Ah, Belarus, that steadfast supporter of ... Vladimir Putin. A landlocked, lacklustre, Eastern European hellscape of Soviet-era residential blocks and kitsch statuary. At least, that’s the image I have of it.

So this double disqualification scandal should come as no surprise:

“On 28 May 2021, six days after the 2021 final, the EBU voted to suspend BTRC’s membership. BTRC [the Belarusian national broadcaster which participates/participated in Eurovision] was given two weeks to respond before the suspension came into effect on 11 June, but there was no public response. The broadcaster was expelled from the EBU on 1 July, therefore losing the rights to broadcast and participate in the contest. It was subsequently stated that the expulsion would last for three years, however, in late April 2024 (one month before the expiration), the EBU declared that there was “no reason to change [its] position at the current time”, thus making the suspension indefinite.”

OH MY! Or would “My sweet cheesecake!” be better? [See later!]

And, well, I don’t know if you WANT to *internet search* “Galasy ZMesta” (the “artist” whose “songs” were disqualified) at all, but if you DO, you’ll see what looks suspiciously like a greatest hits reel of Putinist propaganda.

Actually, the thing I know Belarus best for is Chernobyl. Uh, I mean Chornobyl. (Now that we know there’s a difference between Russian and Ukrainian spellings and pronunciations, we should use them whenever we can.)

“But Chornobyl’s in UKRAINE, Neil,” I hear you say, and yes, I do actually know that. I was there (in England, not in Chorbobyl, staring in dumbfounded horror at my TV screen) as an impressionable young lad in 1986 watching the worst nuclear disaster of my lifetime (to date!) unfold before my very eyes. Well, okay, what I remember is the map of the radioactive cloud spreading across Europe, reaching ever closer to Little Old England and me.

But what about Belarus? Well, in the “Chernobyl” [sic] miniseries (which was incredibly good) scientists in Minsk (Belarus) were pivotal in getting the truth out. And yes, that is honestly my fondest thought in regards to Belarus.

Apart from the MUSIC of course.

Having said that, I went into this list thinking there were SLIM PICKIN’s indeed. I could only remember ONE song, and it wasn’t a particularly good one. (Ahem, CHEESECAKE.)

But you know what they say, “Judge not lest ye be judged”.

Anyhoo, out of 17 entries (because I’m not counting the disqualifications) here is my Top Ten:

10. 2007 Koldun “Work Your Magic”

The melody starts like some kind of Bond-movie homage. He is working his “magic” with over-expressive vocals and a grimace worthy of a Bond villain.

At least he’s willing. Right?

9. 2018 Alekseev “Forever”

Shakey vocals at times, but at least with better elocution than the song in tenth position.

Will you accept this rose?

Nah, me neither.

8. 2016 Ivan “Help You Fly”

My first thought here is, “Wow, wolf CGI has come a long way in the last ten years.”

The song could be from 1985 in most other respects.

7. 2012 Litesound “We Are the Heroes”

Okay, I like the atmospheric “walk up to the mike” moment. “You’re not alone, we’re against them all” is strong criticism, but a bit VAGUE. Who are we against exactly? I’m still not sure.

These boys are trying, gamely, to be rebellious post-apocalyptic warriors, but it just doesn’t land properly. More like twenty-year-old europop. What? OH.

6. 2014 Teo “Cheesecake”

I’m here for the cheese, baby. And these guys have GOT it. In a “Rico Suave” kind of way. He’s got one thing right, though: he’s no Patrick Swayze.

THIS is the only Belarusian song I really remembered, and you can probably guess why. No? For the last decade, ANY slice of cheesecake in my household is “a slice of my/your sweet cheesecake”, depending on context, naturally. Oh, the fun we have.

5. 2019 Zena “Like It”

Well, SHE likes it. I like the catchy-kitschy chorus of this one, but not the verses. Raggaeton comes and goes, but because I really only LIKE half the song, I can’t put this any higher.

4. 2020 VAL “Da vidna”

I really appreciate that this is sung in Belarusian. The melody is catchy, and VAL can sing (and dance) but there are a few bits that throw me off the beat, somehow. The video is from the Belarusian selection show, potentially called “Eurofest Belarus 2020”. I’m not really a Belarus aficionado. [Shrug.]

3. 2013 Alyona Lanskaya “Solayoh”

Finally, a decent song!

A Charleston-clad version of Venus coming out of a disco clamshell. What’s not to like?

2. 2015 Uzari and Maimuna “Time”

Oh, it’s THIS one!

Another common Eurovision trope is the handsome young man standing in the middle of the stage doing not much else than singing really quite well. Oh, husha-my-mouth, he’s got that nice lady-violinist to sing to.

There’s energy here, and some actual talent. I’m a little embarrassed that I said Belarus was “slim pickin’s” after seeing this one!

1. 2017 Naviband “Story of My Life”

Another one in Belarusian. Lot’s of “heys” and a few “hi-yi-ya-ya-hos”. They look like a couple celebrating their wedding day with abandon, and that is a joy to see. And to hear. Those harmonies. It’s just beautiful!

What? What is it ABOUT? What do the lyrics MEAN? I HAVE NO IDEA! But I don’t NEED to know. Do you?

Thanks for listening!

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Azerbaijan, the crossroad of empires. A little country wedged between the Caucasus Mountains, Turkiye, and Iran. Azerbaijan was a Soviet Republic, most recently, and that vibe is still evident in the little villages you can find on a certain video-uploading website where rural grannies cook en plein air and do all sorts of reassuringly rustic things. (Yes, I’ve been known to watch some of these.)

Azerbaijan recently conquered the Armenian-speaking breakaway region of Nagorno-Karabakh, to almost zero international outcry (I feel for the Armenians, and I had a special place in my heart for Nagorno-Karabakh [see Armenia]). Despite this, both Azerbaijan and Armenia were able to compete together in Eurovision, and managed to play each other’s entry, in line with EBU rules. Just saying. (Some countries can’t.)

It’s a pretty place, of mountains and charming villages, while Baku itself is like any Western oil city.

Baku, actually, is one of my favourite Eurovision moments. But not for anything that Azerbaijan did. Instead, there was a series of comedy skits from a Swedish-English comedienne, who famously mispronounced names. Like Azabajinjin. Maybe you had to be there?

Out of 18 entries, here are my Top Ten:

10. 2010 Safura “Drip Drop”

Safura is singing about a cad and a bounder, a man she still loves, but suspects of lying and cheating. No wonder her teardrops keep “drip-drop”ing. What does lipstick smell like?

Her vocals are a little “Idol”. By which I mean “flat” and “predictable”. But the song is a pleasant melancholy pop ditty.

9. 2016 Samra “Miracle”

A solid performance and melody. Samra had a nice time, but she’s had enough, and she’s not going to stay another night. Sorry. (She’s not sorry.) And quite frankly, I don’t blame her.

8. 2018 Aisel “X My Heart”

I cross my heart, I really enjoyed this one. A pop banger! She runs around like a white-clad Supergirl at her own Fortress of Disco Solitude. What’s not to like?

7. 2017 Dihaj “Skeletons”

A creepy and evocative song. Dihaj has a haunting voice. The thing I don’t like is the chorus. I don’t think it quite FITS the vibe of the verses. And why exactly is that “guy” standing on a ladder in her room full of angry words? I’m really not sure.

6. 2024 Fahree feat. Ilkin Dovlatov “Özünlə apar”

A jaunty song. I like that there is an Azerbaijani part. There’s nothing really wrong with his vocals or performance. I just wanted … more?

5. 2022 Nadir Rustamli “Fade to Black”

A much better, more emotionally mature, reaction to a breakup than Chingiz manages. (See later.)

The WEATHERRRR!!! I suppose he would be worried about the weather sitting all exposed on those bleachers like that. Do I detect a bit of the Downton Abbey Theme in here? In a couple of places. Three places, actually. More?

Anyway, a heartfelt ballad, solidly delivered, and when the beat comes in the song gains energy and purpose, as well as a male back-up dancer.

4. 2020 Efendi “Cleopatra”

The video is not a performance from Eurovision 2020, because there WAS no contest that year, but fortunately Efendi had performed the song live at other times and locations since then. This is one of them. Great for representation, she sings “gay, straight, or inbetween”.

I’m really happy we get a good idea about what the Eurovision live performance WOULD have been. She’s got energy and enthusiasm, moves, and she can sing too. And oh boy can she trill those Rs!

3. 2021 Efendi “Mata Hari”

Okay, so maybe you’ve noticed a pattern emerging, if you’ve read a few of these ESC posts, namely that if the same artist had the good/bad fortune to be chosen for BOTH 2020 and 2021 that the two entries are USUALLY side by side in the rankings. And here we go again. But you know what, I can’t help it. I wonder if there will be a country for which this doesn’t happen? [SHRUG]

I love her accent — exactly like some Soviet-era spy. The reggaeton beat comes in with a reassuring familiar flow, and it’s a perennial in Eurovision fare. The “ma-ma-ma-ma” reminds me STRONGLY of Boney M’s “Ma Baker”.

The thing about this song is that the first half is so standard it is almost easier to just sit back and zone out and let it wash over you, unobtrusively and inexorably.

And then: Let’s GO! Those last 30 seconds are FIRE. I can listen to them again and again. I HAVE listened to them again and again. I LOVE that part. And that’s why this one is so high.

2. 2025 Mamagama “Run with U”

This is a big surprise for me. Did I sleep through ESC 2025? Well, I had active Lyme, so that’s my excuse. Because I have almost no recollection of this song AT ALL.

Okay, so the falsetto bit seems a BIT of a strain for him. See those facial contortions? And it seems like the whole “vibe” is trying to emulate Benjamin Ingrosso of Sweden a few years ago. Is that a bad thing? Well, it’s a THING, I guess.

But the tune, the rhythm, the melody, the ENERGY, the enthusiasm, the beat. It’s right up my alley, I have to say. And the quiet distorted bit? Oh, mylanta!

In any case, I think I’ve fallen for this song.

The top three entries were very close, and this was a real contender.

1. 2019 Chingiz “Truth”

Chingiz is upset about being dumped. He’s dealing with his pain in the most constructive way imaginable — singing about it at Eurovision. And I guess the Baku social scene is small, and he keeps bumping into his ex, and it’s making him crazy. “Drink ’til I forget”? I feel you, my dude, but it isn’t really going to solve anything, you know? TRUST ME.

His heart is breaking and he is reeling from the pain. And maybe he is being a little bit paranoid? Is she REALLY trying to break him? Or does it just feel that way when you are recently dumped? I mean, I’ve never tried to break anyone I ever broke up with, but I can definitely see how there could be hurt feelings.

This song really resonated with me at the time. I was going through stuff, and there were things I wanted people to just shut up about and move on from. I bet SHE wants HIM to shut up about it and move on?

And like, what’s with the staging? Those production-line robots painting the pain in his heart? It feels a bit incongruous in some way.

Coming into this, I thought Chingiz was going to win .. and then I wasn’t so sure .. and then I kept changing my mind. The clincher? I’ve been singing this for TWO DAYS SOLID, okay, so SHUT UP about it!

Thanks for listening!

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Austria is a tiny alpine country formerly the center of empire and culture, but I knew it first, and foremost, as the home of The Von Trapp Family Singers. Yes, that’s right. The Anschluss is coming. The Sound of Music was a perennial (sometimes weekly) part of my childhood. I’d like to blame younger sisters, I really would. But I can’t. There. I said it. You want to know how to solve a problem like Maria? I’m your guy. Why climb that mountain? Because, that’s why. But you know what? Somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, I must have done SOMETHING good, because I ended up loving music, and singing, and musicals, AND Eurovision. And Austria, via Hollywood, had something to do with that.

More recently, Austria is best known for bearded ladies. Well, one in particular, I suppose. The bearded lady that changed Eurovision forever, by making certain countries really embrace their homophobia, and the other half of Europe embrace diversity all the more.

The rugged scenery, the castles, the museums, the Danube, the history. Austria is much more than a bearded lady or a young family fleeing fascism. Out of the 20 songs in consideration, here are my Top Ten:

10. 2011 Nadine Beiler “The Secret Is Love”

It’s a rare Eurovision song that opens a cappella, because it is such a risk. Nadine’s voice is vulnerable but clear and pure. I actually prefer the kind of magical quality before the music starts. It’s as if the music is what makes her start growling.

“I’m reaching out my hand to you, so just let the light shine through.”

It’s a power ballad in the grand tradition, and it’s not a bad one. And the secret? Of COURSE it is love.

9. 2024 Kaleen “We Will Rave”

High-energy eurodance, or is it rave? We “rum-de-dum-da” is a CLASSIC bit of nonsense Eurovision. Does it matter that it makes no sense? Yes and no. The song didn’t do well, but there is a certain appeal to it. It reminds me of Firestarter, and a couple of other older things. That’s another Eurovision tradition, of course, to feel like you recognize at least parts of a song, and the game becomes figuring out what that OTHER song is. Which is a bit of a distraction for this one.

Thanks for making dreams come true. (That’s what she said.)

8. 2018 Cesár Sampson “Nobody but You”

I’m not sure why he’s on a platform in the dark. Atmosphere? Anyway, solid vocals, a catchy melody, and a lot to like. The lyric “I can’t let you leave”? That sounds a bit creepy. Just let her leave, dude. Get over it, right? It’s only 8 years ago, and it’s funny how quickly some things age. The song without this lyric is great, but I keep coming back to it. It’s just how my mind works, I guess.

Otherwise, I love the vibe. I suppose he’s just trying to convince her to stay, and he WILL actually LET her go. He just doesn’t want to because he loves her so much. Ah, bless.

7. 2020 Vincent Bueno “Alive”

Now, this is from 2020, so there was no contest, and honestly I was torn with which video to link you to. I made a commitment to show live performances if I could, and this is it. The problem, if it is a problem, is that this is an acoustic version, so while it showcases the guy’s vocals, I wonder if the studio version is a better representation of what the performance would have been? It’s a real shame he couldn’t perform this song on stage in 2020. I think he would have done pretty well. His voice is pretty good, but I think parts of the audio on this track are a little bit off. The stars were against him, it seems.

6. 2021 Vincent Bueno “Amen”

It’s a bit weak of me to put both Vincent Bueno songs together, back to back, in the rankings, but it’s honestly where each landed.

The fact that there was a song titled “Amen” was initially annoying, in the same way that the world doesn’t need more songs entitled “Hallelujah”, IMHO. Maybe it’s just me. But hey, this is not a religious song at all, so I should just get over myself. It’s about the end of a relationship.

Now, I want you to compare Vincent’s delivery in this video, and in “Alive” above, and see if you see the same difference that I see. Here he is responding to the stage, and feels grander and larger (while in “Alive” he seems smaller, and more intimate, but less grand, less GLEE?).

He can still sing, and at least he got his chance to sing on the Eurovision stage, even if it was a year later.

5. 2025 JJ “Wasted Love”

This is going to be a bit controversial. JJ is the current reigning champion of Eurovision as I write this in April 2026, and the looming contest is in Vienna as a result. And yet here the song sits, all the way down at #5. My big problem with this song is the early part, where the vocals are a bit shaky and thin.

And then, the OPERA. As I’ve already noted, “popera” is a classic Eurovision trope, and I agree that the soaring operatics are the (ahem) high point of the song. But even better, when the next verse comes the vocals have strengthened, like JJ is finally settling onto the stage. And even here there is a bit of techno high-energy that I really quite like. I just wouldn’t have chosen this one as a winner of the whole competition in 2025. Which is why it is here, not higher in the rankings.

4. 2002 Manuel Ortega “Say a Word”

What a banger! A classic early-naughties pop song! I’ve been singing this song for more than 20 years. You should not be surprised, after hearing that, that I couldn’t put this any lower in the rankings!

I admit the chorus is a BIT on the repetitive side, but let’s face it, who wouldn’t have enjoyed a helping hand from this guy in 2002? Quite the pick-me-up ....

I wonder if he can still sing, 24 years later?

3. 2014 Conchita Wurst “Rise Like a Phoenix”

Aha, here is the bearded lady you’ve heard tell of. Her real name is Thomas Neuwirth, which is quite the letdown, really. Conchita has had a pretty successful musical career in the years since this song stormed Europe, walloped the right-wing haters, and encouraging drag queens everywhere.

