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a EE a a i i aa i oi EE Sa, ia St 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, June 24, 1986 Editorial Comments Oh, Canada On Tuesday, July 1, Canada will celebrate yet another birthday. It was 119 years ago that this nation was born, not in bloody revolution or civil war, but quietly with the stroke of a pen by a group of men around a negotiating table. A momentous occasion, indeed, yet there were many at the time who doubted whether the fledgling new nation would ever find its wings. They said Canada would be gobbled up by the giant to the south, or the Confederation would simply fall apart unable to over- come the wide-spread differences in geography, language and culture. Well, Canada proved those early detractors wrong. True, the new nation did not immediately take off and soar like an eagle. In fact, the maturation and development of Canada over the next century was a long and at times tedious process, rocked of course in the 1970's when one of the partners actively sought to go it alone outside the federation. But along the way, our history has been dotted with periods of magnificent achievement: the building of the railroad through some of the toughest terrain anywhere; the settlement of new lands to the west and the addition of new provinces to the Dominion; the sacrifice in two world wars; the contributions to a wobbly world peace through the United Nations; the celebration of a Centennial in 1967; the patria- tion of a Constitution. Like the birth of this nation in 1867, the road to nationhood was more often than not achieved quietly with a kind of reserved deter- mination which in a way has become a Canadian trademark. Not surprisingly, Canada and Canadians are often perceived by others to be dull, plodding and overly pragmatic. The label may not be entirely fair, but it is not without some truth to it. . As Canada stands ready to celebrate 119 years next week, there is a mood about the country that is troubling and unsettling. It's a difficult mood to get a handle on; elusive, hard to define in clear terms. Unlike other birthdays in the past 20 years when there was definite threat to the very fabric of Canada, the country this year is on edge, cranky, short-tempered. The people of Ontario have found themselves smack in the mid- dle of an ugly and bitter confrontation between the government and the medical profession. In the western provinces, the sliding price of wheat and oil has turned boom to bust in a few short years. Parts of the Maritimes are still saddled with chronically high levels of unemployment. The federal government has embarked on a mission of free trade with the giant to the south, a move that many feel could harm our economic and cultural sovereignty. And the feds have also unveiled an anti-pornography bill that some feel will trample on the right of freedom of expression and impose a 19th century Victorian morality on the nation. These and other irritants and problems have provided great grist for the editorial writers and all those Canadians who love to write let- ters to the editor of newspapers. Canadians are great letters-to-the- editor-writers and will tackle any subject large or small, important and . trivial. : Sadly, we see a country and people riddled with a malaise, a jaded perspective dominated by clashes between special interest groups. This is an unhealthy bitchiness in the mood of the land, an inability to stop for a moment and take a look at the other side of any argument. We see.a people fairly itching for something to bitch about, look- (Turn to page 9) Nor TonIGH7, DEAR, \ [VE GOOF 70 CHECK WITH omy CGrossle.! PORT PLAAY STAR CO LVINTEO 23 Quen STOEL! 20 -r 1 #0 $01 90 i PORT PLOY iraaid EJ (08) 083.7138) = J. PETER HVIDSTEN Member of the Publisher Canadian Community Newspaper Association and Ontario Community Newspaper Association Advertising Manager Published every Tuesday by the Port Perry Star Co Ltd. Port Perry, Ontario J.B. McCLELLAND Editor Authorized as second class mail by the Post Office Department, Ottawa, and for cash CATHY ROBB payment of postage in cash News & Features Second Class Mail Registration Number 0265 Subscription Rate: In Canada $15.00 per year. Elsewhere $45.00 per year. Single Copy 35 OCOPYRIGHT -- All layout and composition of advertisements produced by the adver tising department of the Port Perry Star Company Limited are protected under copy? ight. and may not be reproduced without the written permission of the publisher Chatte Plo by Cathy Robb ESCAPE FROM NO-MAN'S LAND Even with the window wound all the way down, the sun beat hotly into thé interior of the Pinto. I stretched