An Accidental Immigrant
When a powerful intuitive impulse prompted me to turn left into the US instead of right toward the Transcanada Highway and Winnipeg, I couldn't know that not only would I not be returning to my native Canada anytime soon, but that 22½ years later I would be a US citizen; a dual Canadian/US citizen, to be precise.
Today, on the 27th anniversary of my "accidental immigration," I share the serendipitous story that got me to the US all those years ago, in the following excerpt from Acts of Surrender: A Writer's Memoir.
Sioux Narrows Provincial Park sits on one of the thousands of picturesque inlets that comprise Lake of the Woods, a vast lake system that straddles the Ontario-Minnesota border west of Thunder Bay. In the summer its shores are lushly green, and haunting loon calls from mid-lake usher in its otherwise-silent dewy mornings. That’s what I woke to on the morning of July 9, 1997 — unknowingly, my last as a Canadian resident.
After scribbling a few postcards, I broke camp and drove five minutes south into town to mail the cards. My plan was to return to the Transcanada Highway and head toward the Winnipeg Folk Festival, which was to open a few days later. My car had its own plan. Without fully realizing what I was doing, I turned right instead of left out of the post office parking lot. My new direction was south — toward Baudette, Minnesota and, unbeknownst to me, my new country.
Even after I crossed into the US (after a touch of border-station drama), I considered this a temporary detour. America was a great place to visit, but why would I choose to stay? Even if I wanted to stay, it would not be legally possible. Better to keep to my folk-festival plans and find my way back up to Winnipeg.
Before leaving Baudette, I consulted my road atlas and found a series of back roads west of town that would loop me back into Canada within a few hours. Soon, though, I found myself driving under a dense canopy of trees along a right-angled maze of Forest Service dirt roads, roads not mapped out in my Rand-McNally. Ninety minutes later, to my surprise, I wasn’t ninety minutes west of Baudette. I was back in Baudette, without knowing how I got there. In that moment, the same intuitive impulse that had pushed me across the border now urged me toward southbound I-71.
The pull must have been stronger than I knew. Within moments, a Minnesota state trooper had pulled me over for speeding. When he saw my Ontario plates and driver’s license, he grinned and issued me nothing but a warning. His hometown, he said, was Kapuskasing, in northeastern Ontario.
Whether at home or in the car, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation had long been my favorite radio companion. And with Baudette so close to the border, the CBC signal was still powerful. That morning, as most mornings, I was tuned to Peter Gzowski’s Morningside program, a three-hour, magazine-style celebration of things Canadian. The signal started strong. But as I continued southwest toward Bemidji, Morningside grew weaker and weaker. Finally, Gzowski’s voice stuttered into solid static.acts of surrender cover
Canada was gone.
In that moment, I knew that I was, too — for good.
• How did I manage to get a green card to stay in the US and, ultimately, become a citizen? For that story (and more), you'll have to read Acts of Surrender!
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