If you only heard this song, you’d think it was some kind of Bond theme homage. It’s a kind of flamboyant, extravagant, larger-than-life song about standing up to bullies and telling them where to shove it. While bearded and wearing a fabulous dress.

And, come on, what is the Big Deal about drag queens or beards mixing with dresses? Has no one seen a pantomime? Or SHAKESPEARE? I mean, SHEESH.

Haven’t you ever been knocked down into the rubble, walked on broken glass, and been forced to rise like a phoenix out of the ashes to show all the naysayers they were wrong about you? THAT is why this song was so great, not because of the representation of a bearded drag queen, but the ROUSING song that lifted the hearts and spirits of so many downtrodden folk all over the world. Conchita deserved to win and deserved the success that came afterwards. She knows her niche and her audience.

She didn’t come for vengeance, but retribution for the wrongs done to her. Vengeance is about causing suffering, retribution is about meting out justice.

You have been warned.

2. 2015 The Makemakes “I Am Yours”

After such a big song, it’s kind of shocking to think that such a quiet and heartfelt number like this one would rank higher. And consider something else: this was the year Austria hosted after Conchita’s win, which means it was the year they THREW IT, the year they REALLY didn’t want to win. Because, you know, winning costs money, and back to back wins? It just gets too much. (Ask Ireland.)

But the energy in this song, the soft vibe that just resonates like a heartbeat, the soothing yet uplifting lyrics ... I just love it. It’s a timeless classic, and not just because it sounds like it could have been released in the 1970s just as readily as in 2015.

The burning piano? I don’t love that.

1. 2016 Zoë “Loin d’ici”

Ah, 2016. The year my world really went to merde. Wait, pardon my French. Or is that ... Austrian? Why is the Austrian song in FRENCH? It’s one of the unknowable mysteries of Eurovision, mon ami. But why not? The current rules of Eurovision are that you can sing in ANY language you like (even a made up one -- yeah, you heard me right!) although most countries use this rule to choose to sing in English -- you know, the international language of a nation that stereotypically can’t be bothered to learn other languages, which is only one reason English is a lingua franca. I suppose the internet has something to do with it too, among other things.

Oh yes, 2016, that crap-pile of a year. The rise (descent) of a certain Person, the tragedy of Brexit, and also various untold personal miseries inflicted on yours truly that I won’t burden you with at present.

Let’s just say that I would have definitely gone for any “pays loin d’ici” if you know what I mean. You don’t know what I mean? Didn’t you go to high school, mate? Learn some FRENCH at least? Okay, maybe languages aren’t your thing. But then, if that is the case, why are you here? I don’t mean that as a challenge, but as an honest question. Because for me, my love of language, of languages, is a HUGE reason why I fell in love with Eurovision in the first place. I might not UNDERSTAND much of any other language, but I know BITS. Maybe you’re just a person who likes MUSIC and doesn’t MIND not understanding the lyrics? If so, I get that.

Anyway, my Basic Level French appreciates the lyrics of this song.

On chante, et on danse, et on rit. Less of the dancing, to be fair, just like Zoë in this performance. But singing and laughing got me through 2016 and all the wonderful hurdles of the intervening years.

Zoë was a breath of fresh air, of light and brightness, and has been ever since.

And let’s face it, in my head I am so very often “loin d’ici”.

Thanks for listening!

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I’ve been really looking forward to this one: Australia!

I know what you’re thinking. Australia is just about as far away from Europe as you can get and still be on Planet Earth. Okay, maybe that’s New Zealand. Or Antarctica. But Antarctica has a tiny population of scientists, and New Zealand just does not have the generations of enthusiastic support for Eurovision that Australia has demonstrated. Or maybe it does? I really don’t know. Prove me wrong!

Australia has long been an ASSOCIATE member of the EBU, and they’ve been airing the Contest since the 70s, just for the sheer joy of it! And staying up all night to watch it too!

(I LOVE hearing the refrain, “Good evening Europe, and good morning Australia!”)

The point being, Australia’s unabashed enthusiasm, over the long term, gained the EBU’s attention, leading to a “one-time invitation” to participate. And, well, there was no backlash against that idea, and the invitation was formalized. In short, Australia DESERVES it.

And based on the variety and caliber of songs they’ve sent, they DO DESERVE IT.

They’ve participated 11 times, so which song will have the ignominy of not making my Top Ten? Well, in a “shocking twist”, I’m going to have TWO songs in the joint 10th position. Fear not, oh sensible lovers of order and structure, because they are the SAME ARTIST.

In joint 10th place, we have MONTAIGNE. Technically, Montaigne represented Australia twice. But, also technically, she didn’t get to actually GO to Eurovision either time. In 2020 the whole contest was cancelled, thanks to the pandemic, and in 2021 there were still some, ahem, “difficulties” going on, and Australia instead decided to film a live performance and air THAT at the concert. Unless it was actually live in Australia and shared live on stage at Eurovision? It’s a few years ago. I can’t be expected to remember everything ....

So, here are the TWO Montaigne songs sharing 10th place for Australia:

10-A 2020 Montaigne “Don’t Break Me”

The video quality is a bit lower, and it’s the performance from “Australia Decides” not Eurovision, because it was 2020. Pesky pandemics.

I don’t mind the song. It resonated with me in some ways better than her other song. Ultimately, though, I just don’t especially like her voice, or performance, or artistic decisions. In comparison to ALL the other contestants the quality of her voice is just not strong enough. But there’s still a lot to enjoy with BOTH Montaigne performances.

10-B 2021 Montaigne “Technicolour”

The thing I DO like about Montaigne is that she OOZES indie eccentricity. She is totally authentically being HERSELF. I don’t care about the tutu. I appreciate the flashing lights.

Fun fact: In 2021, Montaigne was “internally selected” by SBS (the Australian TV channel that is the EBU “associate member”) because she had won the “Australia Decides” competition in 2020 and yet been robbed of her chance to perform on the European stage. I guess she kind of “took one for the team”. Well, she took TWO for the team, really. Poor Montaigne. I wonder what she’s up to these days?

9. 2024 Electric Fields “One Milkali (One Blood)”

The early lyric “one billion-dillions” turns me right off. For the rest of the song they use the slightly less annoying “one billion-illions”. In a Eurovision first, this song is partially sung in the Australian Aboriginal language, Yankunytjatjara! By the middle of it, I’ve warmed up to this song considerably. The melody and music are both right up my alley, and although the vocals are occasionally patchy, this is NOT bad, by any means. It didn’t qualify for the final, which is a shame.

8. 2018 Jessica Mauboy “We Got Love”

This one got a lot of flack, but I actually quite liked it. The choreography falls flat, with her swaying and arms doing most of the work. Jessica doesn’t manage to have much presence on the stage. On THIS stage. In THIS live performance. It’s as though she was daunted or overwhelmed by the reality of it.

But she was already a star in Australia when she was selected for Eurovision, so she was no green Idol contestant out of her element. Which makes it all the more disappointing.

And yet the SONG has a lot going for it. This is one of those cases where the studio version would be so much better. I really want to like it. “Don’t give up, because we’ve got love.” I mean, she’s telling us we’re not powerless to change things. I mean COME ON this is exactly the message we all NEED to hear in 2026, so maybe this deserves another listen?

7. 2015 Guy Sebastian “Tonight Again”

The one that started it all, the year they were invited on a “one-off” basis. It’s a bit shocking for me that this one is “all the way down here” at #7, because it’s one of the ones that gets, ahem, sung in the shower. Uh, from time to time. Anyhoo, the song ....

Guy “automatically qualified” because Australia had been specifically “invited” by the EBU (as a reward for all that fangirling they’d been doing Down Under for the previous 30 years) but this was always one that DESERVED to be in the final. Tell me you’re not humming along with the “do watcha watcha watcha want”s. Go on. TELL ME.

And this is one time that the live performance is ELECTRIC and so full of energy, and BETTER than the studio version. Guy can SING.

Thank you Europe. And thank you Australia. (That’s what he said. At the end. But you know that because you listened right to the very last second, didn’t you?)

6. 2022 Sheldon Riley “Not the Same”

To be honest, this was not my pick to win “Australia Decides” that year, so I had a bit of resentment to work through by May. And I was pretty impressed with it by then. Sheldon’s vocals are powerful and far-reaching. He sings with real feeling and real emotion.

He’s a person who has felt like he was on the outside looking in, like he was excluded by virtue of something he maybe didn’t even recognize in himself at first, and certainly couldn’t change. He was not the same as the other boys, and aren’t we lucky about that? He’s here on the Eurovision stage representing his country and his HEMISPHERE, and the other boys are not. Sucks to be them.

So, yeah, I warmed up to the song a bit, and I appreciate who Sheldon is and where he’s coming from. I RELATE.

And I understand why the dress, the fake nails, and the glittering face mask are all necessary expressions of Sheldon-ness, the mask especially as a metaphor for the one he’s had to wear for so many years, until he takes it off (the mask, that is) on stage, finally revealing himself to us all, finally BEING himself in front of us all. I appreciate all that, I really do.

But for me the glitter and the paraphernalia is all a distraction, and doesn’t add to the impact of the song for me.

5. 2017 Isaiah Firebrace “Don’t Come Easy”

During the 2017 show, I thought this song was too slow, too maudlin, too subdued, and too self-absorbed. But it’s a grower, not a show-er. The melody has stuck with me. My chickens have occasionally been “blessed” by a quiet rendition or two of this song. It gets into your head and it stays there. And today, it has sent chills down my spine. I love the magical melody when it begins to flutter. I don’t care too much about the fireworks. And I don’t mind the general lack of choreography, with Isaiah merely pacing around the stage in time to the beat for most of the song. It doesn’t matter because he can SING. And, even more impressively, he was only 17 at the time of this performance.

Fun Fact: Isaiah is an Aboriginal Australian; his father is Yorta Yorta and his mother is Gunditjmara.

4. 2019 Kate Miller-Heidke “Zero Gravity”

The admixture of pop and opera (popera?) at Eurovision is a recurrent trope, and this is arguably the best execution of the genre. Back in 2019, I was going through Stuff, and this song helped be get through it. But I haven’t listened to this song at all for the last couple of years. Until now. And I have to tell you, I had chills. I love the ethereal graphics that show her seemingly in orbit, or flying about the Earth like an angel or airborne Liberty (with that celestial crown on her head she also looks a bit like a Christmas Tree fairy) and finally she and her backing singers are revealed to be stuck on top of a pendulum stick of some kind. I’m surprised they don’t hit each other, to be honest. Was that skill or good luck, I wonder?

I had worried that some of her high notes might be pitchy live. But they weren’t. They were spot on. And the little riffs and tiny changes she made (in comparison to the studio version that is more embedded in my memory) just show the point of a live performance. It would be fair to describe this one as STELLAR and “out of this world”.

3. 2016 Dami Im “Sound of Silence”

Wow. Just WOW. I wanted this song to win in 2016. I was so invested in it. I loved it so much. And, like so many others, it fell into the background a little, but here I am thrilling and vibing with it again.

There is no choreography here. None is needed. A bit of faux-tech light show, which is cool, but doesn’t matter either way. The only thing that matters is that Dami is QUEEN of the stage. It is hers. It belongs only to her. No one else was ever on this stage or ever will be again. Dami is on the stage, Dami sings, the audience FEELS, and when the song is over it feels like life itself is diminished.

For most of the last 11 years this is the song that would have been at the top of the list (and the bottom of this page). And yet, here it is in third place. Wow, eh?

2. 2025 Go-Jo “Milkshake Man”

The Milkshake Man graduated from the Jessica Mauboy School of Choreography, clearly, but Go-Jo has something Jessica didn’t -- the Magical Milkshake-ifier 2000 that will JUZH up anyone!

This is the first time Australia went for the camp, kitch, and kookie trifecta, and I thought it REALLY WORKED. I mean, just look at some of the incredible songs further up this page (and lower down in the list) and how much I GUSHED about them, and how THIS one is ranked higher than all of them! What the FUNK is wrong with me, right?

But I can’t help myself. I just love the Milkshake Man. It’s not the man himself. He reminds me of some kind of merger of Fred Schneider from the B52s with that stache, and Mick Jagger circa 1975 with the post-Milkshake-ifier ensemble and some of the more jazzy moves. And, well, if you know me well enough you’ll know that I do LIKE the B52s, but not like THAT.

There’s just so much fun and self-parody and unabashed good times and high energy that I couldn’t put this song any lower than second place. Stellar vocals? Nope. Serious emotional resonance? Nope. Class, style, or elegance? No, no, and no.

But what this song does have is PAZZAZZ. It has VIM. It’s a rocking pick-me-up at a time when we all need a bit of emotional support.

And that leaves ....

1. 2023 Voyager “Promise”

Ever since this first graced the stage of “Australia Decides” in early 2023, this was my winner. Sorry. None of the others stood a chance.

It’s been too long since I heard it. Or just long enough. It broke me, just now. Just BROKE me. Tell me it’s gonna be alright, alright?

Okay, so the car is unnecessary but somehow fits the performance perfectly. The flashy retro-modern lighting is very sci-fi. Don’t dismiss these guys as aging rockers (besides, “Aging Rockers” is a perfectly valid Eurovision trope, so deal with it), they are rock STARS. One of the guitarists kind of reminds me of one of my former HR managers (I just realized)(shout out to Ginny!) although I can forgive them that. As well as the cheesy innuendo. Right now, I’d forgive them anything if they could assure me that everything was, in fact, going to be alright.

I don’t even mind the heavy metal gravel that peeks in, because it is only a sign of the horror, the nightmare, the terrible reality that I need to be sheltered from.

I just love this song more than I can possibly convey. Here is the first real contender to clinch the whole blasted project. As any Idol Judge would proclaim in the early heats: “Top Ten, for sure!”

I want to hear it again! Don’t you?

BE ALRIGHT!

Thanks for listening!

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Armenia is a tiny country next to Turkiye, and that has been the root of most of its problems. Azerbaijan (its neighbour on the other side) has been the root of the rest of them. The Armenian Genocide is well known (outside of Turkiye) and, well, there used to be an Armenian enclave surrounded by Azerbaijan called Nagorno-Karabakh. It’s part of Azerbaijan now. I’m not getting political. I’m just stating a few facts. And I’d like to point out that despite this recent war between the two countries, they still manage to participate side by side in Eurovision, and to air the other country’s entry each year.

I remember Nagorno-Karabakh because it was in the news in the late 80s when I was “coming of age” and paying attention to world events for the first time. My other “connection” to Armenia was that Petra, a character in the Ender’s Game series of novels by Orson Scott Card, was from there, and at one point we return with her to Yerevan.

Armenia was the first country to adopt Christianity as its state religion. That was all the way back in 301 AD. They have King Tiridates III to thank for that.

The Armenian language is proven to be Indo-European, but it’s such an odd relationship that it’s been characterized as a mugging in a dark alley. I think of it more as Drunk Uncle. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. (Linguistically.)

Incidentally, you can see Mount Ararat from Yerevan.

Armenia was once much larger than it is today. How the mighty have fallen. But from Ancient Urartu and modern tribulations, Armenia has a vibrant spirit that has seen them reach the Eurovision Top Ten on 8 occasions (out of the 17 times they’ve appeared since their debut in 2006).

10. 2018 Sevak Khanagyan “Qami”

A heartfelt ballad ... about something in Armenian. Do you think that’s a problem? That I don’t understand Armenian? Can you only appreciate a song if you understand the words? Eurovision teaches that melody, music, and mood can convey as much TRUTH and HUMAN EXPERIENCE as language.

It’s a subdued performance, but he doesn’t NEED to be bouncing around like some of the other songs you’ll see. He says it all (whatever it is) with sincerity and authenticity. The melody is great, invigorating, evocative. He can actually sing. And some of the most powerful performances are simple affairs with a person just SINGING their hearts out.

9. 2009 Inga and Anush “Jan Jan”

Blue ladies with fancy hair. An ethnic-techno beat, in a fusion of Old Armenia and the modern world. The result manages to be a fascinating pop banger. There is so much going on, with swirling dancers, lilting vocals, and the traditional Eurovision chord change.

