How Crossing the Border Was Different Before 9/11, and Sometimes Life-Changing

US Customs at Fort Fairfield, Maine, left, and Canadian Customs at Perth-Andover, New Brunswick, center, early 1980s (New Brunswick prison, extreme right). Photo courtesy of Cheryl Dean Everett.

by Cheryl Dean Everett

I never really appreciated how unique my situation was growing up in a border town like Fort Fairfield, Maine, until I moved far, far away to Alberta, Canada. To us Fort Fairfield “homies,” it was just “the border.” We never really gave it much attention and rarely visited the other side. After all, Canada was just “over across” as we called it, so how much different could it be? Actually, although Canada seemed similar in some ways to the US back in the 1970s, it was different in many other ways that I didn’t know much about at that time.

With Fort Fairfield being a border town, I think a lot of families had one or more relatives living in Fort who came from Canada or vice versa. In fact, my grandmother was originally from St. Leonard, New Brunswick. She married my grandfather and wound up living on the US side (and learned to speak English, being quite French). How very “international.” Little did I know that Canada would play as big a part in my life as the US did in my Gram’s life.

One day, since the Canadian border was so close, a friend and I decided to actually ride our bikes over across for the fun of it. This was back in the day when border agents were more familiar with the townspeople on either side, if you crossed enough. There were rules about what was allowed from one country to the next, and of course there was always the chance that a border agent might want to know what was in your car trunk, or if you had anything to “declare” in case you needed to pay a duty for it, or if you had something that wasn’t allowed to be brought across for one reason or another.

This was pre 9/11—a time when you didn’t need to necessarily produce proof of who you were. You could show a driver’s license or say you were the daughter of so and so, and the border agent might ask a few more questions like: how long you are over for, what will you do while visiting, are you bringing anything back with you, etc. Questions like that were usually good enough.

So two silly teenage girls could simply ride their bikes up to the Canadian Customs and say, “We’re just going over to see friends” in Andover, NB, and say the name of the family we intended to visit. I guess the agents figured two girls on bicycles couldn’t do much harm or smuggle very much back, so they let us cross over.

What was our reason for going? Many reasons—it was an adventure, and probably because of curiosity, but also to meet a guy. You see, my friend once dated the brother of the guy we wanted to visit, and I was just tagging along.

After “crossing the line,” there was a climb up the “Line Hill,” which was quite a long, high hill for girls riding (or finally walking) their bikes up. The house we were going to was a little ways further, so thankfully the guy we were looking for was home, which made the journey worth it.

Little did I know, but going over across that day to meet this Canadian guy would wind up determining my future. You see, I eventually married this brother of a brother that we went over to see, who lived a mere five miles from where I did in Fort Fairfield, Maine— but in a whole different country. As a result, I wound up moving over across and living in a country we didn’t visit much or think about much when I was younger.

It goes to show you, life takes some interesting turns and you wind up in places you never imagined. Living close to another country is truly a unique experience that many folks will never know.

The Fort crossing, 2021.