Under Grumpa's Hat

Today I turned 58, and my thoughts wander back
To rolling hills and maple groves of my youth in Quebec.
The Eastern Townships held my dreams, through winters crisp and clear,
Where snowdrifts met the moonlight, and each season brought new cheer.

Now three decades and more I’ve lived on this western side,
Where lakes lie like mirrors and Ponderosas rise high and wide.
In BC’s rugged heart, I found a life on untamed land,
Where mountains shape the skyline, and still rivers cool the sand.

I’ve watched both coasts change and grow, and I’ve seen what’s slipped away—
A gentler pace, a kinder world, and simpler, quieter days.
Canada’s still my country, but it’s different, hard to name,
With costs soaring, culture shifting, and what was rare feels the same.

Canada’s still Canada, but she’s changed through the years,
Immigration paints her bold; old values disappear.
I welcome every culture, as my parents taught to do,
But sometimes feel a stranger in the land that I once knew.

The news rings in my ear with a clang I can’t ignore,
Taxes high as mountains, yet we’re poorer than before.
Young folks burdened, seniors lost in doctors’ vacant halls,
How did a nation built so grand start breaking at the walls?

Now I watch a world in flux, and it turns my heart sore,
As screens define our lives, selling things we don’t adore.
People talk, but rarely speak—they text and scroll instead,
Losing touch with kindness, like the leaves of autumn shed.

Screens now raise our children while the world scrolls fast along,
And talking face-to-face feels like a nearly vanished song.
The news repeats with sorrow as folks walk burdened trails,
Young folks trying to start a life and finding only scales.

So today, at 58, I choose a simpler way to live,
Less tied to what’s shifting, more to what I can give.
I’ll tend the woods, cast my line, breathe deep BC’s open air,
And let a slower life remind me of what’s truly there.