Columns
Every liberation movement begins somewhere. Some begin with barricades. Some begin with speeches. Some begin with the storming of a palace. Ours begins with a fax machine that still works for reasons nobody can adequately explain.
Because of the death of Tommy Hunter last week I didn't write the column I'd intended to write about the last days of school.
The sound of silence, The dangling conversation, Bridge over troubled water
Before the arrival of European settlers, the woods were made up of towering giants of trees.
When the time came to prepare a special issue for the 50th season of the Blyth Festival, we chose to focus on the founders and the Artistic Directors to keep things simple.
We have tried to keep this within the language of ordinary journalism for as long as possible, but the language is starting to fail. The issue is no longer about editorial direction. It is about compulsion.
Sometimes I worry that, as an old guy, I'm reminiscing too much about the past in my column. At the same time, I think it's important for readers to know the history that made us what we are today. This is one of those times.
The second half of the year does not so much begin as inherit a situation already in motion. July arrives with the mildly embarrassed timing of someone stepping into a room mid-applause, unsure whether the applause was ever intended for them or...
These days, it's not often that Doug Ford's provincial government gets an attaboy in the pages of The Citizen.
Prime Minister Mark Carney last week announced a contest to redesign 24 Sussex, which has been the home of the Prime Minister until 11 years ago.
Worth fighting for, Killer boots, man!, Telling their stories
It is a very long way from the rolling farmland of rural Ontario to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, but one Hullett Township native made that journey.
There comes a moment in every great civic movement when coincidence stops behaving like coincidence and begins presenting itself with the quiet confidence of something that expects to be taken seriously.
On Thursday of last week a commentary show I usually watch on an American channel didn't talk about U.S. President Donald Trump's latest rants, as it usually does. Instead, it was devoted to the opening of the Obama Presidential Centre.
At some point in the past, I know I have written about this film, but June 17, 1994, directed by Brett Morgen, details one of the craziest days in North American history and it does so in a way that involves no narration whatsoever.
Perhaps it's time I take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror and ask the question, "Am I, indeed, a freedom-loving, government-hating Libertarian?" with the way my last few columns have gone, but, really, there are times where you can't help but...
Our mailbox here at The Chaff occupies a peculiar position within the local information ecosystem. Most weeks it contains the usual assortment of correspondence: complaints, suggestions, complaints disguised as suggestions...
Prime Minister Mark Carney took time out from visiting Ireland, Sunday morning, to visit Aghagower, the Irish town his grandparents left to immigrate to Canada.
The Second World War brought drastic changes in life in Canada starting with the enlistment and deployment of forces to fight in Europe.
As I sit here writing this column, I am very hungry.
There is a particular kind of morning in Bluevale where history briefly appears overqualified for its surroundings.