November has it charms, which can be peculiar. You have to like shorter days, stark trees and invigorating chill. It is also quieter. It is possible to walk the Picton core without sidestepping off the curb around gaggles of enthused visitors.  Michelle gave me a short cut at John’s Barber without the usual wait, the Bean Counter does not run out of blueberry scones by ten, and a Globe and Mail can be found in The Royal’s lobby. Slow paced, like the days when I first walked Main Steet twenty-five years ago.

But through the autumn calm, I detect a pall, something  bordering on despair, as we absorb the  results of the American election.  Few had expected that we would have to face a second Trump presidency, now with full Congressional support, and whatever consequences there might be for Canada. World affairs have been grim enough in the last few years. As the refrain goes, “I am so tired of waiting/for the world to become good/ and beautiful and kind.”  

An anxious society is a vulnerable society. Earlier this year, I thought a “tune out” household was the way to go.  I imposed a “no-news” blackout across our home screens to escape the drumbeat of bad news.  It worked — at first. Without TV, or radio or internet news, Joanie and I regained our domestic equilibrium away from the gloom of talking heads. 

But after the election and its moment of vertigo, I have realized: we need to stay clear eyed and balanced to fight off potential threats to our Canadian ways. Or as Karen Valihora advises, “limit your horizons to what is is right in front of you — ‘be lowly wise’.”

As for what is right in front: I had a double confirmation of the pleasures of County living this week. The first was a park and dash into The Royal to replenish my supply of wildflower honey. I had barely made it to the top of the entrance stairs when both the GM Sol and Chef Alberto, who were conferencing at the bar, called out, “Hey Alan,” followed by warm hugs.  A big guy who was checking in at the front desk looked up and called out, “That’s why I want to move to Picton. Everyone knows your name.” 

The second came later the same morning, when I popped into the Bean Counter for a blueberry scone. My pals, Aidan and Sam, were deep in chat at a table. Sam grabbed me. “Will you please find some sanity out there,” pointing to Main Street. They were discussing Trumpian tales and other head scratchers over coffee. “I think we still have some left in the County.”

He was right. In a crazy world hard to makes sense of, I find a lot of common sense and everyday wisdom right here in the borough of Prince Edward. Folks here are sensible, not just in a quiet, Canadian, understated way, but in a particular, down-to-earth, County savoir faire way.

I had a double confirmation of the pleasures of County living this week. The first was a park and dash into The Royal to replenish my supply of wildflower honey. I had barely made it to the top of the entrance stairs when both the GM Sol and Chef Alberto, conferencing at the bar, called out, “Hey Alan,” followed by warm hugs. 
A big guy who was checking in at the front desk looked up and called out, “That’s why I want to move to Picton. Everyone knows your name.”

I have always been impressed by how people try to live their gained wisdom. We live one experience and then another, learning along the way, and then we become the sum of our experiences. It can be argued that life is about working out who we are, and who we are changes over time, depending on where we have been. Our DNA imprints us at birth, but we also learn from our experiences and environments, and incorporate that learning into our behaviour. Or try to, so that we can show the triumph of what might be called ordinary wisdom.  You can tell whether a person is clever by their answers, You can tell whether a person is wise by their questions. A wise person will not try to convince you of anything, They have their quest, and hope you have  yours.

Which gets me back to the County and a dinner party we had at Cressy House on a New Year’s Eve not long ago. In order to prolong the evening so that we could stay up until the New Year, I asked everyone to bring a personal memento, a token of the past decade, to be buried in a capsule at midnight. After dinner, one by one, my County guests stepped up on the raised hearth in front of the fire, and dropped their token into the tin memory bucket. With each drop and clang of the tin, Roger would howl until the reverberations stopped. An expired passport, a rejected manuscript, a vinyl LP, a lock of hair were all dropped into the container. In a free-for-all interrogation, a barrage of personal questions followed each drop. Everyone was prepared to reveal a vulnerability and we got to know the authenticity of each other is unexpected ways.

From this County occasion, I developed an entertainment, really a game, to measure what might be called GQ, or Gravitas Quotient, which I characterize as the Third Dimension of our intelligence and a metric of the depth of our awareness of what goes on around us.  

My twin brother Deo says that, “wisdom is putting experience in context.” He claims that the human software is made up of three components, IQ (Intelligence Quotient), EQ (Emotional Quotient), and GQ (Gravitas Quotient). “Gravitas is an essential building block on the journey to fulfillment,” he advises me.  “It makes us the subject of our own lives. “

Bizarre perhaps, but like all Monty Python satires, there is a core of truth. I developed my game, Grativas – the little box of big questions – here in the County, based on the belief that there is something in the soil, and in the water, and in the genes that make PEC a bastion of common wisdom and sanity.

While visiting the Melt Gallery recently, Joanie and I happened upon the Commissary at Base31. This is a vertical-container food court and entertainment marvel. To explore the vibrant open air perimeter of the court with its food and drink boutiques in the bottom half of colourful, upright containers is like walking through an art installation. There is an outdoor stage and a beach playground. We were awed by the imagination and beauty of the space — a stunning achievement  in design and installation. More than any other change under Camp Picton’s new ownership, the Commissary represents the fulfillment of a vision of heritage stewardship and adaptation. 

Dozens of contractors, municipal officials, designers, food and beverage vendors, and community groups came together in to develop, build and implement the concept. It takes a town for this sort of transformation.

Such cooperation demands loads of good will, to say nothing of focus and team work. That level of sanity and gravitas make me confident of our County’s future. Water issues, housing dilemmas, tourist management? Bring them on.