place. Standing in the stagnant tawny waters of the Petitcodiak River, the most tidally-boring stream in the world, Moncton serves both as a bedroom annex for vibrant Shediac and as a diverticulum for the number two flowing from Halifax to Quebec. Briefly controlled by a pastoralist francophone population who wrested control of the terrain from its hunter-gatherer inhabitants who neglected to have their deed countersigned by
Henry IV of
France or the Pope, Moncton was, by 1713 solidly in the hands of
British industrialists and a smattering of displaced
fruit farmers longing to star in Longfellow poems.
Currently Moncton is home to many, many nature parks, a dearth of
good Albanian eateries, and a world-class quarry which provides the marble bases for every
Anne of Green Gables statuette sold in eastern PEI.
Two hospitals, when they aren’t feuding about who has the prettiest nurses, provide a host of services to Monctonites of all stripes including the Mi’kmaq who somehow were overlooked when the Europeans divied up the
better land parcels and consequently spent 500 years standing out in the figurative blizzards getting literally frozen to death.
Speaking an odd joual, giving regional blocks to already sleeping orthopaedic patients, and preparing to move to
Alberta are currently the most
popular activities in Moncton but, with the completion of the new cannery on Butbutandan Street, stuffing unrecognizable bits of lobster into tins will soon put Moncton on the
map.