8. 2011 Emmy “Boom Boom”

I don’t know why this failed to qualify. It’s pretty catchy. But it’s also slightly pitchy. And more than slightly kitchy, despite the “macho” boxing theme. Mingled with a bit of a tango vibe, and some rousing drums, there’s a lot here that has traditionally done well. Not least of these are the nonsense lyrics (”boom book chaka chaka”).

And when she sings “I’m in love with you” the “with” sounds more like “widge” or “witch”. These kinds of ESL mispronunciations are, for me, part of the charm. I’m not making fun of the shortcoming. I think it’s endearing.

7. 2014 Aram Mp3 “Not Alone”

Another subdued “choreography” of a guy singing in the middle of the stage and not moving around much. The music begins in a subdued way, and his delivery is a bit soft, while still giving a bit of an Armenian accent. But the words are in English, and “you’re not alone” is an immediately reassuring and comforting message, not one “hidden” by (having the audacity of) being in a language that isn’t English.

And then the beat, the energy, and the enthusiasm of the delivery all AMP UP. And then the reassuring softness returns with a string of applause. But is that the ChatGPT logo he’s standing on all lit up in golden yellow light at the end? Nope, it’s an Armenian symbol of ETERNITY.

6. 2008 Sirusho “Qélé, Qélé”

This is an energetic one. It’s kind of showing its age, with a few different elements feeling a bit dated. Her vocals are a bit rocky, but the studio version (which, ahem, I have heard a number of times) is much better. Actually, I’m quite underwhelmed with the entire live performance. Which is a bit disconcerting, as I thought this was going to be in contention for the top spot. Huh.

5. 2017 Artsvik “Fly with Me”

The melody gets into your head. It drills inside, deep deep inside, in a kind of hypnotic way. Her vocals are on pitch and nuanced in a very satisfying way. I almost feel like I’m meditating or something. I think this one is vastly underrated.

4. 2025 Parg “Survivor”

He can sing AND RUN. At the SAME TIME. On a TREADMILL. Part of the time it feels like he’s yelling, but there is just something about his on-stage presence that is compelling. Is it that he looks like a worker from a dystopian Metropolis? Or like a post-apocalyptic blacksmith from some kind of soft-porn set-up story? Lyrically, there are some interesting parts, including a small (opaque to me) part in Armenian.

The biggest issue I have with it is the line “I’m a survivor, staying-alive-er”. It really grates on me. SO much so that last year I could hardly bear to listen to the entire performance. But that attitude is so last year. (It was 2025....) I seem to have gotten over it. Mostly.

And, okay, so that forced laugh section is a bit eye-roll-y for me, too.

3. 2022 Rosa Linn “Snap”

This song didn’t do all that well on the night, but it is still the one Armenian song you are most likely to have heard before. Why? It went VIRAL as a backing track on TikTok, I believe. I didn’t get the point of the post-it-notes, unless they are all the things that we are worrying about or would like to fix, all the things taking up headspace? Or maybe she is writing the song in the wee hours, and the post-its are all lyric ideas? We don’t want her to SNAP. And I think THAT is why this became an earworm.

In 2022, this song didn’t make much of an impression. With a few years of hindsight, I quite like it. I think it’s aged like a fine cheese.

2. 2016 Iveta Mukuchyan “LoveWave”

Part ballad, part anthem, I half feel like I’m at a rock concert, and half like I’m in a place of worship. I really like this one, and I thought this was going to be my winner for Armenia. It has everything that I appreciate in a song. Soaring vocals, an equally soaring melody, some kind of interesting ethnic instrument, and a good beat. It has atmosphere. It lifts me up and takes me along for the ride. Which is why I was surprised that the winner was:

1. 2024 Ladaniva “Jako”

It’s not a soaring vocal but it IS a musical journey. This song is pure joy. The fun they’re having, their enthusiasm, the bouncy lyrics, the throbbing beat, the joyful pipes, the SCREACHING. Not to mention those massive roosters.

Sadly, a little Eurovision secret here, these instruments are almost certainly being MIMED. It’s only the main vocals that are required to actually be live. But don’t let that diminish the utter vibrancy of this performance.

The audience sing-back portion of the song is a nice touch.

And she is so happy! I think that’s what really clinches it for me. The unadulterated happiness seeping out of her every pore and onto the stage. It’s infectious. (In a good way!)

HYUH!

Thanks for listening!

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It’s easy to overlook Andorra, a tiny corner of the Pyrenees wedged between France and Spain. There are specific historical reasons that this valley was NOT subsumed by either powerful neighbour, but whenever I think of Andorra, I’m instead reminded of the strange urban myth of the man from Taured, an alleged country in an alleged parallel timeline where the alleged man originated from, before (conveniently, and yes, allegedly) vanishing without a trace.

As a science-fiction buff, it’s the kind of story that sticks with me.

But I’m here to talk about the MUSIC.

Andorra has been in Eurovision a total of 6 times. They did poorly most years, their best result being 12th place in 2007’s semi-final. They have never qualified for a Grand Final. Still, it’s not about the winning. It’s about the taking part. So by not taking part, they really commit to never reaching a Grand Final. (You can’t win if you don’t play, right?)

And honestly, I think they were on a pretty good trajectory. The caliber of song was trending upwards. Maybe they’ll take another stab at it soon? And after all this time, they’ll have a fresh generation of blond singers. (You’ll see.)

6. 2006 Jenny “Sense tu”

Blond female.

I think the intent here was “sultry”. The kind-of-bluesy vibe of the music, and ALL THAT LINGERIE.

But, well, how can I be nice here? The vocals are not the worst. It’s the most uninspiring floor show I have ever been subjected to. Well, no, that’s not true …. Close, but no cigar.

It just feels a bit karaoke. Or Idol. With a hint of Bond theme. It’s really not resonating with me.

5. 2004 Marta Roure “Jugarem a estimar-nos”

Blond female.

This has a jolly nostalgic feel, like a warm blanket on a cold day, or bundling up with a nice cup of tea. Actually, the vibe reminds me of the late 80s and early 90s more than the 00s. It was Andorra’s first entry, and maybe it kind of shows. They have some plucky enthusiasm, and they’ve read the brief (energetic dancers, attractive people, and so on) but Marta’s vocals are a bit rocky, despite her best efforts. Did nerves get the better of her?

I wish they didn’t start the choreography with a bit of “just walking about”. It’s too low energy. The music is lively, and the backing dancers should be equally lively throughout. IMHO.

4. 2005 Marian van de Wal “La mirada interior”

Blond female.

Some strains of Lambada seem to have snuck into the melody, or is it just me? Having a couple of tanned/oiled topless fit guys is definitely a good strategy, as these things go. The song has a decent beat, and some ethnic hints (which always go down well), and the vocals aren’t bad (some bits are even quite catchy). But that backing singer looks like Helena Bonham-Carter in some Tim Burton nightmare fantasy.

3. 2007 Anonymous “Salvem el món”

Blond male.

Nineties boy-rock called. They want their riff back. Are they trying to be Green Day? Or Blur? This sounds like a few songs I can’t quite bring to mind. But it has an energy and cohesion that some of the other entries lack. And they have the traditional Eurovision key change too!

The song is called “save the world” and we COULD still have saved the world in 2007, perhaps. Alas!

The English part of the song is more accessible, but I prefer the Catalan bits, which just sound COOL, while the fake-British-rock accent just feels BLEH. I suspect both parts contain similar messages.

Can we actually STILL save the world? I hope so. But this song seems like a doomed part of that effort.

Why can he actually sing better in Catalan?

2. 2008 Gisela “Casanova”

Blond female.

Gisela is channeling Moulin Rouge in this popping track, and I have to confess that it’s the only one so far that I ever remember having heard before. “I’m alive when I’m around you.”

Actually I’m less interested in the Xtina Aguilera clone and more interested in the backing dancers. Not like that. But because one of them looks like the love child of Petra Mede and Meira Omar (both of which are SWEDISH Melodifestivalen celebrities, which of course makes no sense, so I watched this one a couple of extra times before I decided that dancer was neither of the ladies I thought she might be).

They really like nighties and lingerie in Andorra.

It just feels like Gisela runs out of steam a bit near the end.

1. 2009 Susanne Georgi “La teva decisió (Get a Life)”

OMG — a redhead! They ran out of blonds!

And ….OH — it’s THIS ONE.

THIS is IT. I didn’t know this one was Andorra. But I know the song. I’ve heard it before, and this really is a banger. A high caliber vocal, a likeable persona, and more ladies dancing in white dresses. But wait, they are also a “girl band”. Fab.

A soothing/rousing indie-pop anthem. With Catalan verses. I love it!

Thanks for listening!

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To find songs from the other competing countries, go here:

Albania is a small, mountainous Balkan country often overlooked in the grand scheme of things. They’ve been in the Eurovision Song Contest 21 times since 2004, which gives me PLENTY to choose from. That’s how I ended up with a Top Ten.

Albania has run a national song festival for decades, and since 2004 the winner of Festivali i Këngës has represented Albania at Eurovision.

I just listened to all 21 songs. Some of them rang zero bells. Others came rushing back. And a few were ones that I recognized immediately, even if I had forgotten they were specifically Albanian. There are more than a few gems here.

One of the secret rules that I haven’t yet mentioned is that I will link to the LIVE performances (either from the semis or the final) and NOT to the studio version with an official video (even when I know that the overall quality of the studio version is better). This is a contest based on the live performances, after all. And you’ll notice the PACKED stadiums. If you didn’t realize it yet, Eurovision is a BIG deal in Europe.

Let the Albanian Selection Contest … BEGIN!

10. 2013 Adrian Lulgjuraj and Bledar Sejko “Identitet”

Who told this guy he should sing in public? His voice is worse than Bob Dylan. The second singer is perhaps better, but the first one … sings like the villain in a Lebanese musalsal. Believe me, I know. Like he’s been smoking for a hundred years. Meanwhile, he looks like a janitor with a guitar. He doesn’t let that hold him back though, and the song itself is a nice rock-type effort.

The melody is quite uplifting. I might be able to get past Old Gravel. If I put my mind to it.

9. 2018 Eugent Bushpepa “Mall”

Jake Gyllenhaal on vocals, Slash on guitar. No, not really. But, not really?

Oh wait, when the lights come up it’s FRODO! I mean, a young Elijah Wood. A young Elijah Wood in a fake beard. Or maybe Frodo in disguise?

A pleasant indie-rock effort, with backing ladies in Robert Palmer dresses (80s reference there), and lots of clapping. Primarily from the performers themselves.

8. 2015 Elhaida Dani “I’m Alive”

The singer reminds me of that glorious soul Caroline Flack (RIP).

Elhaida’s vocal has a range appealing qualities, some squeaks, some growls, some highs and lows. I really quite like this one. He shot down her dreams but she’s not going to cry because she is alive. And that’s a good thing.

7. 2020 Arilena Ara “Fall from the Sky”

The actual 2020 song contest was cancelled thanks to The Pandemic. Fortunately, there was still a “Eurovision Live” and so the link is from THAT live performance.

A great song, it really is a shame that she never got to perform it. Except for in this suspended cage. It’s pretty catchy. She’s singing about resilience and faith and strength and getting over the hurt. Big themes from 2020. Well, and most days SINCE 2020, to be fair.

(And isn’t here name COOL?)

6. 2025 Shkodra Elektronike “Zjerm”

I really don’t know what’s going on here, but I feel like it is something to do with paranoia and arrogance. And if you use your imagination you’ll end up in an ambulance.

(That’s what I THINK she said. Be warned.)

She’s got the voguing schnitts. You’ll see what I mean.

And then Big Brother starts rapping at you. In Albanian. Can you get any more ominous than that?

It has an epic quality like a Bond theme. Or maybe a Bond VILLAIN theme? Strangely compelling.

5. 2004 Anjeza Shahini “The Image of You”

A jaunty offering that fails a little in the live performance. Her delivery is a bit odd. But I really like her energy, and the vibe of the lyrics.

And guitar solo!

This is one of the songs that I RECOGNIZE. I knew I’d heard it before at some distant point in the past, but didn’t connect it to Albania at all.

And “queen of the world of make believe”? I can kind of relate to them. Ahem.

Maybe the nostalgia is boosting this one a bit?

4. 2010 Juliana Pasha “It’s All About You”

A banger! Bouncy pop, strong vocals, with a deliciously strange accent. And a bit of violin for the toffs.

What’s not to like? It reminds me of so many other songs, many of them the throbbing pop from 20 years ago, a bit of disco, a bit of the classical flourish that just pierces into your soul. I’ve already said “delicious” but my mind keeps coming back to it. This one is burrowing into my brain like a WORM. Where has this one been hiding?

3. 2016 Eneda Tarifa “Fairytale”

It’s not the first time “Fairytale” has been the title of a Eurovision song. The other one was a big hit and made a big splash. This one failed to qualify for the Grand Final. And honestly? She was robbed! What a haunting and evocative song! The vocals are great, and it’s got a good beat. I really don’t see why this didn’t do better. Such a shame.

Maybe it’s down to the subdued physical aspect of the performance. She pretty much just stands there, waving her arms at appropiate times. And maybe the song SHOULD be able to speak for itself. And I do love it WITHOUT fireworks or manic dancing.

Fun fact: At the end she says “tack så mycket”, which is Swedish for “thank you so much”. I know this because I watch Sweden’s Melodifestivalen religiously every single winter. In 2016 the Eurovision Song Contest was held in Stockholm. That was a nice gesture!

2. 2017 Lindita “World”

She looks like a bridge singing in a graveyard. Spooky.

What is the cost of life? What is it all about? Does anyone care if anyone makes it through this day?

I refuse to be anything but free.

What’s the fighting for? What’s the cost of life in this world? Love should indeed unite us all. But it doesn’t, does it?

This one is an overlooked gem. And maybe it seems just that little bit more relevant in 2026. And I VERY ALMOST put it in the top spot.

But I couldn’t. Because …

1. 2012 Rona Nishliu “Suus”

This one was always going to win. I’m sorry, it’s just no contest. This made such a big impact back in 2012, I’ve listened to it regularly ever since. I know, it’s in Albanian, and I haven’t translated the lyrics, and I don’t know what is going on. Not in the slightest. But SHE does. So I don’t have to. She is SO invested in the song, whatever it’s about.

Big voice, big hair, big impact.

The problem (for her, not for me) are those high notes. In this performance in the semi-final, she does quite well on them, and made it to the Grand Final. IN the Grand Final, those high notes were sharp, and I think it cost her some votes. Mind you, she still did very well.

And in the official video the vocals are impeccable.

So I linked the semi-final performance even though her Grand Final performance was perhaps better overall if you ignore those high notes she missed.

THIS is a song that has stayed with me through the years, a clear, no-question winner, and my PICK for the Fantasy Contest for Albania.

Thanks for listening!

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To find songs from the other competing countries, go here:

It was only a matter of time until ESC, originally conceived as a kind of “Emotional Support Checkpoint” would dovetail with that OTHER ESC — the Eurovision Song Contest.

You’ve heard of Eurovision, haven’t you? That post-war pan-European musical endeavour designed to forever banish war from the European continent?

(Uh, about that ….)

The Eurovision Song Contest began as a high-brow suit-and-tie event (or evening gowns, if you’re into that kind of thing) and metamorphosed into a genre-bashing glam-fest that Boney M would be right at home with. (And evening gowns are definitely still a thing. For the performers and hosts, at least.)

To say I grew up with Eurovision would be … untrue. In my household it was seen as decidedly gauche, worthy of eye-rolls and cynicism, rather than legitimate enjoyment. And yet I remained fascinated by the idea and the ideal, of a politics-free boundary-jumping music festival, to just bring the world together in love and peace and all that. Or all of Europe, maybe.

Despite that fundamental failure, it remained a furtive interest of mine until university.

The catalyst for change was the common room at my university residence. Or rather, it was the TV that was wheeled into the MIDDLE of the common room for the solemn occasion of Eurovision 1993. A dozen students from all over the world gathered for that LONG night of musical performance and vote counting, and I witnessed first hand how place of birth or country of origin had so little effect on who appreciated which song. Granted, the Greeks didn’t cheer for the Turkish song, as an example. But you can’t take real-life politics (or war) out of the equation for viewers or audience members, much as the organization might try to keep it out of the songs and the show itself.

