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Canada Day in Osborne

We live exactly one block away from Osborne, so we had no excuse not to check out Osborne Street Festival on Canada Day. I ventured out on Friday morning in search of a coffee because Danelle was working, and she’s the coffee expert around here. Before it was even noon, the street was packed. The patios were mostly empty at that point but people of all ages were hanging out listening to music and buying things from the merchants. If nothing else, it’s kind of surreal to see one of Winnipeg’s busiest streets totally shut down for people to walk up and down it and start drinking at noon.

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In my old age of 24 I’m realizing that I’m a total homebody and I really like to have my own space. I get stir crazy too but even then I’d rather go somewhere quiet and peaceful, and Oz Fest was neither of those things. When I was a kid I loved being surrounded by crowds and people. My parents were always looking for that quiet spot on the beach, which is probably why we never went to Grand Beach, but I wanted to rub shoulders with everyone. Things have changed, that’s for sure.

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The thing is, I love festivals. We’re going to Rainbow Trout and Shine On to camp and we’re going to see music at Folk Fest on two days. But the reason I love those, and probably wouldn’t want to go to say, Osheaga, is because my kind of festival has lots of grassy fields to lay and sleep in—maybe a hammock or two and bonus points for a body of water nearby. Osborne Street Festival is really just one giant patio and it’s hot and noisy. I mean it wasn’t horrible, but I think next year, we’ll stick to a friend’s backyard.

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We made the best of it. We filled our mugs with gin and ventured out past the field full of bouncy castles, set up strategically next to a hardcore metal band performance. From there we drifted down the packed street and decided to wait in line at the Black Rabbit Bistro patio because there was some live music. The plan was to walk to the Forks, but we didn’t feel like hoofing it. We paid for our $6 Standards and ate our chili cheese dogs and basked in the glamorous regret of it all.

I mean, hey, we had to try it. But the whole thing was so exhausting that I had to escape to my parents’ the next day, which is all the way in St. Andrews and felt beautifully empty and quiet. I’m starting to understand them more, those parents of mine.

By the way, I know a lot of “older” people who party way harder than me, and none of this is meant to be agist. I think maybe crotchety is a better way to describe myself? I’m open to suggestions.

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