Living A Nightmare On Communist Canada’s East Coast

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Keeping our heads above water has become an ongoing stressful survival mode, and it’s been getting worse by day.

The reason we chose to relocate to Nova Scotia was because I had been raised in Halifax.

It didn’t take long to realize it was no longer the same place. Just three weeks after our arrival, we decided to take a break from settling in, to go beach hunting.

We drove to Barrington, a half-hour drive away, stopping at a local Sobeys for a couple of pantry items. A man, a virtual stranger to us, came up to the front of our vehicle, taking a series of photos of us. Accusing us of “weaving all over the road due to what he called “drunk driving,” he warned us repeatedly that he had called the police who would be there within minutes to “arrest you for dangerous driving while drunk.”

We told him as politely as possible that we weren’t drinking and that most roads leading to Barrington Passage were twisty to drive on.

A woman in the stranger’s car was giving the thumb’s up. as he was taking our pictures.

He continued taking close-up photos of us, while repeating that we would be arrested by police within the next couple of minutes.

I was so upset that Brian kindly went into a nearby ice cream shop to buy me a stomach-settling milkshake, hoping to soothe my stomach ulcers.

When Brian was waiting for the milkshake, two RCMP cruisers flanked both sides of our car. One officer shouted repeatedly at me, “Where is the driver?!”

As Brian at that moment was coming out with the milkshake, I pointed him out to the officer.

“Well, you don’t look drunk to me,” the officer announced to him.

“So where were you folks headed?” the officer wanted to know.

He offered to lead us to the beach we were looking for, but I told him, we were no longer in beach mood, and just wanted to return home safely.

The stranger who had photographed us, had been sitting in his car within earshot during our entire encounter with the police.

I asked the officer, “What if he follows us home? “Is there anything you can do to help prevent that?”

“Not unless he physically harms you,” he replied..

We took a circuitous route back home, and on the very next day, purchased a N.S. licence plate, enabling us to take the Ontario ones off.

We knew down at heart that we had landed on hostile territory in the Maritimes from the get-go. Fellow villagers made it clear that they didn’t like Christians, or pro-American journalists. The first time we attended Mass at a local church, congregants openly glared at us because we were the only two attendants not wearing face masks. Not wanting to aggravate them, Brian went out to our car bringing back two masks stashed long ago in our glove compartment.

Some 90% of CFP’s regular columnists are American. 85-to 90% of our readers are American.

Our problems here multiplied when municipal authorities locked dog owners out of a baseball diamond/dog park.

We never felt welcome walking our 12-year-old Yorkie, ‘Yankee’ at the grounds known as The Village ever since Brian was buzzed overhead by a drone.

Trying to walk on the rail trails or along forest paths leaves you as a target to the ticks.

The only places left to dog walk are along the busy highway. I cling to the hope that Brian may be safe walking on the road by asking readers to remember my saying if he somehow gets knocked over by a motorist while walking our pet there, “it might not be an accident.”

Our incredible current problem living here is that Brian is being stalked by fellow villagers every time he is out on the roads walking our very much cherished little dog—or driving around any time he leaves the house. We believe that it is possible that these villagers report our every move to the Ottawa Government. (This may be a positive thing, as we are sure the Liberals did not want them to be discovered—because without naming them, we know who they are.)

Meanwhile, we are not giving up on seriously wanting out of here.

We recently spotted a house for sale online in another province.

Not only is this house within easy walking distance from the American border, it is heated by natural gas, which would save us thousands of dollars a year in energy costs.

We hope and pray most fervently that we will be able to pay for the house near the border, by putting our N.S. house—a beautiful house by the sea—back on the real estate market—even though houses here are hard to sell.

We refuse to give up on our intentions to get out of hostile territory, steadfast in our belief that “all things are possible with God Almighty”.

Is there anybody out there who can help us make our escape to the freedom that comes with being on safer turf?

We would be sincerely grateful to know.