Jedediah "Jed" P. Flagstaff, a proud American from sunny Arizona, had always envisioned Canada as a vast, white expanse. A land of perpetual winter, where snowdrifts swallowed houses whole, and polar bears roamed city streets, perhaps even delivering mail. So, when he booked his summer vacation to Toronto, he packed accordingly: his finest set of downhill skis, a brand-new pair of snowshoes, a parka so thick it could survive an Arctic expedition, and a carrot nose for the snowman he was sure to build.
Arriving at Toronto Pearson International Airport in mid-July, Jed stepped out, braced for the icy blast. Instead, he was hit by a wave of humid heat. "Well, this is... unexpected," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked around. No igloos. No sled dogs. Just bustling traffic, green trees, and people in shorts and t-shirts. He spotted a group of kids playing soccer in a park. Soccer! In Canada! Where were the ice hockey rinks?
He checked his phone. Toronto, Ontario. "Hmm, must be a southern outpost," he reasoned. He hailed a taxi, skis clanking against the side, and asked, "To the nearest ski resort, my good man! And perhaps a good place to spot some seals? And Eskimos?" The taxi driver, a kindly woman named Brenda, simply chuckled. "Sir, it's 28 degrees Celsius. Seals are usually in the ocean, and 'Eskimo' isn't really the term we use anymore."
Jed was astonished. He spent the next few days wandering Toronto, growing increasingly bewildered. People were swimming in Lake Ontario, not ice fishing. Patios were packed with diners, not bundled figures sipping hot cocoa by a roaring fire. He saw no snowmen, no polar bears, not even a single beaver building a dam in the downtown core. "This isn't Canada!" he declared to a confused street performer. "This is some elaborate hoax! I must be in Buffalo, New York, or something!"
Determined to find the real Canada, the Canada of his childhood dreams, Jed rented a car and headed north. For miles and miles, he drove, past endless forests, sparkling lakes, and quaint towns. The further he went, the more he expected to see the promised land of snow. He pictured mighty glaciers, frozen waterfalls, and perhaps a friendly Inuit offering him a piece of caribou jerky. Hours turned into days. He drove until the gas tank was nearly empty, his vision of Canada melting faster than a spring snow cone. Still, no snow. No ice. Just more trees, more lakes, and a distinct lack of anything resembling his preconceived notions.
Defeated and disillusioned, Jed turned the car around. He drove back to Toronto, his skis rattling mournfully in the back. As he returned to the airport, ready to fly back to Arizona, he shook his head in disgust. "It's all a fraud!" he grumbled to a fellow passenger. "The Canadians are trying to con us into believing they're cold when actually, it's just their own ignorance that's causing this belief that Canada is the frigid north! Frigid idiots!" He pointed emphatically at a billboard showing a family enjoying a sunny beach. "They want us to think it's all snow and ice so we don't realize they're just enjoying perfectly normal summers! It's a conspiracy, I tell you!" He boarded his flight, utterly convinced that he had uncovered the greatest meteorological deception in North American history.
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NOTE - This story is based on a true story my grandmother told of an American man who stopped her on the street in Fort Erie (Ontario Canada) in July with skis strapped to the top of his car and asked her where the snow was. She told him to drive due north for a few days pitch a tent and wait about 4 months.
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