Everyone who knows me knows I have a deep passion for aviation. But what really captures my heart are the stories behind flight, the human ingenuity, the teamwork, the courage to take off when the runway’s still being built. That’s exactly what we did with Forever Canadian. We built an airplane in flight.
When we started, there was no hangar, no tower, no pre-flight checklist. Just a handful of people who believed Alberta could build something bigger than grievance or division. We could build something that could truly soar. And so, out came the tools, the duct tape, the spreadsheets, the coffee, and a whole lot of determination.
Bit by bit, the airplane took shape. The wings were built by farmers, the fuselage by teachers, the landing gear by truck drivers, nurses, retirees, students, and parents. Every rivet, every bolt, every clipboard held by someone in the cold became part of the aircraft.
And while every good airplane needs a captain, (thank you Captain Lukaszuk,) ours also needed an entire flight crew. Dozens of first officers. Hundreds of ground crew. Thousands of passengers. Every single person who signed a sheet, carried a clipboard, or offered encouragement was part of the same flight plan. This wasn’t a solo mission. It was a full flight, every seat occupied by people who believed in something better.
Now, no one said the skies would be calm. We hit turbulence. Sometimes it was a crosswind of misinformation. Sometimes it was a bureaucratic headwind. Sometimes it was the emotional fatigue of just keeping the engines running through wind, rain, and postal strikes. But the beauty of aviation, and of this movement, is that you correct course and adjust altitude. You ride it out. You trust the aircraft, and more importantly, you trust your crew.
And what a beautiful aircraft she turned out to be. Not one of those sleek corporate jets with separate cabins and tinted windows. Ours is the people’s plane, sturdy, bright, full of character, and unmistakably Canadian. Inside, there’s no first class or economy. Everyone sits together. Farmers beside lawyers. Nurses beside truckers. Students beside retirees. The conversation is rich, the laughter is loud, and the sense of purpose is palpable.
When you look out the window of this plane, you see something breathtaking, small towns lighting up with hope, people rediscovering what community really means, strangers becoming friends in the common cause of unity. Every sheet of signatures became a patch of sky we claimed together.
As October 28 approaches, the final day, I can’t help but marvel at how far we’ve flown. The last few days are like the descent into final approach: you feel the shift in cabin pressure, the sense that you’ve crossed something monumental. Most of the crew have already landed their sheets, taxiing them in for tally and inspection so Elections Alberta can do its part. But the aircraft itself? She’s still in motion. She’s gliding on purpose, powered by pride.
To my friends south of the border who sometimes ask, “What can I do?” in their current situation. This is what you can do. You can build something that unites instead of divides. You can take off with people who don’t all share your politics but do share your country. You can stay steady when the air gets rough. Because what we’ve proven here is that a small group of ordinary people can build something extraordinary, something that flies.
As for me, this has been one of the greatest privileges of my life, one of those rare flights you never forget because you know you’ll never fly on one quite like it again. I got to sit in the cockpit of history, right alongside people who cared enough to build something bigger than themselves, with their own hands, their own hearts, and often in some serious headwinds. I’ve never felt more grateful to share a sky with such people, ordinary citizens who became co-pilots, navigators, mechanics, and dreamers.
And yes, there may still be turbulence ahead. Frankly there always is when you fly through real weather instead of sitting safely on the ground. But we’ll keep correcting course, adjusting altitude, and trusting the lift we’ve already created together. Because this aircraft, this Forever Canadian, isn’t just something we built. It’s something that built us. And for that, I am profoundly thankful.
Nancy's Notes 