ALONG THE CANADA-U. S. BORDER—It’s not the ideal rendezvous point for friends and loved ones living on both sides of the Canada-U.S. border. Picture a grassy ditch nestled between two rural roads, an occasional tractor rumbling by and law enforcement watching your every move from passing SUVs.

But with border restrictions still in full effect due to the COVID-19 pandemic, they’ll have to settle for what they can get.

FaceTime doesn’t always cut it. So some B.C. and Washington State residents have recently started stealing away to unguarded stretches of the border — spots separated by nothing more than a rusting guardrail or patches of grass — to meet with their significant others, close friends and family.

They come armed with lawn chairs or blankets, and some will even go for a quick smooch or hug when police or border officers aren’t looking.

On a recent overcast afternoon, the Star drove along 0 Avenue — a flat, straight road that runs parallel to the border on the Canadian side and is known as a haven for smugglers — and spotted a handful of roadside meetups between Langley Township and Abbotsford.

They included dating couple Natalie Hutchison, of North Delta, B.C., and Joey Camarillo, of Blaine, Wash., who had set up lawn chairs next to a metal obelisk marking the international boundary.

“Being forced into this situation made me appreciate just coming out here, to just sit in silence waiting for her to arrive,” said Camarillo, 49.

These meetups allow for a far deeper connection compared to when they just talk over a screen, agreed Hutchison, 45.

“It’s almost wholesome,” she said. “Yes, we have phones in our pockets, but we can ignore them.”

Camarillo said the idea to meet this way was suggested to him a few weeks ago by a U.S. border officer who was shopping at the dollar store where he’s a cashier.

“I was complaining my manly frustration of not being able to see or touch or talk face-to-face with my girlfriend and so he said, ‘Why don’t you just come out to (the border)?’ ” Camarillo recalled.

“He said, ‘Bring a chair, bring a lunch, many people are doing it.’ He said, ‘The only thing is, you can’t touch, you can’t pass anything over to one another.’ ”

Hutchison said she was a little apprehensive at first. What if this made their longing for one another even worse?

“The first time we lay eyes on each other, is it going to make it easier or harder?” she wondered.

“Is it going to be harder to drive away every time? But it hasn’t been too bad.”

During their first meetup along the border, Camarillo buttered her up by bringing a homemade poster that said “I (heart) you!”

Of course, these meetups can still be fraught with logistical minefields. How close can couples get without running afoul of vigilant RCMP and U.S. border patrol officers?

Desperate to give Hutchison a kiss during a previous outing, Camarillo decided to clarify the rules with a U.S. border officer parked nearby.

“He actually drove down to the border guard and asked him … if we could stand lip to lip at this sign,” Hutchison said.

The border officer’s answer was unequivocal.

“They said, ‘No. It’s a hard no,’ ” she said.

Camarillo said the situation reminded him of his military days.

“I’m used to being on deployments for long periods of time,” he said. “We discussed how it’s almost like that — that scenario where you have a family member that’s waiting behind. You know you’re going to see them again. You know you’ll be able to hug and touch them again.”

For the most part, law enforcement officers usually drive by with a friendly wave. But on this particular day, as a Star reporter was taking the couple’s picture, Camarillo apparently got a little too close to the invisible boundary. Seemingly out of nowhere, an RCMP officer in a dark SUV pulled up alongside the couple and rolled down the window.

“Hopefully you guys are both all Canadians here, right?” the officer said sternly.

“He’s American,” Hutchison replied.

“You’ve got to stay on that side of the median,” the officer told Camarillo. “You can’t be down here. We’re getting lots of flak from it — lots of people coming down here.”

The officer drove off.

It was the first time anyone had given the couple a talking to like that.

In an email, B.C. RCMP spokesperson Staff Sgt. Janelle Shoihet confirmed there’s nothing illegal with these meetups, so long as participants don’t block traffic or cross the border.

