Preparing for Flight 

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Over the years, I've made a dozen or more trips to Canada and I have to say, it would likely be my second choice for a homeland. People there are ever so friendly and it's a country of vast, diverse, and stunning beauty.

Furthermore, Canadians seem to genuinely like Americans. They are hospitable and engaging and understand that, as neighbors, there's a lot we share—as well as a few things for which they're happy to give us an exclusive. Last time I was there, not one person even made an offer in response to the sign on my car: "Trump in Trunk. One Loonie." Loonie referring to the Canadian dollar coin, of course. Even when I suggested they'd also be buying the right to use Trump's likeness on their money, they only laughed.

I've also been very impressed by Canada's national health program—which took good care of me and family members on a couple of occasions, even though we were visitors. Their country has embraced, very seriously, the importance of making healthcare affordable—which is why Americans already flock there for their drugs and IUDs.

Canada is clean. People understand the word "courtesy" and, instead of testosterone-fueled chest-beating, Canadians seem to possess a generally-understated modesty and a very real love of peace. And yes, they don't allow everyone to stash loaded guns in their pockets, nor do they consider it a right for their citizens to carry AK-47s to peaceful demonstrations. "Sanity" would be an appropriate description.

Many others apparently feel a similar bond with the Canucks. It definitely makes sense to cultivate a friendship, just so—if and when that time comes—they'll receive us with open arms. Will they send mounted horsemen to thrash us with whips? Will they lock our babies up in cages, while telling us to beat it? Will they call us rapists and murderers? I don't think so.

I've heard a lot of people quip that, if Trump somehow gets back into the White House, they're heading for Canada. There was a time when such statements could only be considered absolute nonsense, but not now. Of course, Trump's resurrection shouldn't even be a possibility, but somehow his smelly, political corpse won't accept that the pulse and respiration are gone, even in the face of election recounts that add nails to the coffin.

I understand that there are precious few Americans who'd actually give up their native land. But despite the typically jocular threats about heading north, I'm acutely aware that in the event our country allows its democracy to die—along with the myriad good that really does make America great—it would make little sense to remain. I don't think any of us would like our country when it's only a third-rate banana republic.

Eureka, Montana is a move I'm considering. You're shaking your head: "Eureka, Montana? I've never even heard of it." Well, it seems like the most logical place to await the ready-get-set-go of a mass migration to Canada. Only a few miles from the northern U.S. border, Eureka is definitely a great launch-pad for an escape. Crime is low, and nobody really cares if their neighbors snack on spotted owl. On the less positive side: The town waives all responsibility from injuries caused by stray south-bound hockey pucks.

After Bill Maher's recent diatribe about worst-case scenarios in America's downward voting rights spiral—what he refers to as the "slow-moving coup"—and a stirring plea to Americans by Sen. Angus King (I-Maine) on the precipitous footing of our democracy, it behooves us all to do what we can to save America. That said, it also seems prudent to be poised to flee, because an America gutted of its most essential, defining principles is nothing at all. And yes, there's a distinct possibility that we will develop a better empathy for the plight of immigrants at our own southern borders—people who have run out of options for a safe and prosperous life, and who actually fear their own governments and what's to come. Could it be time to hire a coyote—or a timber wolf?

When America's citizens are frustrated in their seemingly futile attempts to outrun the stench that still emanates from Trump's refuse pile, immigration becomes a sensible option. Despite being the consummate loser, he and his proteges have demonstrated that the lie lives on—all, while many of America's leaders are hiding, shaking, and sucking-up, instead of standing up to the horrifying behavior of their old criminal-in-chief.

Sadly, Utah—among a passel of red states whose deluded political majorities endorse "the Big Lie"—has left its pride behind, making a conscious choice to be on the side of insurrectionists and traitors who seek to nullify our elections. And, like so many other Republican senators, Utah's Mike Lee is, at best, a monkey wrench thrown into the gears of our democracy, actively working to derail the national agenda and making a joke of the word "democracy."

If we fail to save our country, we may have to learn how to appropriately use the word "eh" (no, it's not about deafness) and master the pronunciation of the word "about" (a-boat, nothing to do with fishing). And of course, we'll diligently work on building up our Molson muscles, drowning the sadness of a lost America in our new local beer.

The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist, and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.