Moments in Nova Scotia History

Disclaimer - all photos on today's post were taken with my Samsung Note 8, SOC no editing.  And kind of off-the-cuff.  Can't wait to share the stuff I got with the Nikon and Sony!

Today, I was treated to a warmer day again, although still the brooding clouds.  Somewhat fitting for the places we hope to go.  But first, I need to extol the virtues of the amazing food I've been treated to - besides halibut cheeks.  Don't knock 'em till you've tried 'em.  Down east cooking is down home cooking, and my hostess, the beautiful Ann of Ann & Brian's Ocean View B&B loves to cook, makes things from scratch (usually without a recipe) and a lot of stuff gets cooked on her woodstove in their living room behind the kitchen (that most guests are not privvy to - I feel honoured and blessed to have shared wine and time with them in such a cozy place!) 

This morning, breakfast was started by Brian, in his cook's hat and apron no less, and was a platter of vanilla yogurt, fresh fruit cut in bite-size pieces and granola.  That would have been enough for me, but then Ann came along and made blueberry pancakes and sausages!  Whaaaat?  Who on earth can eat all this food?  So it's a good thing we're planning to take advantage of the non-rainy weather and go see the cliffs of New Waterford, and maybe some crashing waves.  Maybe a good hike will help wear all these extra calories off!

It was a wee bit disappointing, as the ocean remained quite calm, considering the storm from last night.  I do manage to get some cool perspective shots of a bit of seaweed, and a gorgeous driftwood log that almost blends in with the rusty shale rocks that the cliffs seem to be mostly made of.  No wonder the cliffs deteriorate at about a foot per year.  I can always come back later, but I do want to see the Low Point Lighthouse and the Stone Church while it's not raining, so off we go.

First the church, which I saw briefly on our way to tof he B&B from the airport after I arrived in NS.  I fell in love then, as my heart seems permanently tied to the plight of old churches that have not been maintained, and that we are in danger of losing because of it.  Churches are such a unique piece of architecture - each one is custom designed and built, and is sacred to many people.  That alone should make them a prime candidate for love and care.  They have always represented community, faith and honour (I know, they have also been less than honourable, but that is because of people that attached themselves to them, not because of the building itself!).

 The first image in this post is the Stone Church, and I sense that even though it was "saved" at the last minute from being demolished by the diocese in order to sell the land (the church apparently has still not learned the lessons it teaches re: money), it may not see another century.  I caress the walls and windows by capturing the light reflecting from it in my cameras, noticing that every window has been dedicated to the memory of someone in a carved stone plaque above it.  Even so, a couple of the windows are in danger from being broken, their protective plexiglass having been broken into pieces first.  It is as though the grand lady has aged rapidly and is literally falling apart.  Soon I will share a longer story, but for now, she sits sadly, watching the ocean for someone to come and save her.

The next stop is Fort Petrie, at one time a stalwart line of defense against the invading German submarines.  Where once stood proud cannons and live tanks and troops, now is a small, rusting and crumbling, locked building, the armoury in sad state of disrepair, the original sign in tatters and leaning against the outside wall of what appears to be a storage shed, and the gunnery on the cliff - now littered with litter and graffiti of human skulls and cupid's hearts.  Another painted sign on the storage shed is of poppies, and "Lest We Forget", a grim prophecy that appears to have become reality - the community has indeed forgotten. 

The Low Point Lighthouse is relatively small, considering the amount of coastline it has to protect ships from.  As for most lighthouses these days, it is automated, the light always moving, always on.  It has no way of entering (it would probably be covered in graffiti and broken in no time in this harsh, forgetting place), but is clean and has a fairly new-ish coat of paint.  It seems to be newer than some I've seen, but there is also the remnants of other buildings that must have stood there at one time and did not withstand the test of.... whatever.  A weird, very tall, concrete "table" for lack of a better word, and the concrete floor of what looks like it may have been a small building of some kind. 

