27~Pretty, Pretty PEI: Heritage Roads and Histamine Haze

PEI

Leaving Wolfville, I was on the open roads and PEI bound; my energy reserves I thought I had rebooted at the homestead felt depleted. Scotian Gold draining from me as I drove, zest sporadically restored with glorious views and landscapes.  Why was I so tired? Maybe I was not well. But I just did not want to believe that. Ferry times from Pictou were 2:30 and then 5:15. I knew after a little lunch pick up at Oats in Wolfville and a coffee stop (trying to sort out some damn Paypal issue) that the 2:30 ferry would be impossibility. Well, I could explore Pictou or perhaps sleep in the car. The latter more appealing in my present state. 

I have no idea how it worked but I flew to Pictou and decided to carry on to the ferry terminal. I had a feeling luck may be on my side. It would be soooo much better to get to Charlottetown at a reasonable hour so I could have a walk and another very early night. It was 2:36 and the ferry was still there. Have I missed this one? I asked the lady in a way that indicated I had already accepted defeat. Are you the lady due for the meeting? she asks. Ummmmmm, no? I say in a hopeful way. Maybe if I was that would mean I could get on. But I am not a liar or blagger by nature. Well, sunshine, you head on through, it is your lucky day. I was the last car on and I guess the woman hauling ass across the highway would not make her meeting, but I was really glad that they had held the ferry for her. Don’t know if all the early and timely passengers were, I did not suffer too many looks (I only furtively glanced to check) and hell, for all they knew, I had a VERY important meeting to get to. 

My fatigue begins to play tricks on me. Maybe I have a disease from a tick bite. My leg is super itchy and I have two prominent bumps. I want to enjoy the view as the ferry heads across the water into PEI, but I am trying to get on the Wifi and google the effects of tick bites. Luckily, the wifi is failing. I speak to a girl in the restroom because I need to quell  my paranoia. She attempts to console me. But she is a Novia Scotian born and bred and is yet to see a tick- I have seen two!! One on my leg, which watched and then had to flick off with repeated force. I thought it was just an odd teeny beetle and watched it for some time upon my leg. Then I brought one into the car. Up on Brier Island when I hiked to catch the view, I thought I had sweat trickling down my belly when I returned from the steep climb. I look and knowing then what a tick looks like, I pull over, controlling a bout of hysteria. I am not as calm as I would hope and flick it, only to then have to search the car to ensure it is gone for good. I do not want to be a human host for one of these little mites. Seems they are quite keen on me. This girl says that she knows how difficult it can be when you are in a new country and an ailment (potential death by tick bite in my case) occurs- her and her friend where in Germany just last week and she suffered with a terrible ear problem that they had to get resolved before they flew. I listen rapturously, comforted in the plight of her friend and looking for a happy ending, believing it to bode well for me. She confirms what I was thinking- I will head straight to the pharmacist in Charlottetown. Talking to someone did help; a problem shared and all that. I must have been blathering from some time. Her husband is waiting outside the bathroom and gives me an odd look.

Just an hour on the ferry and PEI is a whole new world. It looks different, smells different, feels different. Arriving in Charlottetown flummoxes me for a second because suddenly there is traffic and I am city driving for some moments. Thee youth hostel is cute and the sun is shining. A very helpful, chipper girl signs me in and is sympathetic to my fatigue and paranoia. She packs me off in the direction of a pharmacist and laundromat. The pharmacist is kind. I regale my concerns and am wondering why he has not taken me into the cubicle. I am ready to drop my pants, show him the suspected area, I am beyond potential embarrassment. I want help, feel desperate for a thorough examination and a conclusive diagnosis. If it was a tick still in me, I would see it’s ass sticking out basically. It sounds like I have been bitten by a black fly or something like that. I have been known to react badly to bites before… We pick out a non drowsy anti-histamine and I head on my way. Immediately I knock one back. Washing is done in a little corner store and I wait between the wash and dry cycle on a bench. I see a girl with a yoga mat and I pounce on her (the liveliest I have been ince my run this morning) and she is so sweet. We talk for about 15 minutes and she directs me to the Moksha studio on the waterfront. I sign up and thinking this will lift the fatigue, haze and strangeness I feel. 6:30am class tomorrow, be there or be square, Jess. I go to get my clean and dry pjs and other items and head back. It seems strange- this place has people dolled up, some men in suits and a little street with lively restaurants. I feel like a zombie.