This isn’t going to be a comprehensive history of the beast, only a quick overview of what Eurovision is. I won’t go into why or how Australia can compete, or Israel for that matter, but Lebanon does not. (Yes, there is a story there, too.) Or why there is a Eurovision Juniors that Kazakhstan competes in when they don’t compete in the main contest. Or why the former-Yugoslav republics tend to vote for each other. Or why Russia is out when Ukraine is very much IN. There’s so much I could say. And maybe I will, in another post.

For now, let’s just think about the MUSIC. The SONGS. The PERFORMANCES.

It can be kitch, yes. It can also be country, or europop, or heartfelt ballads, or belt-it-out bangers, or demon-masked metal. (Yes. Demon-masked metal. That’s what I said.)

Some acts seem to take things very seriously. Others are obviously having fun. Others are POKING fun, at someone, or something, possibly themselves, possibly the EBU itself.

You literally never know what you’re going to get. And THAT is the magic of it.

Imagine 50-or-so European or Europe-adjacent or Of-European-Ancestry nations all competing with a new song and a new act, every single year*.

(*Ahem, the pandemic.)

Eurovision is entering its 70th year, and to do an All-Time project would take even more time and thought. So instead I will focus only on songs from the 21st Century.

For those of you who remember the Millennium and Y2K, the year 2000 was pedantically the last year of the 20th Century, and 2001 the first year of the 21st.

Sitting here in 2026, with 25 contests sitting in the 21st Century (or rather, 25 sets of contestants, as there was no actual SHOW in 2020, even though contestants had all been selected by mid-March), it seems fitting to take a closer, more in-depth look at this quarter century.

SIDEBAR

I’m old enough to remember when 1999 was some distant scifi future. Now we are over a quarter of the way THROUGH the 21st Century? YIKES.

END OF SIDEBAR

The Modern Contest

In these 25 modern contests, 49 countries have competed. (NB: in 2004 and 2005, Serbia and Montenegro competed together as (you guessed it) “Serbia & Montenegro”. For political reasons. Long story. Another time? Anyway, I will count their entries for those two years as being for BOTH Serbia and Montenegro. And, to be perfectly honest, I don’t remember either song, so I’m not sure it will have a huge impact on anything. Unless it DOES? Wait and see!)

My Plan

I will choose my favourite songs from each country’s 25-year list of selections. Many of the countries listed will offer me 25 songs to choose from. But not all. Andorra, for example, only competed 6 times in these 25 years, and Slovakia only 4 times. Newcomer Australia has managed 10. So maybe I will do a Top 3 or a Top 5 for some and a Top 10 for the rest? The important thing is that I have one “top song” per country.

And then what?

This is where the “fantasy football” aspect comes in. From the list of 49 countries I’ll take out the Big Five. AS YOU KNOW, these are the countries that pay to automatically qualify for the final: UK, Spain, France, Germany, Italy. That leaves 44 countries, which I’ll split evenly into two SEMI-FINALS of 22 countries each. TEN countries will advance per semi-final, so that a GRAND FINAL of 25 songs will be competing for my biggest accolades.

And then, dear reader/listener, you will learn my top Eurovision songs of the 21st Century!

Aren’t you excited?

What’s the point?

Okay, so maybe you AREN’T excited. Maybe you don’t care. Maybe you aren’t interested. But, I don’t know, maybe you are curious, just a little bit, about some of these countries, or my eclectic musical tastes? Maybe you are open to expanding your musical horizons?

Or maybe, like me, you just want a distraction from the slow downward spiral of late-stage capitalism or the inexorable rise of the New Dark Times?

Either way, I don’t care. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. I don’t. I’m doing this for me. Because I need to reconnect to SOMETHING that gives me joy in this time when there is so much NOT JOY.

If you’d like to come along for the ride, please, be my guest. Here are the 49 countries in consideration. Over the coming weeks and months I will choose a “top song” for each country, and all the posts will be linked here, below:

1. Albania

2. Andorra

3. Armenia

4. Australia

5. Austria

6. Azerbaijan

7. Belarus

8. Belgium

9. Bosnia and Herzegovina

10. Bulgaria

11. Croatia

12. Cyprus

13. Czechia

14. Denmark

15. Estonia

16. Finland

17. France

18. Georgia

19. Germany

20. Greece

21. Hungary

22. Iceland

23. Ireland

24. Israel

25. Italy

26. Latvia

27. Lithuania

28. Luxembourg

29. Malta

30. Moldova

31. Monaco

32. Montenegro (as Serbia and Montenegro 2004 & 2005)

33. Netherlands

34. North Macedonia

35. Norway

36. Poland

37. Portugal

38. Romania

39. Russia

40. San Marino

41. Serbia (as Serbia and Montenegro 2004 & 2005)

42. Slovakia

43. Slovenia

44. Spain

45. Sweden

46. Switzerland

47. Turkey

48. Ukraine

49. United Kingdom

Let my Fantasy Eurovision Song Contest … BEGIN!

*

Thanks for reading! (And listening!)

October 19, 2025

A little west of Brockville, still, this is where we left things in Part 1.

A shelf of rock, reaching out into the Seaway, offering a great vantage point and new perspectives. Looking back across the Parkway, and beyond, we could see how this rock shelf rose up to a stone hill. I imagined the lay of the land without the trees, the rise and fall, the flow of stone.

Back to reality.

Not much further along the Parkway from Rock Beach, trees in full glory with the water of Brown’s Bay visible behind them. All the colours. Lifting the spirit. Charging the batteries.

The other side of Brown’s Bay sits a campground with majestic trees, sweeping views, and (most of the time we have ever been past it) a formidable gate closed across the entrance. There is parking for hundreds, but when the place is closed it looks so inviting. Sun-dappled light falling between and beneath the tall trees, a breeze off the water, the shimmering light on the wave crests. I imagine an oasis of peace and tranquility.

But only without hundreds of other campground guests. And only without the sounds of traffic on the Parkway.

Bucking all our previous trips to the Brockville area, we did not go quite as far as the city. We wanted country roads not city streets. We were full of gas and ready to roll all the way home without a fill up. We had our picnic. And we had the map. So, after Butternut Bay, and avoiding the 401, we headed north into farmland. Idyllic views, like this one, all along Yonge Mills Road.

Just the other side of Lyn is their Veterans Memorial, an ideal spot to stretch your legs, and also to turn around. Yes, we’d missed our turn. Still, from the memorial wall I had this cheerful view overlooking Lyn Cemetery.

We went north from the village of Lyn, vaguely aiming for Athens. Somewhere among the fields and woods, we were stopped short by a small flock of Guinea hens. They watched our approach, unperturbed by the engine sound. Only after a good minute did they think better of things and move to the side of the road.

We backtracked along Graham Lake Road, because on my map it looked like there was the chance of a view of Graham Lake. We were thwarted by trees and fall foliage. At least it was a new road. I’d hoped for something pretty along the far end of Graham Lake, but it was all houses and long lawns.

My camera was still at the ready, though, when we sailed through McIntosh Mills. The shot of the millhouse is not the best, but it’s about as good as the Google Maps view so that’s not too shabby. The creek is not shown on the map, but it runs into nearby Graham Lake. On its way it goes UNDER this millhouse, as you can more or less see. A little stone tunnel. An oddity. A throwback. Most pioneer-age mill buildings have gone. I’ve mentioned many of them already, as we have passed them, on other road trips. To see this one still intact was noteworthy, I thought.

We went up to Athens, a small town with a few shops along its main street, and then down Elgin, not realizing that McAvoy was a shortcut that would have shaved whole minutes off our journey. I suppose there are times when a GPS system is useful. Life is more fun with paper maps, though.

I knew we’d get CLOSE to Charleston Lake, but we weren’t aiming for it. Only by chance did I miss the turn and end up beside the lake in a charming little village with a small dock and a large view. This is one of those “more fun” times. Making the best of being “slightly disoriented” temporarily. Which is not the same as being “lost”.

Along Lower Oak Leaf Road, the turn we should have taken, were fields and farms and warm sunlight, as far as the eye could see. Pictures became more problematic as we joined Lyndhurst Road, which led us south-west, directly into the sun. I have lots of bad shots of bright light and windshield grime. They have their own charm, for sure, but the long views are better.

South to Lyndhurst, where we were so enraptured by the European-style stone bridge that I didn’t even manage to get any pictures of the village. There was even a park by the river, had we come to our senses in time. It’s such a captivatingly pretty little place, we are determined to return one day and give it proper attention.

Still blue skies and autumnal colours, on the most part, but ahead the darkness began to loom. The bank of heavy cloud we had gone east to avoid rose up in the west like the shadow of Mount Doom. A shadow that might still be overlooked, if you focus in a certain direction. But at the same time it is also a willful denial of reality. The thing is there. You can only pretend for so long that it isn’t.

But you can try for a while. After a short stint on Hwy 15 we drove through the village of Seeley’s Bay. The map suggested potential views of the water, but we were disappointed yet again.

My next navigational error was not taking Burnt Hills Road. The view is north-west as we headed south-west on Hwy 15, somewhere south of there.

My map didn’t give me confidence that Burnt Hills was a good road, but now I can look at satellite views it seems just fine. It winds between several lakes and bays, and there are a few places of either bridges or courseways that should offer satisfying views. Next time.

Instead, we headed through Sunbury and near Inverary. There’s a Tipperary somewhere around here, and occasionally we reference the song after seeing a sign for the place, or even just seeing it on the map. And sometimes we deliberately use the same tune to refer to Inverary. Because it rhymes! Do we need more justification than that?

No amount of head-in-the-sand-ism could deny that the sun was going behind the bank of cloud in the west. It had stolen the colour from our surroundings. The reds no longer popped. The palette became drab and worn out.

The sun had vanished behind the dreary bank we had so well avoided all day. It’s like another world, already. Another day, at least.

It wasn’t a bad day for a road trip, after all. Perhaps the final stretch was gloomy, like returning to drab reality after a sun-drenched holiday, left a little to be desired. But that’s the home stretch for you. It’s always a LITTLE like that, even if it is sunny. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and familiarity breeds contempt? Maybe.

I had juggled maps, the camera, and my papers (with mixed success) and now we trundled through familiar territory I could do little but ruminate and plan.

The bank of cloud HAD stayed west of us all afternoon.

We’d managed to see new things, as we do each time, even on familiar roads.

And maybe we HAD missed a couple of potentially pretty roads due to navigational difficulties (aka me squinting through glasses that are no longer being strong enough) but at least we spied a couple of places we might like to go in the future. In the spring, perhaps.

And the rain held off until we were home.

*

Thanks for reading!

Missed “PART ONE — Go East”? Read it HERE.

With a huge bank of cloud on the weather map, surely it’s a bad day for a road trip? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And with the forecast showing that bank of cloud staying west of home until the late afternoon AND all points east of us as having a gloriously sunny afternoon in store, a satisfactory solution presented itself: go EAST!

Every time we see the sign for this village, which is blue, I think of the silly pun “Croydon Bleu”. If the place was bigger I might expect a restaurant in that name. Sadly, reality has yet to comply here or in any other Croydon as far as I can tell.

I’ve talked about this house before. It’s in Croydon, right next to the little creek that was so dry and rocky all summer. Today I caught it with a pretty autumnal tree. Shame about the RV in the background. Can’t win ‘em all!

That veranda (or is it a balcony?) is an oddity. The wooden support posts are right at the edge of the road. The whole edifice is one minor accident away from catastrophic collapse. One RV away from oblivion.

But it has survived some decades already, by the looks of things.

The trek east to our (unsurprising, not-quite secret) destination proceeded through familiar vistas: still-green fields, red and gold trees, rustic farmhouses. And to our new preferred way of crossing the Cataraqui: Kingston Mills, just north of the sprawling metropolis of Kingston itself.

Even now, after the summer drought is over, there are too many rocks visible. There is too much exposed. There are supposed to be falls here.

Through woods and fields, past clumps of lilac, easily missed now, not like in spring when each one pops, screaming for attention. The road cuts through to the coast of the St. Lawrence, and we get snatches of sunlit view.

Gananoque, that pretty little town, is full of old houses and towering autumnal trees. It announces itself as the Gateway to the Thousand Islands. That’s only partially accurate, of course, but why quibble? I’d say Kingston is the gateway, standing at the Lake Ontario end of the seaway, for a start. And Kingston, like Gananoque, is the port of origin of many a cruise ship sending summer tourists on winding picturesque routes through these waters. Gananoque has the superior views, being more in the heart of things. So I will concede THAT point.

Gananoque, once you’ve passed through the business district at least, IS the gateway to the 1000 Islands PARKWAY. And THIS is our general destination. The sun glinting off the water reminds me of a Feirouz line, describing moonlight: “scattering coral over our roof tiles.”

We’re an hour from home already and yes, it is worth the effort.

It’s easy to miss this spot as just another layby or fleeting view. Today we stopped. A small parking lot, a little gazebo, and the blistering wind blowing fallen leaves. I had tramped through them to the trees at the shoreline before I realized my potential tick exposure. It’s 2025, the year I experienced Lyme, and so ticks are suddenly front-and-center in my mind. Everywhere we go, I think of them. Every leaf, every long blade of grass, every step away from the asphalt and gravel. I can’t help it. I will be sensitized in this way for years to come.

Even so, I realized only too late what I had done to myself. And then spent the next hour or so lifting my pant leg in paranoia at phantom leg itches.

This stretch of the Parkway is it. The destination. The point. ONE of the points. Any season, it doesn’t matter. The views pop, the soul expands, we breathe out.

The signs are unusual here. Because it’s a tourist area, I suppose? The contrast is a bit hard on the eyes. But it’s part of the quirk and charm. The sign shows various waypoints, rather than stopoffs. Markers rather than destinations.

This little layby is one of our regular stops. More specifically, under this particular tree. The shade is perfect, the view grand, but this time we had to keep the window closed against the stiff wind coming off the water.

Right before the “Bridge to USA” sits the tiny village of Ivy Lea. Overlooking the village, a layby on a wooded hill offers romantic glimpses of distant America. A wall borders the parking area, with a nice flat top ideal for boosting your vantage point. I got so many beautiful shots here, just spending a few minutes stretching my legs and looking out on the world. The colour was popping, here more than most places.

It’s a kind of marker for the end of Canada and the looming start of America. It sits on Hill Island. And we’ve never been TO it, mainly because of there being a toll bridge to even get onto Hill Island, but also because of fear of unintentionally straying too far to the border crossing when we don’t have our passports with us. It’s the “Toll Bridge to USA” sign that does it. The toll bridge is visible from the Parkway, but its relation to the actual border crossing is not clear from afar.

From the map, it IS clear that border control is beyond the tower, AND it looks like there would be spectacular views while crossing the water to just get to the tower. Then just imagine the views from the top of its 400-foot height. At least there’s an elevator. Maybe it would all be worth the toll. And the entrance fee to the tower itself?

East of the Bridge to the USA is yet another little layby, this one with a plaque. It’s described as the Darlingside Plaque, and it describes the building of the bridge. I took a decent photo of it. But instead of that, here is another view of the tower, showing the Seaway in the valley below, the seasonal colours, and the glory of the day. As well as the tower.

The only reason I took a picture of the Rockport sign is because we pulled over to let a train of traffic pass us. We wanted a leisurely drive along a scenic route, and inevitably someone is right behind you wondering what your problem is. Hello! We’re tourists!

Sorry if you live somewhere that tourists are always going slow along the scenic roads.

Well, the second reason I took the photo was because I remembered the sign from before, with Ivy Lea and Rockport both listed. Another milestone in our tour of the area.

Another layby, across from Poole, Jeroy, and Chichester Islands. We stopped for a bit more picnicking, and I got out to stretch my legs again. The picture is of Poole Island, with the trees, and hiding partially behind it Jeroy Island, the rocky one. The satellite view shows a boardwalk or bridge joining the two, but that can’t be seen from the road at all. Just imagine having TWO private islands to explore and keep all to yourself.

