After a brief stint in Ithaca I made my way back West, towards Venus, and home. I took my time, meandering my way through snowstorms and the forests on the eastern edge of lake Huron. At Sault Ste. Marie I crossed back into the states. Now my car, being packed full of every item in my college life, was singled out for searching at the border crossing.

"Any weapons on you today?"
"No, no weapons."
"Any tobacco or liquor."
"No, no sir."
"Any weapons."
"No, didn't I already say no, sir?"

Well, an hour and a half later, they had picked through every box and duffle bag on my posession. They must have been disappointed with my array of underwear, textbooks, and tupperware, because they decided to confiscate the two oranges and three tangerines I had acquired in Canada. Not an entirely fruitless raid for all their effort.

What I would like to know is: Where the hell does Canada get their oranges that we do not also get our oranges? I was made to feel like a second class citizen, a criminal even, but very well. I suppose I ought to thank dear Mr. President Bush as I sleep soundly tonight knowing that my country is being kept safe. I shudder to think at the devastation a fruit disease would wreck on North Dakota's citrus industry.