As I drove over the little rise into my local hamlet (pop. 74), I hit the brakes. Across the road was a line of orange cones, of the type used on construction sites. Seated to one side of the road on a folding chair was Elroy, the guy who drives the Zamboni at the township arena.

I rolled down my window. “Accident up ahead?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said, “we just want all our citizens to know they should stop at the town hall and pick up their papers.”

“Citizens? Papers? What papers?” I asked.

“Hey,” said Elroy, “we have some fancy ones turned out on our new photocopier. Colour and all. Got a set for you and the wife.”

I got out of the car. “Elroy,” I said, “you gotta tell me what’s going on.”

Elroy explained: “As usual, we had our Tuesday night euchre tournament at the lodge, and after that we all got to talking about Canadian politics. It was a quiet night. Anyway, that business of Quebec as a nation came up and, before you knew it, we were all talking about our own nation…”

I cut in: “Canada, right?”

“Kinda Canada,” said Elroy, “but more than Canada. Clive, that old guy who runs a herd of dairy up the Fourth Line, was saying how his folks came here in 1820. And, suddenly, we were all talking about how long most of us had been here. Then we all looked around at our resources.”

I was confused. “Resources?” I asked.

“Sure, resources. We got cattle and some horses and a few sheep. Then we have lots of corn and hay. Plus, we have woods and a lot of water. Heck, this township sits astride the Trent-Severn Waterway. We kinda got a finger on the pulse of commerce right there.”

“The pulse of commerce?” I thought to myself, but decided not to say it aloud.

“So, you discussed all that. And then, what happened?” I asked.

Elroy smiled. (He still has many of his own teeth.) “Well, then we took the logical step. We realized we had all the essential ingredients of a nation. And, because all the main people in the area were at this gathering — you’re about the only guy who doesn’t play euchre, Paul — we decided to declare ourselves a nation. Simple.”

“You mean this hamlet is now a nation. One store, one church, one cemetery and a couple of halls?” I asked.

“Heck, no,” said Elroy. “We thought bigger than that. We’ve gone for the whole township. One nation within a united Canada, which includes Quebec. And although you are an incomer, you’re in the township — so you’re a citizen. You and the wife. Besides, we need you.”

It’s nice to be needed. “Why?” I asked.

“We figure on being a modern nation. Two official languages and all that, and you are the only person in the area who speaks French.”

“OK, Elroy, I’m pleased to be part of the nation of the township. But what about all the other aspects of a nation: airlines, an army, patrol vessels, relations with other countries, a seat at the United Nations?” I asked.

Elroy had an answer: “We have some of that. All the guys in the volunteer fire department are hunters, so they can look after army work. And we got lots of bass boats to patrol our waterways. But we figure we’ll let Canada do the heavy lifting. We’ll just sit here being a nation. Kinda like having an ace up the sleeve if we decide, for example, we’re paying too much income tax. Whadda ya think?”

I didn’t know what to say. It seemed harmless enough. So, I got back in my car and headed for the town hall to pick up my new papers. And I made a note to learn how to play euchre, so I could take a hand in the politics of the new nation. IE