I get very “click happy” at this part of the journey. Always. I have so many photos of this stretch of road, the marshes, the islands, the blurring trees in the foreground, misplaced elements in the middle ground, and the islands at a tilt or off-center in the background. So we stopped again, yes, yet again, at another layby near Chimney Island. That’s how I was able to actually frame a shot reasonably well. It’s called Chimney Island because of the chimney. Oh, is that obvious? Well, there was a plaque as well, describing why the chimney is there.

According to Parks Canada, the plaque says something like this:

“During the War of 1812 the St. Lawrence was the life-line of Upper Canada along which virtually all military and civilian supplies were transported from Montréal to Kingston. Fear that the Americans might attempt to block the passage of materiel prompted the fortification of Bridge Island as a shelter for the supply batteaux and a base for British gunboats. A blockhouse was completed early in 1814 and a circular battery with an 18- pounder constructed. These defence works were maintained by a detachment of the 57th Regiment and artillerymen during 1814, but fell into disrepair soon after the war.”

And that fits (in general terms) what I feel like I remember reading. Oh, well, it was some weeks ago, you know.

For all the times I’ve been to this stretch of road, this is the first time I went down these rough steps to the shore. A minor adventure, to be sure, but an impressive one in its own small way. I find that my life follows well worn paths. Even when my range has increased, when I have found new roads and new places, it’s so easy for these new roads to become fossilized, like the singular groove in a vinyl record. A road that always takes you exactly the same way.

But life isn’t a recording, or an LP. It’s a live performance. Different every time. And new things are just steps away from the familiar path. You don’t have to stray far to see something new, you just have to be willing to wander a little, the familiar still in sight, but a new horizon opening up in front of you.

This road trip was way too much for one post. The rest is still to come.

*

Thanks for reading!

A New Friend

Each chicken is a person. I may have made friends with one.

She doesn’t have a name. Sorry. Not everyone in the flock does. But she’s one of this year’s chicks, a rusty orange-brown in colouring, no head gear, no fluffy cheeks, not the extra-cute kind of chicken we have been trying to select for. But she came anyway. These things are partially random.

The chicks live in a cage in the front garden once the spring weather is warm enough and the chicks have feathered out. We try to make this happen at the same kind of time.

We lock them up safely for the night, safe from raccoons and coyotes. During the day they get a fenced run on the lawn.

When chicks reach a certain age they realize they can hop onto the top of the fence and out to lawn-running freedom. And that’s fine. They might be more at risk from passing dogs or cats, or even foxes, but they help to keep the grass down and the ticks at bay. These brave chicks won’t stray too far from the rest of the flock, though. Even though they are “free” in the sense that they are outside their run, they are still bound by social ties THROUGH the fence. And the others can’t figure out how to escape.

The problem comes at putaway. Some chicks find their way back in just as easily as they found their way out. Others don’t. Some are easily corralled by corners in the fence placement, and I can readily grab them and pop them over the fence (it’s only thigh high). Others are not easily corralled.

Those difficult ones get a few chances to find their own way or let me capture them.

Because putaway happens around dusk, just waiting ten minutes can really improve my success rate. The chicks don’t like the gathering gloom, and get more distracted by the realization that they are exposed and not inside and safe with the rest of the flock. This distraction makes them easier to catch.

Sometimes, though, my patience is worn thin enough that it is just time to merge the chick with the main flock.

That means putting them in a cage in the main coop for a few days, so they can meet the rest of the flock and everyone can become familiar with each other to an extent. This makes the eventual meet-and-greet a lot more civilized.

The orange chick has been through that already, because she was giving me too much trouble, night after night. She merged readily enough and hasn’t jumped the fence of the main run, which is at chest height.

And we were never friends. She was never one that came to me or accepted food from my hand. She was always a runner.

One morning in early October, when I was feeding the main flock, she was anxiously darting around under me, overreacting to every chicken around her, and petrified of my hand, even after watching others eat from it.

I crouched, and picked her up. Surprisingly, she didn’t struggle or try to get down. And then I put the feed tub in front of her face, and she merrily chowed down. She was perfectly content to be on my thigh, held in my hand, then my hand on her foot helping to keep her steady on my thigh. She even stayed in place when the attentions of the other jealous/hungry chickens threatened to push her away.

A few times she looked up at me, appraisingly.

I told her, “It’s okay, booboo. Just eat, it’s for you, chookchook, it’s all for you.”

The others around me wanted a share, and so I held out handfuls of feed. My new friend still was not shaken from her perch on my thigh. Not until the feed tub slipped from my hand and scattered to the ground.

But when she jumped down, it wasn’t the panic of a traumatized or untrusting bird.

It seemed like there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.

She had started to learn the lesson that all my chickens eventually learn -- that I am the Food Bringer, the Treat Offerer, the island of sanctuary among an ocean of chickens; that I am not the enemy.

It might even have been the start of a friendship.

Elvis and the Jumpy Mergees

That maybe sounds like a band from the 60s, but it isn’t. It’s Elvis the Silkie rooster and two of this year’s grown chicks in a cage.

Elvis is the eldest Silkie rooster, a doddering old thing at 6 years old, rusty brown, his headgear like a bad combover around his little nut comb, his days terrorized by his wayward grandsons, one of whom has long since usurped his place, and the other grandson has his sights on that same spot.

Both grandsons have completely eroded Elvis’ confidence — in himself AND in his place in (chicken) society. At putaway (dusk) Elvis would always loiter in the run and avoid going in at almost any cost. So many times I saw him get the beats from the boys.

The two chicks are now fat young hens (but I call them chicks for the first months of their lives, even when they are functionally adult). At four months old they LOOK adult, but the “functionally” part is all about laying eggs. And, despite being old enough for it, there’s no firm evidence that they’ve yet started. These two “chicks”, then, are in their prime. They’re called (confusingly) Hombre and Umbra. These things happen sometimes, and can’t be helped. One is shades of grey, the other shades of brown. Hombre is the brown one, Umbra the grey. I think. Unless it’s the other way around.

Over the summer, the new chicks are hatched indoors and then graduate to a cage on the front garden, temporarily fenced against wild animals, and locked up for safe-keeping overnight. The young chickens learn to jump the fence, roam free during the day, and some of them even manage to figure out how to get back INTO the run for treats or at dusk. The rest have to be manhandled, sometimes chased, to get them in again. These are the problem birds. And problem birds get merged.

No, that’s not a euphemism for anything horrific. It just means that I need to find a way to socially merge them with the rest of the flock, where I won’t have to worry about chasing them down every evening.

Hombre and Umbra have both caused considerable difficulty, so they got moved to the Merge Cage in the carport that comprises the main coop.

This is how new birds become accepted into the main flock. Some days of mutual awareness, being able to see each other, and then, after a few days, they can be let out for formal introductions, during which their social standing (at the bottom of the pecking order) is soon established.

Hombre and Umbra are special, it seems. Unlike most, they’ve figured out how to jump the fence of the main run too, despite it being chest high.

They soon wander over to their old home, but they’re no longer welcome. After a few days away, their brood-brothers no longer think that Hombre or Umbra belong in the little flock, and shun them. The upshot? More problems at putaway -- an even more convoluted torment for me as I try to catch these runaways who are only emboldened by their recent upheavals and broadened horizons. They are free of boundaries and they know it. And they run. Until full dark, anyway. Then they cower in a corner and are much easier to recapture.

In short, Hombre and Umbra are not successfully merged with the main flock.

And that’s where Elvis comes in. By having the three birds in the merge cage together, my hope is that the hens will become bonded to Elvis, and that this bond will convince them to stop jumping the fence. It might also be good for Elvis’ self-esteem and mental health. If he has the support of a couple of hens, even if they are only young hens, maybe he’ll feel better about himself and stand up to his grandsons better?

Otto and the Seven Silkies

It sounds like a fairy tale, but it’s not. Well, some days it IS, once all the troublemakers have been removed. Or rather, been moved on to the main flock.

These eight are the youngest of this year’s hatch, four months old by the time this tale takes place (in early October). These are the remainders, or rather, those who remain inside the temporary day run and those who can return to its relative safety on their own (without needing to be chased down by me).

The remainders are mostly Silkies. It’s not just that Silkies are calmer and gentler than the average chicken (they ARE, but that’s not it). It’s not even (exactly) that they are fluffy and cute (although this is at least a contributing factor). It comes down to their fluffy heads that partially obscure their view. They can’t SEE the top of the fence so they never figure out how the others are reaching it, or how to do it themselves.

Otto is the odd man out, more like a Faverolles, with a tall red comb. He jumps out in the daytime, but jumps back in whenever I come by with treats. Clever fellow. He knows where the goodies are. And he goes in easily at bedtime.

There are seven remaining Silkies (some male, some female) after one (or perhaps two?) have already been merged with the main flock. Otto is the eight bird. (Obviously?)

For the time being there is harmony among the eight of them, more or less. One of the Silkie roosters is determined to be the boss of Otto, but the results don’t mean much because the Merge must come soon.

(This was the beginning of October, and it was only a matter of time before the frosts came. Which means frozen water dispensers. And that S-word: S-N-*-W ....)

And so I will let the status quo be as long as it can remain, and let the balance of harmony more-or-less reign ... for as long as it can.

Chicken Log — Supplemental

(A couple of weeks later.)

The orange chick is not my friend. Friendship did not blossom. She looks at me with a careful wariness, telling me that she WILL eat food from my hand BUT that I shouldn’t read too much into it. This is all she is willing to give me.

Hombre and Umbra did not bond with Elvis, and did not stop jumping the fence. So I gave up THAT little experiment.

In the end, time caught up with them. No, not the Reaper, but the weather. The rest of the chicks had to be merged, and once they were no longer out in another run, there was no longer any (or much) pull to escape the main run. They did, occasionally, still go for an adventure during the day, and sometimes Otto joined them, but after a couple of weeks they seemed to forget all about outside, and are finally merged.

And Elvis? He’s not exactly having a comeback, but I keep finding him with Otto and the other young Silkies, so I think he’s feeling a bit happier after all.

Oh, and Mister Math over here (me) can’t count. Either that or one of the “merged” Silkies managed to dart out while the gate was open and without me noticing, or against all odds jump the chest-high main fence. Because a week before the final merge, there were EIGHT Silkies. But I’m not changing Otto’s name to Nonno at this stage. Names stick. (Except when they don’t.) Even if they no longer make sense.

Some frosts have indeed come, and gone, and we have had the first of the white stuff. (It came before the leaves had all fallen, and I missed getting shots of the pretty scene of yellow leaves fallen on fresh snow. Sorry.)

And so, in the end, we do have harmony in the flock.

*

Thanks for reading!

The weather was perfect, and we were determined to make the most of it. There won’t be too many more of these, because actual fall weather will come sooner or later, with bluster and chill, stripping the colorful leaves, and changing the vibe to a more Halloweeny one. It’s a LITTLE soon for giant skeletons rising from their (obviously not) final resting places, for pumpkinheads (although there are plenty of pumpkins still about), and all manner of masked ghouls. But the Halloween spirit is strong around here, so I expect it won’t be long.

The thing I’m lamenting the most right now is the end of corn season. The last corn we found, a few days ago at our favourite corn stand, was yellow-husked and drying out. This is the end, beautiful friend.

From Desert to Canoe

Even though I had the good camera with me, I wanted to WRITE. And so, every so often, I’d see something heartrendingly beautiful without any opportunity to stow the papers and grab the camera in time to catch whatever it was: a field, a forest, a view, the sunshine.

The nearby glories are the ones always ignored or forgotten.

On the approach to Desert Lake, the roads got wilder and redder, and my sense of frustration grew. I wasn’t in the Flow Zone, and everything around me pulled at my attention instead. “Look at me!” said the world. So I capitulated.

I DID take pictures at Desert Lake itself. But I always do. And every lake. Every time. And I’ve noticed that I always take the same shots thinking they will be different. That is just my attempt to capture the moment. Then, later, at home on the computer, they just look so similar to the last time I took the shot.

For THIS reason the first picture I’ve included is from AFTER I picked up the camera as we went through Desert Lake and from the golden wooded stretch of Desert Lake Road. This land is glorious, and the photos simply to not capture the grandeur of it. Our eyes flit here and there, focus on momentary glories one after the other, and the camera only registers some pretty golden blur. It’s a poor substitute.

The whole world gilded in gold leaf. The sun drenching everything with colour. The dessicated yellow grasses, tinder dry from the summer heatwave and little fall rain to compensate for it, the range of shades in the foliage beyond, and the glimmer of sunlight from above. What a wonderful world this can be.

The first time we saw Canoe Lake was only last fall, on a road trip I just rediscovered the pictures from. I have the same shot from a year ago, looking along the length of the lake towards the south. It was so pretty that we turned back south so I could get better shots of the view (which I didn’t use).

The water levels are so low, not just here but in every little stream and river, every pond and wetland, you can see where the water SHOULD be but is not.

There was water enough for a dozen white swans and some geese, but the pictures were blurry.

The fall colours seem washed out and dominated by greens, but in the moment there was such a blend and balance of colours.

Somewhere before Fermoy came this serendipitous shot of more golden trees along the road. The framing is purely chance, no skill involved on my part, just one of those perfect moments when my finger pressed the button and the inexorable flow of the view intersected in just the right way. The three black trunks rise like a trident into golden froth.

I took the usual set of pictures along Wolfe Lake, the curving road, the cliffs, the trees along the shore, and even the swamp at the head of the lake, but I think I might have better shots of these things from last year (coming soon).

After Wolfe Lake, the road rises across rolling farmland and scattered woods. Each time we come this way I am assaulted by views on both sides at once, and the camera whips from one side to the other over and over, to the point where we laugh and say “whupush” in imitation of an actual whip. This was my favourite picture of that stretch, not the lines of trees on the brow of the northern rise, or the farmhouses or barns, but this lone golden tree, perfectly positioned by destiny in the middle of my shot.

Westport is a pretty little Ontario town but wasn’t a stop today. Onwards through Newboro, past the veggie stand (that also had no corn) and antique store (in their shed) and to Crosby (where there are summer art fairs, craft shows, and more farm stands), before heading down the main highway for the shortest possible time, to reach Chaffey’s Lock Road.

Chaffey’s Lock Road is, you’ve guessed it, the road to Chaffey’s Lock. Upriver is Indian Lake, and below the lock is Murphy’s Bay, part of Lake Opinicon. The road winds around a small hamlet to cross the water on a tiny single-lane swing bridge. We went through the village and across the bridge, and went back to the lock for our picnic.

It’s a great spot for a picnic. Perfectly peaceful, except when motorcycles or trucks whip around the bend behind you before emerging at the little bridge to disturb you again. I’m overstating the annoyance: there was very little traffic.

The river traffic was even less, with one small-engined pleasure boat arriving from upstream to investigate the dock above the lock, but they sailed away the way they had come, and the waters once again stilled, the fish dancing in the sun-dappled shallows, and the trees perfectly mirrored in the river. A moment of perfect calm.

We walked along the edge of the lock, but all these photos have my finger encroaching in the corner of the shot. I was terrified of dropping the phone in the water. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

But I was able to hold the camera without such fear for this bilingual historical plaque.

I didn’t take the time to read it then and there, but I have since read it (while making sure the words were decently focused) and it contains such a horror, wrapped neatly in bureaucracy and dismissiveness. The lock only exists because the Chaffey family had their land expropriated by the government. Nothing they could do or say was able to stop it happening: the Rideau Canal was a vital shipping route safe from the potentially-marauding Americans, should war erupt. It did not, and now only pleasure craft ply these routes.

The sign also blithely mentions an “old Indian canoe route” that informed the official plan for the canal system. More dispossessed people, tossed aside when their usefulness has been expended. The early travellers of these parts would have canoed the waters and then “portaged” when necessary. This means carrying your canoe and its contents over bits of land to get from one waterway to another.

Today, on the stone banks of the upper lock, I stepped on the floating dock to get some other shots of the water, and there was a handy “portage” infographic laid into the wooden plank at my feet. Canoes still come this way, even if no longer for trade.

Beyond Chaffey, it’s Opinicon Road all the way, past two lakes, through more woodland.

This island is in Lake Opinicon, the best of many shots. We didn’t see anyone about on this stretch of the road. We had this view all to ourselves.

And on the other side of the road the land rose up in a wooded ridge, shining in the golden light.

