On July 8th I drove up to Niagara Falls while out visiting my very good friends in Buffalo, New York. Like so many things that when in your backyard you often do not see it in the same light and joy that visitors do; until that is you return as a visitor. And Niagara Falls is, or was that is till Friday, that way for me. Having completed by undergraduate studies at SUNY Buffalo and being born and raised in central New York I never truly appreciated Niagara Falls as a destination spot; nor could I ever get past the kitsch that is Niagara Falls the tourist trap city, both US and Canada sides. The summer heat (read humidity) is back on in New York and thus it was a bit overcast when I drove up from south Buffalo. I parked on the US side at Goat Island where there is a US reservation to take in the US side. And like everyone will attest the falls is a subdued affair from this side. Where it is at, as it were, is over on the Canada side. So I decided with only Washington state driver’s license in hand I would see about getting past the border patrol. After a gentle reprimand that I needed my passport and a smile from myself I was allowed across into Canada. Oh Canada! Home of half my heart. I was back and ready to take some snaps. There is something lovely about the Canada side besides the grandeur of the falls; it is the simple fact that Canadians, unlike Americans who assuage man-made order for nature, love gardens and managed greenery and thus the path up along the way to the falls has all the appearances of a lovely stroll falls or no falls. On returning to the US I was more firmly informed that I needed some form of identification identifying I was a US citizen. When asked what I looked like on my passport I quipped “goatee: like a member of Russian mafia” to which he immediately laughed and let me (re)enter the other half of my heart’s home.