proof of insurance, and my birth certificate. I didn&#8217;t realize until later that the handbook had been sent to me probably in late 2008, upon my original admission.<\/p>\n<p>The drive north from St. Albans to Alburg, Vermont, was very pleasant. It took me through a wildlife reservation and along the lake. At the visitors&#8217; center at Alburg I was shown a loop trip that would take me into Canada to the village of Noyen (mostly French-speaking), across the river to Lacolle, Quebec. south to Champlain, New York, and then east again back to Vermont.<\/p>\n<p>At the border crossing just up the road from Alburg, the Canada Border Service Agent asked me a few questions. What was my purpose in visiting Canada? (Pleasure, just to see a little bit of the countryside.) Was I taking anything in that I planned to leave there? (No. This is a question about alcohol and tobacco and untaxed cars.) He asked for my papers. I explained about my faulty understanding of the requirements. (I didn&#8217;t tell him that I didn&#8217;t have a passport because when the time came to renew mine several years ago, I didn&#8217;t like the picture I had done at AAA, and I never got around to having a different picture taken, because I had no immediate need for a passport. There, now you know.) The agent assured me there would be no problem. &#8220;They&#8217;ll just ask you some questions on the other side.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>About six or eight miles into Canada I began to regret that I had not planned this trip better. I stopped at a few cemeteries, but didn&#8217;t get any good pictures because the angle of the sun was wrong for the things I wanted to photograph. I&#8217;d have bought postcards and other items, but I didn&#8217;t know what to do about money, and since I hadn&#8217;t seen a sign in English since I&#8217;d entered Canada, I was uncertain how to make myself understood.<\/p>\n<p>I drove around for a while, looked at the light, breathed the air, promised myself I would return, probably in 2012 or 2013 or so, after I have my two-book deal and need another stay at VSC to finish my second novel. And then I started back.<\/p>\n<p>Getting into Canada had been easy. Getting back home proved a little trickier.<\/p>\n<p>There were two cars in front of me at the checkpoint. I heeded the big sign that said <em>ARRET!<\/em> (It was in the familiar red hexagon,and the information was given in English in a smaller sign as well, but you don&#8217;t have to know much French to know you are supposed to STOP and not proceed until you are directed to.)<\/p>\n<p>The first car in line pulled up to the window. It was there about five minutes. The second car,which bore Canadian plates, waited a while, and then pulled up to the window. That encounter took a little longer. I hadn&#8217;t really paid attention to how one was signaled that it was all right to proceed. When the second car left, I remained where I was, about fifty feet back from the window.<\/p>\n<p>After a few minutes, I became aware that the red and green lights on the canopy over the inspection window were flashing, and someone was gesturing out the window. I drove forward.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Did you fall asleep back there?&#8221; asked the US Border Protection agent. He was way less friendly and affable than the Canadian officer.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;It wasn&#8217;t clear to me how I should know when to proceed. It said wait until you are told to proceed.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;You proceed when the light turns green,&#8221; he said. Well then, they should put that on the sign, I thought, but I didn&#8217;t say it.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Passport,&#8221; he said. I explained about my faulty, inadequate understanding of the regulations.<\/p>\n<p>Then he started with the questions, which I answered as if I were asked these things every day. I&#8217;d been in Canada less than an hour (this sounded to me like a bad answer), I&#8217;d come just to look around (another bad answer, for sure).<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;What is your purpose for being in Vermont?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m a fellow at the Vermont Studio Center in Johnson. I&#8217;m a fiction writer.&#8221; (That was probably the worst response.)<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;I am not familiar with that place.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>He noted that the name on my birth certificate did not match the name on my driver&#8217;s license. He came out of his booth and looked at the things in the back seat of my car (a file box with my novel materials that I hadn&#8217;t even needed to take into my studio, a lap desk, a utility basket with flashlights, some bottled water, and the stuff from the front seat that I&#8217;d thrown in there to make room for Monica when we went to Hannaford last week). He did not ask why the name on my backpack (&#8220;Lynn&#8221;) did not match the name on any other document I had.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;When was the last time you were in Canada?&#8221; he asked.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;1959.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;That was a long time ago.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>I had no idea what to say to that, so I didn&#8217;t say anything.<\/p>\n<p>He gave me a sheet of paper headed &#8220;NONCOMPLIANT&#8221; and told me to get a passport before my next trip.<\/p>\n<p><em>Un Canadien Errant<\/em> is a song written in 1842 about the pain of exile following the Lower Canada Rebellion of 1837-1838. <em>Un canadien errant, <\/em>a wandering Canadian, <em>banni de ses foyers<\/em>, banished from his homeland, weeps one day by the river, <em>assis au bord des flots<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>I haven&#8217;t been banished from my homeland. I left willingly. It took a bit of doing to get back into Vermont, which is in the country where I claim citizenship but which is not my homeland. I&#8217;ve been gone three weeks. I sit along the flowing waters, <em>au bord des flots<\/em> of the Gihon River tonight, sighing, <em>soupirs<\/em>, if not actually weeping, <em>larmoyant<\/em>. It&#8217;s time to go home.<\/p>\n<p><em>Love it? Hate it? Just want to say hi?<br \/>\nmargaretdeangelis [at] gmail [dot] com (replace the bracketed parts with @ and a period)<\/em> <strong>OR<br \/>\n<\/strong><em>Follow me on Twitter: http:\/\/twitter.com\/silkentent<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>November 13, 2010 Saturday &#8220;To gallivant&#8221; is to go from place to place seeking diversion or pleasure, or to go about without useful purpose, or to gad about with the opposite sex (definitely not for a useful purpose). I first heard the term when my parents acquired a 1965 turquoise Corvair for the sole purpose <a href=\"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/?p=3042\">Continue reading &#8594;<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[43,51,15,52],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3042","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-a-writers-year","category-nablopomo-2010","category-vermont","category-vermont-studio-center"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3042","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3042"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3042\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4270,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3042\/revisions\/4270"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3042"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3042"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/Trees\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3042"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}