The other lake is Upper Rock Lake. The white rock formation on the far shore caught my eye, and I took more than a dozen pictures of it as we went along the road, but this is the clearest view. The next bit of shoreline is privately owned, so I could catch glimpses of the white rocks and the water through narrow gardens, between the trees and rustic little cottages, but none of these worked as well as the wide open shot.

Across the road from the pretty view of Upper Rock Lake is this color-soaked wetland, marred only by the ubiquitous power lines, showing that we aren’t, after all, very far into nature, and that we are witness to only a shadow of the glory a truly unspoiled nature would offer.

Beyond the lake the road winds through woodland, and there are small houses dotted here and there on country lots. I spotted something beside the road, and we slowed down to look. A doe! A deer! A female deer! (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) Actually, this was a young adult, probably born in the spring, and not yet fully grown. It looked up at us in alarm, as if it had never seen a car before (which is surely impossible as it was standing on a paved road next to human habitation). It bounded along the road away from us, and we followed slowly behind it, watching its tall white tail bounce. After the next bend, the deer darted into the woods and I saw its mother.

We turned at the next opportunity and came back for another look. The mother was still there, still as a statue, still as the kind of deer statue that you so often see in people’s gardens. We turned again, as soon as we could, and came back. And that is when I was able to take this shot. I took some unzoomed, and you can hardly make out the shape of the deer at all. This magnificent creature stood there, patiently, waiting for me to zoom in and get an unnecessary number of near-identical photos before tiring of my presence and turning away, striding into the woods dismissively, as if we were no longer worthy of her attention, or beneath her dignity.

Anytime I see the word “Wilmer” I become an episode of the Flintstones. At least in my head. (And for most Brits, Wilmer sounds exactly like Wilma.) Wilmer Road is in many ways a typical country road, with Victorian farmhouses, newer sidesplits, and plenty of woods and farmland on both sides. Until THIS. For a short stretch, Sydenham Lake reaches to the west, the autumn-red sumac in the nearby shallows, and little islands dotting the view into the distance. This is one of my favourite views in all of Ontario, one that I’ve taken in at different seasons. Maybe you’ll see another version of this picture before long?

And although we were still some way from home, Sydenham Lake is the perfect place to end coverage of our road trip! It’s not that there aren’t sights to see closer to home, just that I’ll save them for another time.

*

Thanks for reading!

Every so often I take a look at “Life, the Universe, and ALL THE THINGS” and wonder what could be different, or, dare I ask, better.

Previously, I wondered aloud if NINE niches were too many. The resounding answer seems to be YES. Unfortunately, I don’t want to stop writing in ANY of my niches, so instead I’ve decided to carve out a NEW niche.

Yes, that’s a TENTH niche.

And when I say “niche” I really mean “Section of my Substack”.

And each SECTION? It’s really its own newsletter!

Politics is a big thing. Especially now. Especially in THESE TIMES. But at the same time, I’m SO SICK of thinking about politics and dealing with the reality of daily life.

I want to face the BIG ISSUES head on. BUT I also want to play with chickens. AND I also want to write about life on other planets, and people in fantasy universes. In short, I need to ESCAPE sometimes.

So that is why I’ve made a new section and subscribed you all to it already.

It’s called ESC — The Escape. Because, at least sometimes, that’s what we all crave.

At the moment, I’ve populated the section with some non-political stories, soothing tales of road trips and picnics from the last several months. I specifically avoided any mention of politics at all (except for one gentle acknowledgment of it existing).

Here’s the description of the new ESC section:

“No politics. No fiction. They belong elsewhere. Everything has its place, and this is a place for ESCAPE, for RELAXATION, for ROAD-TRIPS, and CHICKENS. Our time is dark and full of terrors. But not here. This is a place of light and colours, of hugs and prettiness, of joy, of art, of peace, and of freedom. There is still good in the world and I’ll try to help you find it.”

But I want to make something else very clear: I am not cowed by DOTUS (the Dictator of the United States). Not in the slightest. I am enraged. I am incredulous. I am in total (non-violent) opposition. I’m an armchair cowboy watching the demise of democracy. And I don’t like it.

And to be perfectly clear, I’m not even American. But, like everyone else on this planet, what America does impacts me.

As a Canadian, I’ve relied on American customers for most of the last 20 years. America has been very good to me. I made it through the Great Recession and Trump 1.0 thanks to the financial support of Americans. And I am truly grateful.

But Trump 2.0 is completely new ground. The American Dictator has shuttered the last viable part of my business, which means I have every incentive to just sit here and complain about him, day in, day out.

It’s just not the ONLY thing I want to be writing about.

How do I reconcile these two seemingly-opposite needs?

With SECTIONS!

Let me confess something right here. When I post something political, I get some new subscribers, but I always lose someone. When I post something gentle or uplifting, I get some new subscribers, but I always lose someone. And when I post some fiction, like my serialized NOVEL, can you guess what happens? I get some new subscribers, but I always lose someone.

In a way, I have THREE main niches. Those niches are hinted at in the title of this Substack:

Life, the Universe, and ALL THE THINGS.

Besides being a science-fiction mis-reference in itself, it EXPLAINS who I am and what I write about.

LIFE

I write about real life, contemporary events, current affairs, chickens. Some of these are political commentaries, and some are jam recipes. You’re beginning to grasp the scope of my predicament.

THE UNIVERSE

I write about space, science fiction, astronomy, star systems, made-up worlds, magical worlds, fiction, and maps. Again, this is an intersection of the real and the imagined.

ALL THE THINGS

I write about anything AND everything. And I suppose that is my biggest problem.

Well, HERE is my biggest problem:

How do I bring politics to the political minded, fiction to the fictionally minded, and non-political escapism to those who just can’t even today thank you very much?

Because, despite talk of one section being one niche, it isn’t really true. These are my three niches: politics, very much NOT politics, and fiction.

So: are three niches too many?

Maybe three NICHES will work, but how does that correspond to SECTIONS?

Well, I’ll tell you.

POLITICS

If you want to know what I think in the arena of politics, the section for you is My So-Called Democracy. I am politically opposed to Donald Trump, Pierre Poilievre, and Nigel Farage. If that sits well with you, we’ll find plenty to agree about!

ESCAPE FROM POLITICS

ESC — The Escape: There’s so much going on, so if you can’t even, you just can’t even, and that’s fine. Well, it’s not FINE as in GREAT, but I GET IT, and I’m not judging you for it. If you want to hit the ESC button from politics, find that here.

Neil’s Basics of Mapling — do you like maple syrup? Not everyone does (but seriously, if you don’t, what is WRONG with you?), and not everyone has access to a maple tree so they can make their own. But if you DO? Maybe this short series of posts will help you along. I’m fairly certain there is an almost total lack of political commentary here, so come for the free sugar from trees.

FICTION

This is my purpose. This is who I am, more than anything else. I write because I can’t STOP writing, at least not for long. A day without writing AT ALL? What a nightmare.

So, THESE sections give you my fiction:

Hindsight Universe — the serialized novel Hindsight, as well as some other short stories in the same universe, and (in the new year) a NEW novel, serialized right here!

Interstellar Universe — a science fiction universe that has interstellar colonies, alien species, and space adventures. Posts include short stories, in-universe notes on different star systems, and (one day) longer stories, serialized right here!

Worldbuilding — how do you build a story world? Or a story universe? Or an actual star system? In the future I intend to go into GREAT DETAIL about how I do it, but in the meantime I’ll be posting different questions and quandaries ... where? RIGHT HERE!

366 Story Seeds — maybe you’ve seen my Story Seed posts on Medium, or here on Notes? HERE is where you’ll find any story that has come, in whole or in part, from one of the 366 Story Seeds. Most come under the category of “short story”, but some are shorter, counting as “flash fiction”, while a few stories are the start of a series, or a novella, or perhaps even an idea for a whole novel.

Short Stories — Not every story idea I have is from one of the Story Seeds. Not every story fits within the two main story universes that I’ve given their own sections. The rest? They will be here. Sooner or later, they will all find their way HERE.

So what is left?

Medium Articles — you know I also write on Medium, and that some of what I write there fits in specific other sections on my Substack, but everything else? It’s here. Daily life with a dash of politics? Here. Personal stories that are maybe NOT particularly escapist or overtly uplifting? Here. Other anecdotes or observations? This, I guess, is the ALL THE THINGS section, after all.

UNSUBSCRIBE

You subscribe because of the fiction, the politics, or the chickens, but then there are some SECTIONS that you don’t enjoy. Unsubscribe! *

* From that section only!

On the UNSUBSCRIBE page (which you can reach easily from the BOTTOM of any email sent from my Substack), you’ll see a list of all the different sections, and whether or not you are subscribed to them.

Another way to get there is from my main site, https://neilshooter.substack.com/, click your image icon in the top right corner — there’s a dropdown menu. Choose “Manage Subscription”.

Simply toggle ON or OFF the sections (different newsletters) that you want to be subscribed to (or not).

Easy!

(Here you can see “My So-Called Democracy” is toggled OFF.)

And that is all you need to do!

ANNOUNCEMENTS

So, you know how I am serializing my novel Hindsight?

I’m getting ready, in the coming weeks, to release it as an actual book. The first half will be released first, the second half in the new year, and then later the whole entire novel all in one handy volume. Or ebook.

And if you were reading closely above, you’ll already know that I have a ROUGH plan to share/write a SEQUEL/SIDE-QUEL novel next year, taking Hindsight’s place in the weekly schedule! It’s really the novelization and combination of a few separate short stories, but one recent sleepless night saw me spend a couple of hours going through a mental outline for it. Yes, this will be a partially FIRST-DRAFT serial novel!

(I know -- living on the edge!)

Speaking of “The Edge”, I’m planning to serialize this Interstellar Universe novella at some point soon, probably weekly.

And finally ...

This one is a bit personal. September 2025 marks the TENTH anniversary of my last alcoholic beverage.

Honestly, I don’t think I would have made it through the stresses (stressORS) of the last ten years if I had still been drinking. I don’t believe there were more than TWO instances where I was even tempted to partake. I don’t say any of this to brag, or to evangelize, but to explain. Even on those darkest of days, a momentary thought process could have led me back to it, but it didn’t. Why not? Because I have seen the lie of the culture I was raised in, and I cannot unsee it, even on my absolute darkest of days. Here is my truth: alcohol does not make your problems go away; alcohol makes you feel a little better for a while and then a lot worse for much longer; alcohol steals your creativity and numbs your imagination.

The thing that made me stop? The realization that I was on a regular rollercoaster, between caffeine and alcohol, and that I could FEEL what it was doing to my body, how it raised my blood pressure, how it upset my stomach, how it robbed me of my rest.

The thing that got me through the first weeks? Having an unrelated infection, and then being on antibiotics for a couple of months. I feel like I PROBABLY would have made it through regardless, but having the extra incentive certainly helped.

And my BEST year for creativity, for writing, word count ... was 2016. That was the year of 366 Story Seeds.

And despite some other challenges in the intervening years, I believe I will never have another alcoholic beverage as long as I live.

Both my blood pressure and my creativity thank me.

So, if you’re thinking about stopping, give it a try. Just to see.

*

Thanks for reading!

We gassed up, pushed through some unexpected construction, and headed up to Queensborough, a familiar route, and a way to cut out some boring highway without losing any time as we head north.

Queensborough used to have a mill and an inn, but still has a Manse and a mill pond with small falls in a couple of places. [I think the red is sumac.]

I didn’t bring the good camera. This might seem like an error in judgment, and perhaps (ultimately) it will be proven so, but between a backlog of pre-existing photos that I haven’t yet adequately gone through, and a lack of charged batteries, I only have the phone with me.

The colours are coming into full blush, with lots of green still but already a good dappling of red, yellow, and orange. At least some of the colour is from pre-existing stress to the trees from the (ongoing) summer drought.

The hamlet of Cooper lies a little to the north of Queensborough, and is part of a loop we take from time to time, just to see long views and pretty rural scenes like this one.

I’m already regretting not bringing the good camera. The views are stunning but fleeting. If I were sitting ready for each momentary glory then you’d have more (and better) pictures (potentially — there’s still a good element of luck) but perhaps not the same words.

The road up to Bancroft is long, dull, and evergreen in many spots, and it’s easy to miss the points of interest. As we get closer to the town, the terrain gets more rugged, and more distracting, like this picture of Spring Lake with a tiny treed island.

Bancroft is busier than I remember it. Everything feels so pressed together and congested. There’s a flashy new coffee shop being built, an American chain. The town is famous for rocks and minerals, which of course includes crystals of various kinds. There’s also a lookout called the Eagle’s Nest just north of town, somewhere near these cliffs.

A small detour on Brethour Road, where we sat and had our thermos coffee break next to Redmond Bay, which is the eastern-most reach of Baptiste Lake.

Baptiste Lake is surrounded by wooded hills, and a small fishing boat bobbed in the middle of it all. The road runs along the base of a cliff, so we drove in deep shade even though we were surrounded by bright mid-afternoon colours.

We passed Diamond Lake and Jordan Lake before entering Haliburton Country in the approach to Highland Grove. Somewhere nearby was this colorful hillside backdrop to drowned trees and parched grasses or bull rushes.

The main impediments to taking good photos were my own poor reflexes, the movement of the car, the ever-changing scenery, and the slight delay between pressing the button to take a picture and the phone actually deciding to take a picture. But not every photo was a write-off.

The westernmost destination was Elephant Lake, and this grand vista was well worth the journey. I took MANY pictures, but here is my favourite. The lake, the trees, the sky, the weather. All just perfect.

We glimpsed so many promising roads that we just didn’t take and we were tempted to change our plans and be more spontaneous. In the end, hunger won out, and we returned to Jordan Lake to eat our picnic. A Sea-Doo frolicked in the cool waters, a sweeping spectacle as we munched on our home-made spinach and cheese dough pockets.

But a plan is a plan, and when the plan includes one of the best and most peaceful places on Earth, you have to stick to it. We headed north-east, through Musclow and Monteagle Valley and beyond. New Carlow is a tiny hamlet, a scattering of farms and little houses on large lots, with a wind-swept hilltop cemetery its natural focal point.

This field is the spot. The view. The fresh wind. The silence, a lack of any sound BUT the wind. There might have been no people left in the world, just us and the hills, but then a car passed by in the distance and ruined the illusion. Not that I am WISHING for an empty Earth. It’s just a fantasy I partake in occasionally.

It’s all southbound from here. Through Boulter and Slabtown, and then as you near Fort Stewart the view to the east opens up across the Little Mississippi and York River valley. The land around here is glorious. It’s easy to see why there are no houses for sale.

Bowen Corner is the start of Detlor Road. These trees caught my eye, as they in turn caught the afternoon sun.

The road follows a wooded ridge that, after the village of Detlor itself, opens out onto farmland and more spectacular views that we had seen ages ago, maybe last year or the year before, and had wanted to see in full fall grandeur.

As we returned south towards more familiar territory it finally became obvious that there was actually more colour the further south we went, and although the fall colours are starting north of Bancroft they aren’t the blaze of colour we expected. And the trees weren’t bare.

I think I know why.

We’ve had a long and hard summer drought from the Great Lakes all the way to Nova Scotia, with wells and swamps running dry. At my house, over the last three months, we’ve had two downpours and a couple of showers. My guess is that the further north you travel the less severe the summer drought was, and so the trees are less stressed and on their proper schedule

Some of the colours we have right now down here are due to that stressful summer and so are AHEAD of schedule, confusing matters and confounding expectations.

This is perhaps good news, in the end. We have the colour around us now, and the colour change in the rugged and spectacular landscape of the Canadian Shield near Algonquin Park is yet to come — and is still something we can look forward to.

*

Thanks for reading!

A combination of factors have come together. I sang the old “Kids in the Hall” song to myself, as I do from time to time, reminded of the existence of one of my Daves. It’s a classic bit of Canadiana.

The most memorable line, all these years, has been:

Dave Capisano

I hardly know him

(Watch the video and you’ll understand why.)

And I’ve just had a double whammy of reminders. One, a case of sickness and recovery, and the other, the anniversary of the Queen’s passing triggered memories of the passing of one of my Daves this year.