In a release last week, RCMP Insp. Jim Leonard was quoted as saying: “The border is closed but family reunions such as this are not an uncommon occurrence. People are adapting, as is the RCMP. Our approach is pragmatic and compassionate.”

Asked for comment, U.S. Customs and Border Protection spokesperson Jason Givens said authorities “encourage individuals to heed stay-at-home orders and social distancing guidelines” and “will apprehend those individuals who illegally enter the U.S. between the ports of entry.”

About one-and-a-half kilometres east of where Camarillo and Hutchison were meeting, close friends Justin Ludwick and Jake Pedersen weren’t taking any chances, making sure they kept their distance as they sat in their roadside lawn chairs on opposite sides of a grassy median.

“The biggest priority was to not get in trouble today,” said Ludwick, 22, of Camano Island, Wash., who guessed they’d seen American or Canadian authorities drive by at least 10 times in the span of a couple hours.

This was the first time the university students had seen each other in several weeks. Pedersen, 19, of Chilliwack, B.C., said the idea to meet up this way came from his mom who heard about the border reunions in the news.

He said she was getting tired of all his moping around at home.

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“She told me to do it because she was getting so mad, so sick of me being, like, so grumpy because I couldn’t see him,” he said.

After consulting Google Maps, they settled on a spot. But it turned out to be too buggy so they moved further down the road.

Ludwick said his father was surprised to learn how little security there was along this stretch of border.

“There’s not even a fence. It’s just open,” he said.

They consider themselves fortunate that they still have a way to see each other in person.

“It’s not going to be ideal, but you’ve got to do the best you can do to cope with all the stuff that’s going on — not fall into an endless pit of sadness,” Pedersen said.

“At least there’s no wall.”

Abbotsford resident Bill Khangura, who lives on 0 Avenue, said he started noticing the meetups a few weeks ago, including ones between grandparents and grandkids.

“It’s a sign of the times — how connected we are on both sides,” he said.

“It’s heartwarming.”

He confirmed that while there’s been a steady police and border patrol presence, it’s not really “in your face” and most people are behaving and keeping their distance.

However, some say the law enforcement presence can still feel a bit heavy-handed at times.

Several kilometres to the west, Alex Kowalcyk, 39, of Blaine, Wash., was parked near a guardrail on the U.S. side of the border waiting for the arrival of his girlfriend, Dominika Majewska, also 39, of North Vancouver.

It was his birthday and they planned to have a picnic.

Earlier that day, Kowalcyk wrote on his Facebook page: “For my birthday today, I wish to dance with my love without authorities pestering us about whose foot is in Canada and whose foot is in America.”

Sure enough, minutes after Majewska arrived and laid out a colourful blanket on the grass, an RCMP officer and U.S. border patrol officer showed up.

The Mountie started with the questions: Have you met here before? Do you know the rules?

Majewska let the officer know it was Kowalcyk’s birthday and that she had brought a cake. Would it be OK to use a “weapon,” she asked, to slice the cake?

The officer chuckled at her choice of words. He said they couldn’t pass anything back and forth.

Kowalcyk told the officer this was their fourth time meeting like this and they had previously been allowed to share food.

Minutes later, another RCMP officer came by to lecture them about the importance of social distancing. Eventually, the lovebirds were allowed to resume their picnic.

“Both of us — our personalities — we’re kind of more, like, strong and defiant when it comes to authorities,” Kowalcyk said.

Still the repeat encounters with police have been a bit unnerving, Majewska said. She compared it to visiting someone in prison.

“I’ve never felt watched all the time. I’ve never felt such a big authority presence in my life.”

That said, the couple acknowledged authorities were just doing their jobs and noted that they have shown flexibility — in one case, they recalled seeing one woman get “super excited” when she got permission to touch her fiancé.

And at least they aren’t separated by an ocean like some couples and can still meet — even if on the side of a road.

“It’s his birthday,” Majewska said, “and I never would have imagined that we were going to be celebrating it in a ditch.”

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