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These Americans moved to Canada for political reasons. They don't regret it


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Starting over in a new country is never easy, but for these Americans it was the only choice that made sense – and they haven’t looked back since

Kristin Schwab

Wednesday 19 April 2017 11.00 BST

1280.jpg?w=700&q=55&auto=format&usm=12&fit=max&s=1f35dd06b9520c507e6fc5e83e639537
Mark Nyanken and Lucinda Taylor moved from Oregon to Canada after the US invaded Iraq in 2003: ‘Patriotism never struck me as healthy.’
Photograph: Supplied
 
 
More pics in link
 
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Umber, did they move to Canada in 2003, or 2016?

The picture says '03, but the reporter claims 2016 !?!?!?!!!!

WTF?

From the article:

It was late into the night of the 2016 presidential election. Or was it technically the early hours of the morning after? Mark Nykanen was up watching what had not yet been made official, but was certain: Donald Trump would become the 45th president of the United States.

The next morning, he and his wife Lucinda Taylor woke up and knew it was time. Within a couple of hours, they made the decision. Within a couple of weeks, their house in The Dalles, Oregon, an hour and a half east of Portland, was on the market.

“I just made up my mind,” said Taylor, 56. “And as soon as I made the decision I felt safer.”

 

 

Oh, wait, it's a "hate Trump" article, so the lefties are allowed to lie embellish as necessary.

They could have at least checked the photo caption before they recycled it. 

I'm sure they ran it to death complaining about the invasion, and not they are using the SAME PEOPLE to complain about Trump.

That is no better than CNN taking pictures of a little girl getting "saved" by three different guys, for three different articles.

Can you say "Fake News"?

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Did they go oot and aboot for a walk and get lost, doncha ya know? 

There are strange things done in the midnight sun,

By the men who moil for gold,

The Artic trails have their secret tales,

That would make your blood run cold,

The Northern lights have seen q.u.e.e.r* sights

But the queerest they ever did see

Was the night on the marge of  Lake LeBarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

 

*It's in the poem.

Edited by Theseus
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Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen ***** sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee. 

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Well good for them. It was the perfect move for them. They wanted to live in a fully socialistic sheeple like country where a difference of thought is drowned out  and entrepreneurship is suppressed.  Freedom is there in Canada, but it does not come close to the definition I pray we are getting back to here in the US. If I couldn't live in America for some reason Canada would be the place for me. Their current income tax rate is 42%, 38-42%  With recent legislation it is due to rise beyond that in the new tax year.

Since it is a Progressive tax system up north, the more you make the more you pay in taxes. Kinda surpressing the urge to make more. Now lets talk about property taxes. Perhaps another time.

During our Presidential election, the nicest Canadian cousin I have, responded with a sling of WTF's and the like when I tried to defend Trump's pre-election successes. Regurgitating every Democratic Socialistic National Committees propaganda Pro Hillarious talking points.  I responded as kindly as I could. It wasn't until my SC brother in law said that while he agrees with most of what My cousin said that he did not feel safe in his own country any more. Then the conversation ended.

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