My darling young one
The kid has an essay assignment for one of his classes, and during supper I am invited to provide some input. Wonderful, of course! What’s the topic? “Why young people should be optimistic about the future.”

Oh man, that’s a doozy. In our time, it seems there’s a surge of optimism about the past – a collective nostalgia for some imaginary golden era – but the future is tougher. Recent world events have not left me cheerfully anticipating whatever may come next. Couldn’t we just have a nice family conversation about something simple, like sex or drugs?

Apparently not. I’m getting the sense that giving our offspring reasons to be hopeful is one of the fundamental tasks of parenthood – especially as they get closer to being fully fledged and ready to stumble out into the world.

But it’s not my specialty. Although I was pretty handy with changing diapers, and putting meals on the table under adverse conditions, I am daunted by the existential demands of raising adolescents. It’s easy to tell your kids what to do, but harder to provide plausible explanations for why it matters. Once you get into the habit of wearing cynicism like a suit of armour, you feel naked without it.

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Scooting out to the barn to give the goats a flake of hay – and to check that the buckets aren’t iced over – I see the red flag is up, so I make a detour to the mailbox. As I’m about to trot across the road, rubbing my bare hands together for warmth, I am intercepted by a neighbour who pulls up in his truck. Or maybe he thinks I was trying to intercept him, with my purposeful stride. Anyway, he kills the engine, and the electric window on the passenger side glides down. He wants to talk about the closure of the Northern Pulp mill.

Specifically, he wants to have the kind of conversation that begins with the disclaimer: “Now, I’m not racist, but. . . .” I want to have this conversation like I want to jab a fork in my eye, because it could really go off the rails, and I’ve got some things on today’s to-do list that will likely end up being more productive. Couldn’t we just talk about the weather?

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The dead of winter can be difficult. The psychological diagnosis of “seasonal affective disorder” is grounded in the hard realities of a northern climate. The fact that the climate is changing – and bringing warmer weather, statistically speaking – only makes matters worse.

It is well established that some of us experience adverse biological effects as a result of insufficient exposure to natural light, but there’s more to it than that. Some of life’s sweeter pleasures – grubbing around in the garden, riding a bicycle, jumping in a lake – are simply unavailable to us at this time of the year.

We are told that the Scandinavians have a knack for keeping their serotonin levels in the happy range all through the dark months – partly by embracing winter, and bundling up to engage in cold-weather recreation. (I’m pretty good at bundling up, but I have been informed that I am terrible at recreation.) Maybe the people of those enlightened Nordic nations also fare better in winter partly because they have a less adversarial political culture, and a longstanding tradition of collectivity.

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Despite my grumbling about politics, I try to convey to my kids that developing a sense of citizenship is one of the defining experiences of adulthood. It’s one of the ways we make sense of our lives. This is not the same thing as patriotism, which can be pretty ugly, or just dim-witted.

Listening to a radio interview with Tareq Hadhad, following his citizenship ceremony at Pier 21 in Halifax recently, I found myself getting choked up. Hadhad’s family ran a chocolate company in Damascus, and they fled Syria after their factory was bombed to bits in 2012. They came to Canada as refugees, and settled in Antigonish, N.S., where a surge of community support made it possible for them to build up a new business, Peace by Chocolate, which now employs more than 50 people. (Their marketing tagline: “One peace won’t hurt.”)

Go ahead, say something cynical about how this success story has been appropriated to serve the Trudeau Liberals’ political ends. Fill your boots. But in the face of domestic economic woes, and conflict in the Middle East – to say nothing of Trump – I’m going to cling to the unbidden emotional uplift I felt when I heard Hadhad talking about being “overwhelmed with joy” on the day he officially became “part of this big Canadian family.”

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Whether chocolate works for you – or maple-glazed parsnips, or the homegrown Delicata squash that is rocking our kitchen lately, or some precious local kale from a four-season greenhouse – good food is a balm to body and soul. That’s why Samuel de Champlain and the boys founded their Order of Good Cheer at Port-Royal in 1606. A couple years previously, at the settlement on Saint Croix Island, things hadn’t gone so well. Upping their game in the culinary department likely helped to reduce winter mortality due to scurvy, but it was intended primarily to improve morale. Notably, l’Ordre de Bon Temps also included music – a time-tested means of soothing the mind during hard times.

To avoid going shack-wacky in the winter, I sometimes like to get out and hear performances by local or visiting musicians. I’m still tapping my toes, and mulling over some lyrics, after seeing Old Man Luedecke play last week. He’s a great songwriter from Lunenburg County – sometimes comical, sometimes reflective, sometimes both simultaneously, but never taking himself too seriously. He’s not wrapped up in folk-singer authenticity. The “Old Man” shtick is part of his dorky stage persona, which goes hand-in-hand with being a banjo player. He’s actually a young man, with young kids – and family life provides a good portion of his subject matter.

Luedecke’s new album, Easy Money, includes a mix of whimsy, observational humour, and real sentiment. A heartbreaker called “Death of Truth” pays tribute to his late father, who was both insightful and despairing about current affairs. “Every time that it gets darker, I want to call you; I need the news from your point of view,” goes the chorus. “Now that you’re gone, it can’t harm you. What would you say to the death of truth?”

There’s also some darkness in his version of Bob Dylan’s “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall.” Luedecke sings Pierre Delanoë’s French translation, “Le Ciel est Noir” (literally, “The Sky is Black”), which Nana Mouskouri included on a 1974 album. (Delanoë was a prolific lyricist. His song “Je t’appartiens,” translated as “Let It Be Me,” was recorded by Dylan, and also by the Everly Brothers, Willie Nelson, and Nina Simone.)

The original 1963 version of “Hard Rain” – typical of Dylan’s early period – is sparse and almost methodical; it builds by relentlessly piling on apocalyptic imagery. Mouskouri’s rendition of “Le Ciel est Noir” is typically over-the-top, with surging choral accompaniment and crashing drums on the refrain. Luedecke exercises more restraint, letting the words do their work, warning us, “C’est une pluie noire qui va tomber.” (Literally, “It’s a black rain that is going to fall.”)

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Naturally, I trot out the usual reasons we should feel hopeful about the future. My kids respect statistics, so I point out to them that extreme poverty, hunger, and violence are less prevalent in the world today than a generation ago. They can look it up. Child mortality levels are dropping, education levels are rising, and democracy continues to make inroads globally – despite signs of slippage in some nations. There may actually be a growing recognition that young people – even those not yet eligible to vote or to wage war – should be heard and respected.

I know I’m being selective. That’s the point of the exercise, to take comfort where we can find it – in the starry sky and the snowy fields and forests out our back door, the warmth and nourishment around the table, and the ability to laugh.

“I’m not a pessimist,” says the younger son – and we know where he’s going with this, because he has a Rickyism for every occasion – “I’m an optometrist.” DL

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Correction: In the story about Brook Village Grocery in the Dec. 2019 issue of RD (“Reconceiving the country store,” pg. 17), the store’s previous owner, Lawrence MacDonald, was incorrectly identified as a retired naval officer; he was actually in the Air Force. Also, former owner Johnny Tulloch was incorrectly identified as a bootlegger. Sorry for any confusion or offense!