my neck into the small breeze that wafted sullenly through the car and wished I was at home next to the pool. I wasn't anywhere near the pool, or any pool for that matter. Instead, I was somewhere south of the Shirley Road on the West Quarter Line, looking for the unfortunate new house that had fallen prey to Monday night's vicious storm. - Gord and Vivian Lee had spent nearly a year and countless dollars building the house, their dream house, ana were pretty close to finishing it when the storm clutched the roof in its vicious grasp, and plucked it right off its foundation, reducing the proud architecture to a heap of mat- chstick lumber. It was this particular disaster I was looking for, after spending the previous few hours of the afternoon seeking out similar carnage ---- two downed barns and countless lightning-struck trees. " My directions placed the unfortunate house at the end of the West Quarter Line, in the right-hand side, but when I reached that spot, the only house in evidence was intact ---- a smallish brick bungalow still in one piece. Obviously, it wasn't the place I was looking for. I sighed heavily, as is my wont whenever I can't find something I'm looking for, and eyed the late that stretched in front of my wheels. The West Quarter Line, at least the finished gravelled section of road we know as the West. Quarter Line, ended succinctly at this point, but what looked like a newly constructed secondary road loomed ahead. I decided to check it out. After all, it was a new house, and I thought maybe, just maybe, the Lee's had constructed a section of road to get to their house. The heat poured through the open window as I slipped the car into drive. And I hadn't moved more than 50 feet when I was already dodging deep crevices in the road. The laneway pulled up a narrow hill and then sharply down in a skier's dream slope, littered with gravelly moguls and lined with tall trees. When I reached the bottom, finally, the lane ended in a T and I was forced to turn left or right. My directions said '"'right,"' quite clearly, so I cranked the steering wheel and was instan- taneously faced with what appeared to be a roller coaster. The road heaved up and down in a continuous series of rolls, each one no less than two feet in height. At this point I should have realized I was on the wrong track, but I had lots of time and was determined to find the place. My progress was decidedly slow, no more than five km per hour as I slid up and down each roll, winding up a gradual hill. When I eventually hit the crest, the roller coaster road dipped down at a dangerous angle. I held my breath and eased down it, foot hover- ing over the brake. At the bottom, the road actually smoothed out, winding its narrow way through a dark forest. It was cooler there, amongst the shade of century old trees and I was just beginning to feel relaxed when I stopped short in front of an abysmally large pond spread across the road. Again, I should have had the sense to turn back, but I have this problem, see. I love adven- ture. I love the unknown. And I thought it might be quite a thrill to dash straight through the pond. Besides, I was determined to find out where this road went to. I snapped the transmission into drive and plunged into the water without even getting a run at it ---- my fatal mistake. _ Muddy water sluiced up the sides of the Pin- to, splashing the windshield and even the roof. Joyously I kept my foot hard on the gas and was almost across when the car slowed abruptly. I felt, rather than heard, the back wheels sliding in the muck and a surge of fear knifed through me. On more than one occasion I've been strand- ed in the middle of nowhere and I wasn't looking forward to getting stuck miles away from any house, deep in the heart of a black forest. Instinctively I thrust the car into low gear and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The wheels squealed in protest and for one terrifying second I was sure I wasn't going to make it. But then the old worn treads caught traction with a pop and I was moving again. 'But safe on dry land again, I stopped, my heart pounding a reggae beat in my chest. "There's no turning back now," I said aloud. No way I was going to go through that muck again. I ate my words a few minutes later. No fur- ther than a quarter mile past the first puddle, I came across an even deeper, ever larger pond. I got out of the car and walked over to it. I looked critically at the water and decided I wouldn't make it through this one. I might have if my Pinto was a four by four pick-up but it wasn't and it's not. Disappointed, I decided to turn around. (Turn to page 6) ENS ETT RT NM IL 7, 5 SHEE a " i rr