Below the lighthouse at the bottom of the shale cliffs is the remnants of a wharf that must have served for a very long time.  No one is around now, but this was at one point (you can tell) a very solidly built wharf.  The wood is still solid for the most part, and yet it has been replaced with a concrete wharf a bit further away.  The ocean bottom must not have been forgiving enough in this place.  The sky, calm seas, and structure provide me with several minutes of entertainment, as I ponder how much of our past - in Nova Scotia and everywhere else - seems to be disposable, instead of being the wealth of knowledge and experience we should be making it.

The last stop of the morning is the Colliery Lands - the site of the old coal mines, where 4 mines were once both the primary employer of the area, and most prolific murderer.  There is a huge memorial that lists hundreds of men over more than a hundred years that have lost their lives to provide homes with heat.  These should be revered as much as those who gave their lives to protect the country, but we rarely hear about them.  We see the tiny little rail cars that shoved dozens of men into the bowels of the earth, deep below the sunlight , and Ann tells me of the members of her family that were in those cars. 

The afternoon is spent reviewing the photos on my cameras, then going alone back to the cliffs of New Waterford to play with waves (which are now a bit more interesting) and birds (tiny shore birds running about frantically, stabbing the rocks for tiny bits of food with the long slender beaks).  and when it starts to rain, I give up and wander back to the B&B to dry off and relax for a bit while Ann makes fish cakes in a cast iron frying pan on the woodstove.  Seriously.  Right? 

I feel like I have spent the whole day transported back in time to a place that is unrecognizable to me, and from what I saw, mostly to the next generations.  Let us hope that wiser heads prevail and that we are able to teach the younger generation about how we and our ancestors lived, so that the adults of the future do not make the same mistakes.

To Ingonish and back - the long way around

Friday morning dawned cloudy and cold.  No surprise considering the storm the night before.  The sun makes some attempt to appear, but is unsuccessful.  Ann has planned a full day for us, first to Louisburg, then the Cabot Trail to Ingonish where we will stay for the night at her brother's home.  On the way, two trails that she has found to be great hiking opportunities for both of us and beautiful photo opps for me.

Louisburg is fascinating.  I had always thought it was a completely preserved or restored village  It has actually been rebuilt, almost from scratch, and it continues to be built.  It appears to be very authentic, from the community water well to the governor's house.  I wander for ages, taking lots of photos (which I will post later after I've had a chance to review and edit on my laptop), and do a Facebook live 360.  Because it is no longer tourist season, however, only a couple of rooms and buildings are open to the public, and we can only see so much from the outside.  

Next stop is the Lousiburg Lighthouse, the first lighthouse in Canada.  The original stone foundation of the lighthouse keeper's house is still there, as well as the outline of the original stone lighthouse.  The current lighthouse is uninhabited and automated, and appears to be in sad repair. Still it's interesting to capture this Maritime treasure. (Again, more photos later, I was not thinking straight and forgot to take anything with my Samsung cell).

We crossed the waterway to the Cabot Trail at Englishtown by ferry - a 2 minute ride or so - and landed on the Jersey shore (not really, but almost - Jersey Cove) and quickly found our way to the Trail.  It is, thankfully, still full of colour, despite the storm from the night before.  Some trees have lost all or most of their leaves, but most others are still in full colour, with some still showing green.  The range of colour and height of trees is astounding, and I've already decided that I need to return another year, a week earlier, and take a full 2 weeks to explore the Island.  

Middlehead trail is our first hike, and it's about 4 km in total.  Lots of climbing over tree roots and rocks, and we are warned before heading out that there could be coyotes.  Ann grabs a good stick to flail should we meet one, and off we go.  We encounter ground squirrels and a fluffy bunny, but no coyotes.  Great views, lots of photos, and a great workout.

The Freshwater Trail almost evades us, due to poor (non-existent) signage. But we do find it, just in time to grab some great golden hour shots right before the sun goes down.  Film at 11.

