Five hundred meters from home, the town ends and rolling farmland glides past each shoulder. Motoring along Highway 9 at 80 kilometers the rush of dawn s cool air is crisp and clean. There is a delicious mixed sight and scent of pines, maples, and fertile farmlands, warm on the hills, chilled in the valleys. At the end of the half-hour run is a sweet little restaurant nestled in the trees near Orangeville. Approaching it you can sniff the back bacon across two valleys.
Life is great.
But the ritualistic reading of The Globe and Mail and other morning papers while sipping breakfast s orange juice became a rude intrusion. Sylvia the waitress says she doesn t read the papers or watch the news any more, she hears all she needs from customers. To Hijack Parliament. It s colder now. The air is still fresh, farmers have taken off their crops, and life is still great.