The Canadian customs official was a pleasant but sturdy black woman in her early thirties. She seemed happy to see us, as the remote border crossing between Vermont and Quebec was otherwise quiet. She approached the passenger side of the car, motioning us to roll down the windows. “Passports, please. Purpose of visit?”

My sister-in-law handed over four US Passports. “Niece’s wedding in Kingston.”

“Are you bringing any gifts? Guns?”

Canadian customs pretty much assume every American has a gun and is unaware that Canada has laws about such things.

“Nope.”

The customs officer looked sceptical. But we were on the level. Each of us had contributed cash to the newlyweds’ house fund, and I think I was the only one of us to have ever fired a gun, much less travelled with one.

“Beer, wine or liquor?”

She had us there. “Um, yes, half a case of wine, six bottles, in the back.” Continue reading 07. My Canadian Family →