We reach Ann's brother's place in Ingonish in time for a wonderful dinner, thanks to Wilson and Joan, and a joyful evening of jokery and conversation.  A great night's sleep and we're greeted with a forecast of 50 mm of rain.  Hopefully we can get to the Skyline Trail before that starts.

After a quick breakfast of english muffins and wonderful crabapple jelly, we part ways with our hosts and head out to drive the rest of the Cabot Trail, and hopefully hike the Skyline Trail.  Ann has heard the Skyline has been closed off and on for the past couple of weeks due to "agressive moose", so we shall see what the status is when we get there.  

We find a couple of good spots to take some more photos, get through Pleasant Bay where we start heading south, and eventually make our way to the Skyline Trail.  Unfortunately, today, it's closed.  We're both disappointed, although it's still pretty chilly out, and very windy, so maybe it's for the best, moose or no moose.  

This also leaves us a couple of hours to explore some other places and hopefully find another trail that is open.  In the meantime, we decide to have lunch in Cheticamp, about the only place with a population and an open restaurant on the west side of the Island.  The host tells us that the special today is "halibut cheeks", and since neither of us has ever tried this we both decide to have it.  It is absolutely amazing.  They really are the cheeks of the halibut, and the server (who is decidedly older than we are, and in a wheelchair, which we love because it means we can talk with her at eye level, and agree this should happen way more often) tells us that they ask for them from the boats when they come in.  I love this lady's accent, so "down home", and ask if these cheeks are easy to find.  She says no, they have to ask for them special, they might have them at the fishery in Glace Bay or North Sydney (Ann is happy about this), but I probably will not find them in Kitchener.

At any rate, we rave about them all afternoon, so mild, don't taste anything like fish, and have a texture more like scallops.  So tender and just melt in your mouth delish.  The rest of the west coast has been remarkably (for the most part) less scenic than the first part of the trip, but we do find a couple of places to stop and grab a shot or two.  This time, I remember to get out my phone though, and get a couple of shots.

Especially at this beach we find by the trailhead for "Le Buttereau", which tells us that there are coyotes, moose and bear on the trail.  It starts to rain, Ann can't find a stick, and we decide it's not worth it.  We descend again (it's a fairly steep hill that we've started to climb), and chance checking out the beach - stony to be sure - and as the tide is fairly low, we get to see some rock formations that really display the nature of this amazing Island.  Colourful, grained, with quartz veins and lots of character, the rock wall stretches above us for several stories.  It would have been a magnificent view, had we kept climbing.  But the beach gave us a different view.

It starts raining a bit more so we opt to head out towards home, and although it never does get to that 50 mm rate of rain, the skies are so gray and hazy that there is not much of interest to capture on camera.  

The day ends with another amazing meal - Ann prepares prime rib roast, yorkshire puddings, and sauteed mushrooms and onions.  Divine.  Hockey night in Canada, and now it's time for bed.  Zzzzzz.....

A wind is howling in New Waterford

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are starting our descent into Sydney, please make sure your table is safely stowed, and your seat back is in it's upright position".

It has been almost a year since I have traveled anywhere by plane, and now I find myself back in the same province as I was the last time, just two weeks shy of a year ago.  So much has changed in my life since then, but my friends are still my friends.

When I was "restructured" last November, my friend Ann invited me to come and stay with her and her husband Brian in Sydney, N.S. but my head was just not in the right place.  She asked me if I would take photos of their B&B, one of the many people that were pushing me in the direction that they knew was right for me, even if I didn't know.

And now, finally, I am here.  Sydney.  On the edge of the continent.  The fall colours were still vibrant as we drove from the airport to the harbour, where we had a lovely snack and a glass of wine, at the Governor's House (a restaurant and pub, not the real thing).  It used to really be the Governor's House and the waiter tells us that there is still a jail cell in the basement - but doesn't offer to show it to us.