There are a number of very common names, names that make you think of so many people. You could sing a song about any of these other names, just as well as Dave, and maybe you’d like to do that.

However, in honour of one particular Dave, here are the Daves I know (knew):

Dave was my uncle, not by blood, and not really by marriage either, but by the physical proximity of four girls growing up in post-war England, and their enduring friendship, though marriage and separation, through moving away to another county and emigrating to Canada. They maintained a perpetual sense of sisterhood their entire lives. They were always my aunts, and so he was always my uncle.

He was also an enigma. We hardly ever talked. I didn’t understand him, didn’t know him really. He was tall, thin, imposing, with a sharp wit and a withering glare. I was intimidated by him for most of my life.

Dave was an adventurer. He took me on some of them. He was one of my best friends at university and my room-mate for a year. We explored London together, from Covent Garden to Hyde Park, from Pall Mall to Leicester Square, from Regent Street to the Greenwich Museum.

One morning we got up before the crack of dawn and trekked all the way to Wimbledon, where we saw Steffi Graff, Jennifer Capriati, and Boris Becker play, and watched rich people pay too much for sour strawberries and ice cream. After uni, he did a North American tour, of which I was only a small part.

Dave was my boss. A nervous man, his eyes always darted about, this way and that. He seemed more scared of me than I was of the job. He barely spoke but always had a diet cola in hand. I guess the stress got to him, as he left a few months after I got there, and just a few months after that I left too.

David was my friend and coworker. He was a quiet guy, always so sad and desperately lonely. Shy, uncertain of himself. An unlucky guy, in life and love. This isn’t a character assassination. I’m trying to be nice. For a while, he was a friend. I was sympathetic towards him.

He faced accusations of a certain nature from a disgruntled former employee, but the company had firm evidence that the accusations were baseless and stood by him. The whole thing blew over.

Then he fell in with a bad crowd, led astray by his new room-mate and his crushing unhappiness. I don’t believe he was a bad man, and I still struggle to accept he did any of what he was accused, charged, and convicted of doing. He was fired immediately, but no one ever saw or heard from him again. Could he have not understood the enormity of what he was participating in? I’ve pondered his innocence or guilt more times than I can recall.

Dave was a friend of my sister. Bright, confident, musical. A rocker. I think he had a band. He and my sister were already friends but were bonded by being joint victims of a shared betrayal. I hung out with him, and my sister, numerous times. For some reason, that often included alcohol and my memories of that time are a little hazy.

Dave was my friend and coworker, my break buddy, and later (after I moved to the suburbs) my ride to and from work. Dave was a reader, and one day he lamented that he had nothing to read. I knew he was a reader. I knew he liked fantasy. I knew I liked to write fantasy. And so I went home and wrote something. I showed him the next day. For weeks I had more and more parts of the story flowing out of me, before running aground on my own lack of planning.

But that was the beginning of my entire Epic Fantasy Universe, the start of The Eternal Art, The Kinnon Gate, stories of Peledar and Antessa, more stories than I could ever finish in my lifetime. Yes, I’m still writing stories in that fictional universe all these years later.

Dave is my sister’s father-in-law. They have a cottage by the lake, and often host barbecues and picnics and parties by the water. Dave is friendly, outgoing, gregarious, generous. Always has a smile on his face. I learned, recently, that he had a health event requiring a hospital stay. I remembered all the times I saw his kindness and goodness. I’m happy to report that he’s well on his way back to being fit as a fiddle, although he is banned from physical labour for medical reasons.

Dave was my uncle. Yes, that one. My uncle not by blood, but in every important way. He is the first and last of the Daves I’ve listed, and that is deliberate. The Dave I knew as a child, and for most of my life, is not the Dave I knew at the end.

This Ultimate Dave was the friend I never knew I had. The ally. The joker with an exquisite sense of humour and intellectual finesse that any philosopher of the ages would be happy with. He was a man with many questions and few answers.

No longer the authority figure he had been in my youth, now he was a peer, a fellow explorer of life, one of those who will always be taken too soon, even if he makes it to his late 70s.

He sent me a letter a few months before he died. Out of the blue. Hands down, it was the best letter I have received in my entire life. (There’s a short list of the greats, but his is at the top.) I learned more about the man, the real person he was, in that one letter than in the previous 50 years of shared existence.

And I finally understood his love of old glass bottles.

I put my heart and soul into the reply, but took a little too long to finish it and send it. I had wanted it to be perfect, you see. And worthy, a worthy response to the opus I had received.

I know he read it, but we never spoke, or wrote, again. We were out of time. He passed a short time later.

These are the Daves I knew. I also have a bunch of Steves, and more Robs than you might imagine. Very few Neils, though, in my experience. (And I was always on the lookout for them.)

People come into our lives and then leave, taking with them an amount of fond memories or regrets or a mixture of both, and some of them aren’t even called Dave.

*

Thanks for reading!

Yes, I do venture out of the house three times a day to look after the chickens, but even that has been exhausting and debilitating.

So we were due a ROAD TRIP. The weather was ideal — still bright and warm, but no longer humid.

We booked a curbside pickup for the early afternoon (mangoes and ice cream!) and set off on our meandering way to get there.

Maybe you remember a road trip we had in the spring, through Tyendinaga Mohawk territory? It’s okay if you don’t. The important thing was that I’d spied a STOP sign in Shannonville written in Mohawk (Kanien’kéha) and I wanted a proper look at it.

(The Wikipedia page for the Mohawk Language shows a different kind of stop sign.)

I got that today.

The police cruiser facing us and waiting for us to turn (we were at our testa’n sign before they were) was apparently more interested in patrolling the streets of Shannonville than figuring out why we were taking photos of road signs.

I always get a kick out of seeing the signs for the Library (Kanhiote), and the Memorial Arena (Karonhiaktakie).

We crossed the huge Quinte Skyway Bridge into the County (Prince Edward County) and stayed on country roads as much as possible.

The clouds were just perfect, line upon line of picturesque little fluffballs, over rolling fields of golden wheat. Heaven.

Big Island is accessible by a long courseway through a marsh. We’ve been there once before, but it was a surgical strike, to pick up something before heading to other places. This time, we had plenty of opportunity to explore, and decided to circumnavigate the whole island. Sire, it’s just a few quiet little country roads, with old farmhouses, random shacks, and an occasional villa, but these kinds of quiet country roads are what we love. Especially the ones on the north side of Big Island with the “sea view”.

It’s not the sea at all, really, just part of the Bay of Quinte. We could see Belleville in the distance, on the opposite shore and up the coast a bit, but this was as far as we got to the city. We could see the spire of one church, and the white spot of the water tower on the hill.

Fate presented the Big Island Boat Launch in Robinson Cove to us just when we were ready for our thermos coffees. We parked in the shade and watched the swans paddling in the shallows.

I bet you can’t see the aquatic inukchuk in the middle of this picture? It’s turned out as just a tiny blur, a blob of grey.

How about now?

And I ventured out onto the dock, but it felt a little bit like walking the plank. I think I’m just paranoid about dropping my phone in the water.

It was too soon for our packed lunch of kalonji buns with zaatar and cheese, so we trusted the Fates to provide a place to stop when we were ready.

The Fates provided plenty of views, but no picnic areas, so we ate in the car on the quiet roads. Bliss.

Our pickup was to be in Trenton, so our path led us to Carrying Place, along the old Kente portage (to avoid the highway — this was our big mistake), and then across the Murray Canal.

This is the narrow isthmus of land connecting the County to the rest of Ontario, and was a popular early portage spot for those wanting to cross from Lake Ontario directly into the top end of the Bay of Quinte.

Carrying Place is named for the act of portage. Kente is the namesake of the whole Quinte region. There’s a Fort Kente Road, where there is no outward sign of anything historical, except for some suggestive apparent ruins visible in the satellite view. About 30 years ago, there was a re-enactment of some kind that we went to see in this area, somehow involving Mohawks and Redcoats, but now there is no public park, no field, only rows of fancy houses.

(Perhaps this is connected to what I saw at Kente 30 years ago.)

I was also sad that I couldn’t get a picture of the canal. Maybe it’s no Suez or Corinth, but it’s still a pretty sight, a straight lane of simmering water with orderly green banks reaching into the distance as far as you can see. Perfect symmetry.

That was the moment the Fates turned on us.

The road ahead, the one we’d banked on, was torn upside down by the construction of new water mains (or sewage, perhaps), so we were forced to take a detour into the unknown.

It’s not exactly the unknown, you understand, but it’s off the edge of the detailed map of the County I’d been using, but also not yet on the map of the local area I usually rely on. So, a little smudge of uncertainty, rather than “The Unknown.” That’s poetic license, right there.

Which is how we ended up in Brighton, some 20 minutes west of Trenton, and now quite late for our pickup.

Trenton had another surprise waiting for us. The main street (the one we thought we’d be driving along) was closed for a street festival of some kind, bustling with pedestrians, full of stalls of all kinds, brightly coloured clothes being the nearest and most obvious, but there was too much going on to discern more than that.

We navigated around it, and found the park where we’d be eating our ice cream. We were already late, so what did a few more minutes matter? And the park was on our way to the pickup.

Soon enough, we were back in the park, but not before this happened: a plane from nearby CFB Trenton taking off over the trees, and flying overhead.

I say it is a C-130 Hercules. I may be wrong. It’s definitely not a CC-150 Polaris. It might have been a CC-177 Globemaster III, but I don’t think it was fat enough. What do you think?

Centennial Park is Trenton’s best kept secret.

I suppose it’s an open secret, but one that still managed to be kept from me. I’ve only recently come back to Quinte in the last ten years, but I’ve had roots in the area for 30 years (and tendrils for more than 50 years). I never knew this park existed.

Maybe it was so peaceful because of the city centre festivities. Maybe it was so peaceful because a section of the waterfront pathway was blocked off for some kind of drone acrobatics testing. There was no audience, so it seemed like a technical demonstration.

That all conspired to mean that we had Centennial Park Pavilion all to ourselves, and that’s where we ate our melty ice creams. Maybe being an hour late was partly to blame for the meltiness.

We stomped across dead grass (which is beautiful to me, because it means it doesn’t need to be mowed) towards the shore. The deadness and dryness made me feel it was unlikely there were any ticks around, although I’m sure the city must spray the parks.

The wind coming off the water was great. Fresh. Bracing. Invigorating. Maybe it helped that we’d just had ice cream? I don’t know. But we watched the waves and the boats for a while, before wandering further along the path. There were no mosquitos anywhere.

And that’s where we found this historic sign. It’s been a hundred years or more since the last vestige of the mill was destroyed. This used to be the beating heart of the city. Now it is a park full of summer-dead grass, populated by dogwalkers and skateboarders. And a drone flyer.

I was struck by the strange beauty of the place, of the summer drought, the golden grass. Actually it reminded me of a place that doesn’t exist, Westfall, a region of Azeroth in the game World of Warcraft. And that is particularly synchronous, as it happens, because a little earlier, in Carrying Place, we had gone right past the Westfall Memorial Park and Public Washroom without even noticing.

On our way back to the roads more often travelled, we went through the heart of CFB Trenton, past hangars and planes, barracks and checkpoints (on either side of the main road), and under this covered footbridge.

And yes, I managed to take 194 photos. So these are just the twelve best, or twelve most relevant ones.

Thanks for reading!

It started with a church for sale in Mountain Grove, which we went past a couple of weeks ago by chance. On Friday morning, we looked it up on Realtor.ca, and it’s pretty inside, already converted to a residence in the most obvious ways, and affordable too. But there’s a catch. Two pretty big catches. No water, no septic. No wonder the price is so good.

The big joke in the family right now is that we’re going to buy it and set up a Lebanese kafta restaurant there, the middle of nowhere at a former church, and call it “Cheeses and Pita”.

No? Because it sounds like “Jesus and Peter”. And it’s a church. And … oh, nevermind.

Whether that’s objectively amusing or not, we decided to go and drive by, because of an open schedule that day, along with nice weather — cloudy and not as hot as recent days have been.

So we dithered for half an hour on Maps, considering various routes. A scenic picnic spot? A bakery in Glen Tay?

One small complication was that we needed to gas up. The tank holds 42 liters, and we were at half-full. BUT we’ve gone 450 km on that half tank when a full tank takes us 650–700 km. So is the gauge faulty? Is the halfway mark not accurate? Who knows!

The gas station in the village was busy, so we thought we’d gas up in Kaladar, along Highway 7, or else go all the way to Perth to fill up, because it is only just further away than Glen Tay, and then meander back with a full tank.

At Kaladar the highway was closed due to an unspecified emergency. Nothing was visible on the road beyond the emergency vehicles blocking the way.

Now, you may not know the area, but this is no small inconvenience. This is the Land of Lakes, and bogs, and great mounds of stone sticking out of the Canadian Shield, and there aren’t as many roads as you’re maybe used to.

It’s a 12 minute and 18 km drive along the highway to the next road, near Arden. The detour to the north is 58 minutes and 76 km, via Northbrook, Harlow, and Henderson. The detour to the south is via Erinsville, Tamworth, and “downtown” Arden, and takes 50 minutes and 60 km. And I’m not “avoiding highways” or anything, these are the most direct routes. There are simply no other roads.

So maybe we WOULDN’T go to Perth or Glen Tay. And maybe we wouldn’t even see our church in Mountain Grove. Destiny had intervened.

But maybe that dithering before we left had spared us from being involved in the unknown road-closing emergency north-east of Kaladar.

SIDEBAR

The emergency was later posted online:

“ROAD CLOSURE: Highway 7 is closed in both directions between Arden Road and Mountain Grove Road near Sharbot Lake for a single vehicle collision. Emergency crews are at the scene. Motorists should avoid the area.

UPDATE (12:09 p.m.): Highway 7 remains closed in both directions between Arden Road and Mountain Grove Road in the Sharbot Lake area due a serious collision. Motorists should expect a lengthy closure and plan an alternate route for the time being.

UPDATE (6:35 p.m.): Highway 7 has reopened.”

So it was a bigger (and longer) disruption than we realized, and fortunately we avoided it.

END OF SIDEBAR

We went north from Kaladar, missing the gas station that was right there in the middle of all the traffic and hoopla. So many vehicles were diverted that the gas stations in Northbrook and Cloyne were all busy too, so we drove on, past lakes, through hilly valleys. We didn’t even stop at the little gas station in Griffith beside the picturesque Madawaska River (it really is picturesque, too!) because by then we realized we could get to Eganville or Renfrew.

You might be wondering what the heck we’re thinking. The original plan was to head somewhere about ONE hour away from home, and then meander back from it, and here we were almost AT a destination TWO hours from home, and with no idea whether the initial “goals” of the trip would be met.

At some point on that stretch, before or after Griffith, we hit a butterfly. It came out of nowhere. We couldn’t swerve to miss it. And that’s when we realized that our whole day had been one big Butterfly Effect, and how our plans for a short and quite specific trip had taken us so far from home, heading in the wrong direction, and running into a butterfly that would have still been alive if not for that emergency down on Highway 7.

At least we brought a picnic. “Just in case.”

And the gauge wasn’t stuck, even if it is inaccurate, because when we found a pleasingly-deserted gas station in Renfrew, with plenty of shade, we were down to between a quarter and a third of a tank, so the 32 liters that went in seemed to make complete mathematical sense.

We’d thought to head south from Renfrew to Perth, via Calabogie, and get “back on track” that way, but we missed the turn in Renfrew (which I blame on poor signage rather than a distracted navigator, ahem) and we decided to stop in the Park & Ride lot, mainly because we were hungry and ready for the picnic we’d brought, and because it was the prettiest alternative at that time. Thermos flasks of coffee, still too hot after a couple of hours on the road, some stuffed dough triangles (made in preparation for such a road trip), and some cheesecake (which we’d just happened to have handy …). Not bad for a spontaneous road-trip picnic!

SIDEBAR

The dough triangles are called fatoyr (singular fateeri), although they’re called that no matter what kind of stuffing is inside. It’s just regular dough, like a pizza pocket, the size of a cornish pasty, or a Costco ciabatta. Ours were cheese, and also spicy cheese & greens (bitter lettuce that had gone to seed, if I recall).

