To live and die in Kenora

A while ago I decided the best way I could serve Canada and it’s inhabitants is by enlisting in the army to help protect Canada and it’s interests.  Fresh off basic training and soldier qualification for the Canadian Forces I was driving back to Kenora and came across the photo below which has been photographed a million times and seen a billion times… the view of the town whilst driving past Huskie the Muskie.

I was shocked to realise again that I felt I was home. It was then I realised that unless something major happens to me, or I fall in love with a woman from somewhere far like Mozambique or Guyana… I will be living and dying in Kenora.

There may be a few things about this town I don’t agree with such as the overwhelming racist environment that my sister sensed all by herself without me mentioning it to her… and the fact that if you curse on one side of town people on the other side of town will find out about it almost before your mouth is closed. That aside… there’s many things I love about Kenora, even more than London. Everyone I know now is here… my mates and associates; and of course my two precious children.

Kenora… move here and you may find happiness!