In the 1960s, crossing the border into Canada and returning to the United States was fairly routine, all you had to say is where you were born, the purpose of your trip, and if you were bringing any fruits or vegetables into the country.

Our 2-car caravan left my aunt and uncle's farm in Upstate New York for a day trip to enjoy the thrills and spills of the amusements at Crystal Beach, Ontario, Canada. The first car included me, my Aunt Tangie, my dad, and my grandmother with my Uncle Lou and six of their children following us in the second car.

For my grandmother, it was stepping on Canadian soil for the first time since the 1930s when she left Montreal for Cambridge, Massachusetts as a widow with five children.

As we got in the car my Aunt Tangie gave us instructions for crossing the border. "If asked where you were born, tell them Massachusetts." My dad and Aunt were naturalized American citizens, but my grandmother was still a Canadian citizen living in the United States.
From the back seat, she piped up: "I do not lie."

Red-headed, Aunt Tangie, spirited, and outspoken was the leader of the pack both in the car and at home. She had a quick temper and a sharp tongue that could cut down and leave the strongest person whimpering and shaking in their shoes. No one was exempt from her fury, not even her mother.
Aunt Tangie's head snapped back. "Mother, it is not lying, just do as I say."

Crossing into Canada was easy as the border guards just wanted to know our plans and how long we intended to stay in Canada. As we were planning only a day trip, they let us pass through without asking more questions.
Towards sunset, after a day of rides and arcade games, we headed back across the border.
As we neared the border, my aunt turned around and ordered my grandmother to say she was born in Massachusetts.
Approaching our car, a stone-faced border guard shined a flashlight into the car. "Okay, folks, I have a few questions for you."

And it began, he asked each of us where we were from, and of course, we all said Massachusetts, that is, until my grandmother answered. "Fogo, Newfoundland."

The border guard told both cars to pull over while he checked Nana's paperwork. The only items Nana ever carried in her purse were rosary beads, prayer cards, a change purse, and a handkerchief, and perhaps her Social Security Card. She had no credit cards, and never got a driver's license.
She was refused re-entry into the United States.

I guess the border guard saw a threat in this five-foot, bespectacled, elderly woman.

Aunt Tangie and Dad did protest, but not too loudly, as neither had any of their own paperwork. I also later found out my cousins had illegal fireworks under the backseat of each car.

It took my Aunt Tangie four days and working with the US Immigration and Naturalization Service to retrieve my grandmother from Canada.

Uncle Lou drove back to Canada when she was allowed to return to the US. As she arrived back to the farm, Aunt Tangie, red-faced and wound up from having to work to free her, was ready to pounce and began not yelling but screaming at my grandmother: "Mother, do you see the trouble you caused? What have you got to say for yourself? Don't just stand there, say something!"
My grandmother, pleased with herself, walked up to the house, head held high, and just said: "I did not lie!"
Aunt Tangie just stood there, fists and jaw clenched. I think this was the first and probably, the only time my aunt was stopped cold.