Ever since I can remember I've heard the comment that there is "no difference" between Canadians and Americans. I respectfully beg to differ as there is a difference on so many levels! We have unique Canadian culture consisting of Canadianisms, a Canadian perspective on world events, Canadian cuisine as well as products and foods only available in Canada. This blog is dedicated to celebrating all things Canadian from "my perspective" as a Canadian. Please enjoy your visit and be sure to visit often.

Garden Gnome
Americans should never underestimate the constant pressure on Canada which the mere presence of the United States has produced. We're different people from you and we're different people because of you. Living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is effected by every twitch and grunt. It should not therefore be expected that this kind of nation, this Canada, should project itself as a mirror image of the United States.
- Pierre Trudeau

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

Lieutenant Colonel John Alexander McCrae was born November 30, 1872 in Guelph, Ontario. He was a Canadian poet, physician, author, artist and soldier during World War I and a surgeon during the battle of Ypres. He died on January 28, 1918 in Boulogne-sur-Mer, France at the age of 45 from pneumonia while still commanding No 3 Canadian General Hospital (McGill) at Boulogne. John McCrae is best known for writing the infamous war memorial poem In Flanders Fields that was published in Punch on December 8, 1915. His poem has become iconic symbolism for war, learned by every Canadian child and recited on Remembrance Day each year (November 11).


In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
- Dr. John McCrae (1872-1918)


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