Northland

What a difference two weeks make: from the balmy, sensual, cerulean Mediterranean ~ to the steely cold flatness of southern Canada.

My plane arrived spot on time in Buffalo and then the cheery airport shuttle driver whisked me through the formalities of the border crossing and into twilight of a failing December day along the shores of Lake Ontario. Even sophisticated Toronto seemed buttoned up against the oncoming winter chill. This is Northland.

Three days of dreary rain and sleet kept the mind focused on work ~ visiting one of the many excellent independent schools that populate the cosmopolitan cities and sparse country-side of this vast place.

A team of peers were gathered to evaluate a school (in north Toronto ~ all boys ~ boarding and day). Those from the west, Alberta and British Columbia, worked in places where the local Ministry of Education had more influence than those from the Atlantic Provinces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. The westerners told the easterners that they were lucky to have such freedom.

Canada is one big country but has ten different provinces each with its own inspection system of local enforcers of bureaucratic rules and regulations. Independent schools fall in the cracks somewhere. Free to a degree but still accountable in terms of curriculum and content.

Outside a group of boys, bundled up against the cold, carried bulky bags and dangling hockey sticks toward a waiting bus. The first match of the long season was at 5:00 pm and there seemed to be an eagerness to get on with the business of winter.