We walk across to the harbour, where an enormous cruise ship blows it's horn, as it's final "all aboard" and starts to churn the water as it glides incredibly slowly away from the dock.  Ann and Brian assure me that we'll be able to see it go past their house when we get there, in New Waterford.  As we drive along, the fall colours really pop, Sydney is a city but there are many trees around.  I cross my fingers that the wind that has sprung up will not obliterate the colour as we have planned to hike a few trails along the Cabot Trail in the next couple of days.

It seems to take forever for the cruise ship to make it's way to the New Waterford area, and it is further out in the harbour than usual.  My hosts wonder if the ship has altered course slightly as they expecting a bad storm overnight.

A pot of salted meat is brewing on the wood stove - seriously - and we sit and enjoy a glass of wine and catch up a bit, as we haven't seen each other for a few years.  Ann tells me about her plans for the weekend, and about her family, some of whom I will have a chance to meet in the next couple of days.   We are going to Lewisburg tomorrow morning, and staying in Ingonish tomorrow night.  Supper is ready, and I'm treated to an east coast traditional meal of salt pork and potatoes, cabbage, carrots and turnip all in the same pot.  It's divine!  Oh ya, and homemade bread.  I knew I wouldn't starve this weekend, but boy, that was outstanding!

My hosts are impeccable in their service, and I feel right at home already.  It's a beautiful house, they built it new a few years ago, and as always, Ann selected the most lovely combination of colours in the decor.

After supper, Ann and I talk for a long time, catching up some more, getting to know each other better, and finally, my eyes start to feel very heavy.  Here I am in a large room, one of the B&B guest rooms, and listening to the "bad storm", the wind is howling as though it were the middle of winter, so our trek tomorrow may require the gloves, hat and extra layers I brought along.

The new hiking boots, tucked away neatly by the front door, have worked their magic once again, and I am living a new adventure that I didn't think I would have a chance to experience for a long time.

Peter Pan strikes again.

Thanks for everything

As the leaves start turning colour here in southwest Ontario, Canada, which usually happens just before the Canadian Thanksgiving holiday, it triggers in me a strong sense of gratitude and joy.  I looooooove colour, the brighter and more vivid and varied, the better.  Much of my art and photography is strongly coloured, and it feels sometimes like I could probably tone down the saturation, based on what I see others doing.  Toning it down just seems wrong.  When the world around me is so brightly lit, that's how it should be shared.

Until I met (online) a number of people from other areas of the world that are not blessed with the magic of the maple tree, which is the primary contributor to autumn colour here, I thought this changing of the seasons from summer to fall happened everywhere that there were trees.  Now I know differently.  And now that I have an opportunity to capture it and share the magic, I fully intend to do just that.

Every day feels like a new beginning, I see things a little more clearly than the day before, there is more love and joy surrounding me, even though I still wake up alone each day, and while many associate autumn with the ending of live vegetation (or at least dormancy) and the coming of winter, I sense the wonder of the lifecycle as a whole.  Ebb and flow, death and rebirth, everything in nature has a cycle of some kind and for this I am truly grateful.

What does this have to do with thanks?  All of this change strikes in me how precious and fleeting each moment is, and that the old adage "stop and smell the roses" becomes more and more meaningful as time passes.  Recent exploration and adoption of daily meditation and mindfulness practices have brought out in me how strongly important it is to truly appreciate every moment for the beauty in it, because right now, this moment, is the only thing we have any control over.  We cannot change the future except by what we do right now.  We cannot change the past except by how we deal with it - either by choosing to learn from it and change our current behaviours to avoid making similar mistakes, or by choosing to believe that we did not have control over it then, and must therefore blame someone else for our current circumstance.  The latter has no benefit, especially since no one is to "blame", we must take ownership of every moment of our lives, past present future, because we are the ones living that moment.  No one said it was easy, but then, my guess is that it's not easy to change colour when you are a leaf stuck to a tree.

I've noticed in the past few years that it seems the leaves that change colour first are the ones that are hit by the sun first thing in the morning after a frost.  Let's ponder that for a moment.  How cool is that?  A killing frost covers a leaf, and instead of dying and falling to the ground, it bathes in sunlight and dresses up beautifully and shares it's glory with the world.

