When the frost comes to Connecticut, it’s time to move on. Those hot summer days are past. Those warm autumn days are leaving. There’s a wind off the lake. The acorns are falling in their thousands. This morning started with the first frost of the year. That’s the signal. That’s when you know. When the frost comes to Connecticut, it’s time to move on.

By any logical conclusion, this should all mean a move south. But not for us! No, logic has not yet returned from summer recess, from autumn break. In a daring (!), logic defying leap, we head north. Yes, the long term plan is a warmer clime but wait. Not just yet. There is still time for one last throw of the northern dice. We make for Niagara Falls.

Yes, this is where Marilyn Monroe held us in suspense. This is where the three stooges larried, curlied and moed us into farce. This is where, for a hundred years, crackpots have barrelled, boated and highwired themselves into cascading fame or a cold and wet oblivion.

And so it is that I enter Canada. A country that I associate with Neil Young, Stephen Stills and Leonard Cohan, to mention but a few. A country that I associate with the railroad trilogy of Gordon Lightfoot. A country of wilderness and adventure.

Ok, so my introduction to this great land is not exactly arctic exploration or the birth of a new music legend. But it’s exiting for me. It’s Canada and it’s Niagara Falls and I had a great time. The boat trip, the Skylon view, the walk along the falls view. Great. It’s done. Time to move on. Head west.