END OF SIDEBAR

We decided to head to Arnprior, because we’d never been, and then head south to Perth and pick up where we were “supposed” to have gone. When we hit Highway 17 we realized our error. It wasn’t some country highway, but a major artery leading into the 417 before too long. Not slow, not relaxing, and not what we were looking for.

Belatedly, we decided to exit, and see if it was nice along the Ottawa River. We headed through Lochwinnoch and Braeside, and we were rewarded by beautiful fields, and then the grand view of the mighty river, with Quebec on the other side.

A strange red mountain caught our eye on the far shore. It stuck out like a sore thumb, and surely couldn’t be natural. It had a steep slope on one side, the colour of red ore or rust, and sporadic tree or bush cover on its summit. It was quite pretty, to be honest. It looked so out of place, it had me thinking of fantasy stories, like it was the haunt of a tribe of gnolls or kobolds, or that it should have a castle on top of it, or a wizard’s tower.

Turns out, it’s a slag heap from the Bristol Mines. Nothing like my romantic ideas, but that’s reality for you.

Arnprior was pretty forgettable (sorry, Arnprior!) except for the interesting clock tower on the museum building at the main intersection in the heart of the town, but to be fair it’s not a very big place and we just drove down the main street without exploring at all. We crossed the river (also the Madawaska, where it joins the Ottawa) and promptly lost our bearings. We reached the 417 and crossed it, but it was a while before we were sure we’d gone the right way.

The road south followed the Mississippi River flowing north from Almonte (aka Mississippi Mills). I know, that was pretty confusing for me too. It’s not that Mississippi. I don’t know how or why the two rivers share a name and sit thousands of kilometers apart with no physical connection between them. If you know, please tell me.

But the skies cleared, and the sun beat down, and two hours from home is not the ideal place to realize you’ve had enough. We didn’t stop in Almonte, although it’s a nice place that we’ve visited a bunch of times. They have a nice textiles museum there. And there was a famous train derailment there a hundred years ago.

The road skirts Almonte, and took us back towards farmland. We decided to pass through Fallbrook and head directly to Glen Tay after all, because it had the advantage of being close to Highway 7 for our anticipated direct drive home.

The bakery was closed, even though it wasn’t quite 4pm. But we found it. So that’s something. And we achieved the first of our goals for the day, four hours late. Apparently, it’s only open Thursdays and Saturdays. That’s something we should have checked beforehand ….

The clouds had returned, a little, and we thought that the country roads to Mountain Grove would be nicer than the highway. We were right. We passed lakes and climbed hills and followed country roads past secluded farm stands and homesteads. Rustic and peaceful. We passed Christie Lake, Crow Lake, and Long Lake to get to Mountain Grove and our church.

After so much anticipation and build-up, the reality was underwhelming. We saw exactly how small the lot was, which is why there is no room for a septic system (it’s currently got one composting toilet), although the realtor had suggested their “might” be room for a well. The lot is barely bigger than the building, though, so there aren’t many options. And as a kafta place it wouldn’t work, in all seriousness, because there’s no parking. It’s completely impractical and silly. Which won’t stop us thinking about it, of course.

All told, we couldn’t have been stopped in front of it for more than 10 seconds. We were already some distance away before I realized I’d wanted to see if some damaged brickwork we’d seen on older pictures had really been fixed. Because this is just another one of our fantasies, we didn’t bother going back again to check.

We passed the south end of Big Clear Lake, and decided, again, that the country roads would be better than the highway, and more shaded. We also worried, vaguely, that the earlier emergency might not be cleared, but we still had no idea that it was on the part of the highway right at Arden, where we were at that point.

The rest of the way back is a route we take often, via Tamworth and Erinsville, and it’s comforting and familiar. There’s a young tree grafted into the stump of an old tree that was cut before we discovered the road, and over the years we’ve watched it grow and thrive. We had no idea such a thing was possible, so we get a kick out of seeing it, each and every time.

Our two hour road trip lasted six hours, and took us to places we hadn’t planned and didn’t expect. It was a hot day, but pretty, and the drive blew the cobwebs out of our brains. And, against all odds, massive detours, and almost getting lost several times, we took in BOTH of the places we’d planned to see.

Take a look at the listing for the church, and let me know what you think!

Thanks for reading!

Before I even woke up, the animal sightings had started, with a skunk munching his way down a line of my strawberry patch, and the frolicking rabbits in the long grass of the back lawn. Neither are unusual. The skunk “makes his presence known” from time to time, and I’ve seen him there before, at dusk. And the rabbits, by their very presence, are a reassuring sign that the coyote population is being kept in check by local recreational hunters.

After prepping some dough (it was time to let it sit and rise), we headed out for a short drive in the country, planning to circle back to the local gas station, for the car and the can (for the ride-on mower).

We headed north, through woods, and past lakes and swamps.

We slowed down to watch a porcupine trundle into the cover of the woods. Have you ever seen one climb a tree? A truly impressive strategy to use their stubby tail as a brace.

The trees opened up on the right and a flooded area of skeletal trunks and green lily-pads spread to distant woods, too open to think of it as a swamp, but too cluttered with the remains of drowned trees to really feel like a lake. Not far from the road, a duck bobbed meditatively.

Turned from our planned back-roads route by signs that a road grader was somewhere ahead of us, we turned to the main roads for a while, the shortest “while” possible, heading to Flinton on the lesser traveled path.

A lone turkey darted out of our way, and into the woods.

Then, a turkey vulture emerged out of the tree cover and flew ahead of us for a short way, reminding me of a World of Warcraft griffin/gryphon transporting some intrepid adventurer through Elwynn Forest on their way from Stormwind to Westfall. (I have simple pleasures.)

Our mini-adventure took a surprising turn when we reached the intersection with Deer Rock Road, which leads to Deer Rock Lake (and conservation area). We have been there once before, a sunny day a few years ago, where, despite a full parking lot, the boat launch was completely devoid of human life, and we had it to ourselves.

We decided to go again. The road was both better and worse than we remembered, as though it has been widened a little in the interim. Some large stones made the fresh gravel treacherous. It seemed like civilization reached further up this little road to not-quite nowhere than it had before.

The road narrowed, and we remembered coming upon a large black pickup the previous time, and struggling to find a place to pass each other.

Parts of the road seemed too rough for pickups and their boat trailers. A crest that was too sharp. gullies carved into the road by heavy rain. A protruding boulder that the road didn’t quite cover.

The parking lot wasn’t empty, despite the overcast skies and unseasonably cool breeze. We drove down to the water’s edge, at the boat launch, and saw a boat bringing a couple of fisherman back to shore, glaring at our intrusion onto their peaceful lake experience.

We remembered the total peace we’d enjoyed last time. I suppose we couldn’t blame them for being grumpy.

So we left Deer Rock Lake behind, disappointed and deflated.

We noticed how long the northbound journey was, up to the lake, compared to the southbound journey back to civilization. Did the anticipation of the unfamiliar road heighten our senses, or simply make us go slower? Did the familiarity on the return journey both dull our senses and make us take less care?

In any case, we skidded to a halt with the swamp on both sides of the road. A large turtle slipped off the verge and out of view, but we saw the waves it made in the otherwise-still water. The turtle paddled to a worn-smooth rock, mostly submerged, and then ambled across it. We considered the design of the turtle, how carrying protection around with you was clearly an effective strategy, in evolutionary terms. The turtle comes from an old lineage, after all. This one was the largest we’ve seen in the wild.

In the woods a little further down the road we skidded to another halt, this time because a pair of Canada geese stood in the road, protecting their four babies from our approach.

These geese are notoriously violent. We had visions of the hissing, head-bobbing male divebombing the windshield. It’s not unheard of.

The Family Goose retreated a short distance, to the point where we moved forward. The geese stopped and stared. The babies looked exactly like oversized chicken chicks. The same mannerisms. The same evolutionary motifs, I suppose. Mother Goose stayed by the babies, and Father Goose stayed between us and them. A Canadian standoff.

I didn’t want these geese in front of us the whole way back. We couldn’t let this go on. We got closer than before, and the gander finally got spooked enough to dash into the undergrowth with one of his goslings.

The mother and other three goslings? They had the whole forest to take cover in, as every other creature had managed to do so far. They backed up along the road. We moved up. They started running, their fuzzy grey gosling butts wiggling in the frenzy of their escape along the road, the mother bringing up the rear.

We started singing La Danse des Canards (which you may remember in English as The Chicken Dance) and laughed and laughed.

The geese weren’t laughing though — they thought they were running for their lives, and that thought sobered us up. We weren’t trying to scare them. We just wanted to pass them. And the silly geese were running in front of us like some Hollywood disaster movie.

Still, we had a bit of momentum, and we tried to keep hold of it. A gosling slipped into the undergrowth on the right, and then the other two on the left, leaving only the mother.

She realized she was alone, her gait quickening, her speed increasing, and then her wings flapping. She flew, at eye level, in front of us for about 50 meters before rising into the canopy (again with the World of Warcraft flight paths).

We were free of the geese! We didn’t mean to terrorize them, or to separate them from each other. I’m sure the gander rounded up his stray goslings before too long, and reunited with his spouse.

Back on paved roads, we still yearned for the back ways, so took the road through Elzevir, a rustic hamlet of a handful of scattered farmhouses.

A murder of crows took to the wing from the side of the road, and I imagined that one of them had a scrap of something in its beak, but we saw no obvious carrion.

A doe in the road, right in front of a well-treed front garden, huge, regal, graceful. Deer are a treat every single time. She strode into the woods and away.

We emerged from the woods to a few fields, lying fallow. In one field, on a rise that hid the woodland beyond, two wild turkeys stood like silent sentinels, ominous black shadows, staring at us as we passed. I felt like I’d seen a ghost, or a cryptid.

A woodchuck rushed to hide under a shed next to a house where two immense pet turkeys meandered in the front garden, completely unperturbed by our proximity. We were perturbed by the turkeys. So much bigger than mere chickens. Such an immense bulk. They made me think of cassowaries, although I knew my life was not in danger. And our closeness to these turkeys made the hill turkeys seem all the more formidable: those silent sentinels might have BEEN cassowaries. (Okay, so that is extremely unlikely, but not impossible.)

Soon, a familiar sight: a mischievous or hapless crow being aerially bombarded by three red-winged blackbirds. The red-winged blackbirds are notoriously territorial, and were in the news the other day for attacking a neighbourhood in suburban Toronto.

In the home stretch, we saw chickens and cows, but chickens and cows are to be expected, and of course I didn’t mention my own chickens, or the cows we see every day in the back field.

Earlier, at some point, we had joked about what else we might see: lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Of these, only the bear is at all likely, and, trust me, I was on the lookout for bears. So when we saw a cat, we said it was a “Canadian lion” even though it was actually only a ginger tabby, on the prowl.

Later that day ….

Flinton and Queensborough are our two most common “let’s get out of the house for a bit” destinations, each being within easy striking distance, an hour or so of different scenery. Not that there’s anything wrong with the view from the house. It’s just that we see it all the time.

So, after lunch, we went to Queensborough, unwittingly part of a cunning plan.

North of Queensborough, with its Manse, its falls, and its little bridge, is the hamlet of Cooper. The good road peels west of Cooper, but that corner is the lower left corner of a square, like a city block but just fields and farms. We’ve done the circuit once, a few years ago, but each corner of the square has “No Exit” roads in every other direction than the complete block. We’d never taken any of them before. This was the cunning plan.

Usually, these “roads to nowhere” aren’t very long, even if they are sometimes interesting. The people we see along such roads are sometimes bemused at our presence, sometimes unhappy. We can’t help that. There’s a road, and sooner or later we’re going to use it.

This was not a short road. It reached for 8km into the woods, past a certain unexpected destination. We joked that it was a road to the ends of the earth, and that our (still secret at this point) destination was ALMOST at the ends of the earth. The road was surprisingly good, although here too there were a few gullies, large stones, and unexpected potholes to keep us on our toes.

When we see a good pothole, we say “jurat Libnen” (the potholes of Lebanon).

SIDEBAR

A note on transliteration of Lebanese words. Lebanon is often rendered into Latin letters as Lubnan, which is how the word sounds in some songs. The French form is Liban (and the French were the colonial power there for a couple of decades after WW1), and maybe that has influenced how I HEAR when they say “lubnan”. Because in Spoken Lebanese it sounds to me more like “Libnen”. And that is why I wrote it that way here, even though the first vowel is neutral and the second vowel sounds like “air”. How am I supposed to write that in English? I don’t know!

END OF SIDEBAR

And there were a few good potholes.

Also, there were plenty of dragonflies. We love dragonflies because they spell the annual DOOM of the black flies. Dragonflies eat black flies, and there were clouds of dragonflies in the shaded woody parts of this road. Perhaps that meant they had plenty to eat? We kept the windows closed, just in case.

We rounded a bend, past a swamp, and there was another deer in the road. Calmer than the first, less startled by us, less impressed at our presence. But she (a doe as well) just walked off into the trees.

The road opened up to a line of high voltage electricity lines, massive towers seeming to stride across the landscape like skeletal giants. The line seems pretty straight, and could well lead from Peterborough in the west all the way to Ottawa in the east. (I haven’t checked on the map.)

Beneath these immense pylons, a black river wound its way, its banks unspoiled by human interference, the weeds and grasses reaching right to the muddy banks, here and there fallen trees remained from the spring ice storm. If not for the “monstrous carbuncles” of the electricity pylons, it would have been a perfect primeval idyll. And the road, too, I suppose.

And finally, our destination came into view. Overlooking this well-electrified river valley, on a gentle ridge, surrounded by trees, a Buddhist sanctuary sat. In one respect, this was the ideal place for a Zen retreat, far off the beaten path. But because electricity pylons are one of our pet peeves (that disqualified many houses from our consideration before we moved to our current home) it’s hard to reconcile the Zen mood with all those electricity lines. Like, do the cables hum? Don’t they detract from the sense of peace and isolation?

This place was also the reason the road had been so good for so long. A little beyond the Zen driveway, we reached the ends of the earth. The road expanded into a large circle, and only a tiny vestige of the road continued on to the undiscovered country beyond. Undiscovered by us, that is. Countless ATVs must have come this way before us, another reason that even HERE, SO FAR from the nearest neighbours, the Buddhists were going to have trouble finding peace with the hum of excessively-loud ATV motors.

Speak of the devil. An ATV appeared behind us, seemingly out of nowhere. As we turned around to head back to Cooper, the youth on the ATV waited patiently for us to depart. I guess he was happier eating our dust than having us tail him all the way.

Again, the way back seemed to take less time. Is this something you notice too?

As the road swept past a bit of open swamp-lake, a duck.

Back in Cooper, was that the end of our adventure? Not quite.

A “No Exit” at the north-west corner of the square also reached for a good distance and needed to be explored. Again, I didn’t know what the destination would reveal.

We passed more farm houses, more swamps, and more patches of woods. At one of these bits of woodland, a fox darted out as we approached the brow of a small shaded rise. He was silhouetted against the brighter light beyond. He carried in his mouth something pretty large, about a third of his body size. I thought it was a bird, a chicken perhaps, or (considering what we’d seen earlier) a gosling or juvenile turkey. In any case, he ran across the road like a cartoon silhouette.

The end of the road came sooner than anticipated, with a “Private Driveway” sign some distance from our true target: a couple of lakes that, on the map, seemed reachable. I supposed they are private lakes further along that private road.

We turned back, and noticed a couple of things along the way that we had missed earlier. Horses in a field. The goats hanging about in the long driveway of St Mary of Egypt, just north of Queensborough, which we had missed on our way north.

But back into familiar territory, we headed home, seeing a couple of chipmunks and a rabbit on our road was the icing on the cake of a great day.

Thanks for reading!

Spoiled by a couple of warm days and the idea of spring, and taking advantage of plentiful supplies and a sunny day, we went for a drive and a picnic.

As is common for these outings, we had a LITTLE bit of a plan, but not much.

We took the back roads to Beaver Lake and ended up at the little park on its southern…

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Yes, politics is crazy right now, and so much of the world feels like it is 1938. The old ways are ending, and no one knows what the new ways will bring.

There is SO much to say about the state of the world today, the way things are going in Canada, or the US, or anywhere in particular. Too much to say, and not enough time to say…

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