How wonderful is this lesson!  And this is the reason I become so grateful in the autumn.  For all the leaves that have been hit with something deadly, and shone even more brightly to show the world that they have contributed to the life of the tree they are borne from, provided nourishment in it's sunlight factory, contributed to the rest of the world by exchanging carbon dioxide into oxygen, completely selfless acts and receiving nothing but a killing blow from frost.  And still at the end of each leaf's life, it does it's best to bask in the light and turn it into a pageant of oranges, reds, yellows and browns that everyone loves.

I am grateful for:  family (the leaves around me), friends (the leaves on other trees), colour, health (I have only just started turning colour and have much to share before falling to the ground), Light especially sunlight for the life it gives, the cycles of nature that provide us with these important lessons in life and life-giving and life-sharing, the beauty of each moment.  Thank you to whomever or whatever (God, universe, life force, source of energy, whichever you believe in) has given us all these things, even though some choose to ignore it or not believe in it.  Thanks for everything.

Golden Geese

The morning sun was only one finger above the horizon when I came out of the kitchen and into the living room, having breached the horizon while I was making breakfast.  It's golden light spilled over me, 18K molten lava.  It pulled me towards the window to see whether the overnight frost had given the trees below a new, more colourful suit.  My eyes moved up towards the wispy clouds, a V of Canada Geese were flying toward me and off to the right - south.

Is it really autumn already?  Didn't the three-month heat wave that some called summer just finish?  The kids are only now back in school, or just starting.  Wait, that was already a month ago!

As time passes - a gentler way of thinking about getting older - it feels much like it is passing more quickly each day.  It doesn't, time moves at the same pace, we move more slowly.  It gets harder each day to keep up with pressing demands that we feel are placed on us by others.  It feels more like we have less control over what is happening in our lives.  In the world.  In our minds.

The geese get closer, their wings and bellies dipped in the liquid gold sun and I revel in the magic of the moment.  Snowbirds.  A single goose is flying toward them from the east to join them - he must feel the sun on his back and tail.  There isn't much wind, so the V-formation is moving quickly.  Like time.

Birds, and manned flight, use the wind to gain lift.  Facing into the wind provides more lift.  It may take longer to get there than with a tailwind, but it builds muscle by requiring strength.  Much like facing challenges.  We cannot control the wind, but we can control which direction we fly, either into it or away from it.  One direction gives us more lift to carry us over the obstacles, more strength to face future headwinds.  The other direction makes for easier flying, but we may just wind up going back over obstacles we met earlier, and we may move backward rather than closer to our intended destination. 

Golden geese.  They move by instinct, they know which direction to go, and sometimes they are facing the wind and sometimes it is behind them.  They learn from their community which direction they need to go and when, and if they find themselves alone, they seek out others that are going in the right direction, and join them.  Moving together, organized flight, caring for each other by taking turns in the front, knowing that this makes the journey easier for everyone.

We move in whatever direction we choose, and the wind changes around us.  Sometimes, the wind is in our face, and we struggle to move forward, at the same time gaining strength and lift.  Other times, the wind is at our back and we sense it carrying us, giving us rest and relief before the wind changes again.  We get complacent, sometimes it is such a relief to be carried along that we allow ourselves to move with the wind, not thinking about where it is taking us.  When we reach a place that we don't like, we blame the wind for putting us there, when really, all we had to do was keep steering south, reaching for others that were moving there, even if the wind changed.

The geese fly out of sight - silently.  I imagine the soft whoosh their wings must be making if I were close enough to hear it.  The sun rises higher, the light is brighter, whiter, a little warmer, more alive and awake.  My spirit and energy mirror the sunlight, and it is time to follow my direction for another day.  Today, it is calm, and hopefully it will be easy flying, but if the wind changes, I'll be ready.  I know where the other geese in my life are, and I am grateful for them.