Although I’m often wary of grandiose displays of nationalism, this will be my first Canada Day in a national park. I must admit I’m excited about the prospect. There’s something about the appeal of a protected natural space that makes one feel all warm and tingly about being Canadian - or maybe that’s just the beer.

I was meant to spend the day in Banff National Park last year, however the town had the main street torn up instead, and then had the audacity to call it ‘refreshing.’ Rumour has it they’re celebrating Canada Day this year by releasing killer bees upon the masses, so I suppose sticking it out in Jasper is a better idea. 

Despite my reservations, I’m not one to pass up a day off in July, and while I’ll be taking pics for the paper on the day, let’s just say it won’t be a stressful assignment.

In anticipation for what I hope to be the BEST CANADA DAY EVER, I reflected to realize most of my Canada Day celebrations haven’t surpassed coloured icing, flag waving and a few beers.

For much of my childhood, Canada Day meant driving down to the Parry Sound town docks at dusk with my family, listening to my dad get frustrated by the lack of parking and then turning around just as the fireworks began. My brother and I would then complain until we were given sparklers, which we used to try and poke each other’s eyes out with. Oh precious memories. 

Once I moved out of the eye poking phase, I began working at my local newspaper, and Canada Day coverage became the norm for my July 1 plans. Cake cutting, band shell shots full of faded Canadian musicians (Platinium Blonde again!) and face painting were my routine, as politicians scrambled to glad hand their way across the riding. Draped in the flag, long standing rivalries were forgotten under patio lantern lit skies.

There have been unusual celebrations as well. In the past, I’ve spent Canada Day in Toronto, where prozac pumped children carrying black balloons paraded around a dymorphous orb in Nathan Phillips Square. I suppose the orb symbolized Toronto’s role as the centre of the universe - or perhaps it was the black hole where the city’s Stanley Cup aspirations go to die. Ottawa celebrations were late and the sound systems didn’t work, while in Kingston, ON, our first capital, the ghost of Sir John A. haunted the party, and a sense of what could have been permeated the celebrations. The Kingston question of parliament buildings or prisons - Which would you rather have?

In rural Eastern Ontario, Canada Day was also cottage clean-up day, which meant anything that couldn’t be sold, given away or accepted by a legitimate landfill was burned in a heap in the back 

lawn. The smell of burning rubber and melting lawn chairs still leaves me feeling patriotic.

There was a unifying factor between Canada Day in Ontario and Alberta. In each province, the municipality would spend thousands of dollars on fireworks for the pleasure of hearing miserly taxpayers lament seeing their money go ‘up in smoke’ every July 1. So yes, complaining about government spending could be described as a Canadian experience.

So this Canada Day, I’ll watch the fireworks, eat the cake and wait to feel that electric wave of nationalism move through my fingers - hopefully spurred forth by the odd beer.