I go to bed early, like 7:30am early, speaking briefly to the two girls in the dorm. Cordy, a German girl is lovely. She gives me ear plugs, informing me not to be alarmed but the Korean girl has night terrors at around 2:00am. Cordy too is signed up to Moksha studio and has been here for a few days. I am out for the count. I wake at 1:42 am. Has the Korean girl woken me? Sure enough, even through the earplugs I hear the murmurs that develop into some more distressed sounding Korean dialogue. Bless her, she is so young and travelling by herself. Her English is not so good, she is really quite shy too and I really admire her bravery. She is heading out on the bus to Montreal in the morning- an epic journey. She is packing and struggling- she has bought loads of little chocolate parcels for her friend from the Anne of Green Gables store and she will be carting them around for some time (the reputation of Asian girls being crazy about this storybook gal ain't a lie, or exaggeration- this hostel is indicative of that with signs in the bathrooms in English and Japanese). Cordy and I speak about her later. I am worried for her! Cordy had noticed how she was always trying to hide her ‘teeth bracelets’ when she spoke, embarrassed by them. She is so girly and young. Terribly shy and sweet. But, Cordy says, she is no pushover. I invited her to come and do something with me and she said no, because she had a different agenda with some photographs she wanted to take. And I really respected her for that, says Cordy. She has got this far, I say. Travelling for the past 2 months and another 1 to go.

I drag myself to the yoga, popping another antihistamine as I go. The morning is lovely and a fox trots across the park. Bugger, it is yoga in a hot room. Not really explored this road before. I quite enjoy it. I feel tired still but put this down to the early start and the imaginary tick poisoning. I head back for breakfast at the hostel and then to the tourist info to sort a bike. Confederation Trail, here I come. I set off, ambitious. I begin to realise why people do not really do the stretch of the trail taking you out of  Charlottetown. I think the general idea is to get dropped off somewhere and do some really scenic sections. It is actually pretty miserable. I am struggling but beat myself up. Keep going! You have only biked 8k. At least get somewhere good. I keep stopping and eating all the snacks I packed- maybe it is the Moksha yoga? My legs are not moving fast enough. They are like lead. I have not seen a soul for miles- no other loser is on this section and my eyes are literally closing. I see a bench. I can only compare it to what I imagine seeing a glass of water when in the depths of dehydration in a desert. I park my bike, lie out and SLEEP. 

No kidding. I sleep for possibly an hour and I have to give in, head back. While I have the resolve. I pedal. I am in a trance. I get to a part where I have to cross a road. A road worker is motioning to me. Hello, I say. Hopefully this is the right response. Nope, he is informing me that my helmet is on backwards. Oh, I say, as I cross the road. I fell asleep on a bench. He raises his eyebrows and laughs. I continue on. I go to a Vietnamese restaurant and have food. I feel ravenous and wonder if the food may give me energy. 

I drop off the bike and go to yin yoga. The quiet and surrender will hopefully be the remedy to this trance like state I appear to be in. It is a sensational experience. I think people probably pay money to experience the  highs I felt. It was otherworldly. Surrendering my body into deep and long positions I hav flashes, visions and feelings wash over, through me. I revisit the homestead and can feel the land and the sun on my face. I see Kristin and feel Lucy snuggling into me. Lunenberg, Yarmouth. Memories are sharp and then they dissolve, a delicious Nova Scotian montage, blending and merging. I wonder at one point if I have been asleep. The teacher, Kenny is calming and I am lost in his poetic yin words and analogies. I gather myself and a little weirded out, I head back. Maybe I should just go to bed. I take one more residency on a bench between the studio and hostel. I think I sleep but only for a half hour this time.

Cordy and I have some chats and will do a drive to Summerside and Victoria tomorrow. I share with her how I am feeling and she looks at my medication. This is the very thing she takes for her extreme allergies to animal hair. She never takes it in the day time because it has the exact same sleep inducing effects I have been suffering from on her! Jesus! I am sort of relieved because on top of feeling wrung out, then listless and lifeless, I thought I could be on my way out. I google the adverse side effects of the medication:  drowsiness, dizziness, confusion, anxiety, nausea, blurred vision, restlessness, decreased coordination, dry mouth, shallow breathing, hallucinations, irritability, problems with memory or concentration, tinnitus. Yep, had most of them.

Charlottetown

Another morning hot yoga sesh and Cordy and I head out. She is 33. I thought she must be mid 20’s. She is a magistrate. She is married. She had always been whining to her husband that she wished she had gone away for Uni, had done a travelling stint but just never had. She set the ball in motion for sabbatical. Her husband encouraged her  (alledgedly, said you better blooming go! Because I don’t want you screaming and crying that it is something you always wanted and never got the chance to!), and he will meet her mid trip for 3 weeks in Canada and the States. Her 3 month trip started with a week of handbag shopping with a girl friend in NYC. Then, a month on Cape Breton wolfing on a farm; she has achieved things she never thought possible- feeding animals, milking them and all the sorts of farm activities a fancy city girl just is not accustomed to. She is little in love with PEI. A man she spoke to on the plane from Germany to NYC was from these parts; he told her PEI was the beautiful place in the world. She says she is inclined to find a bit of truth in that. Cordy will move on to New Brunswick, meet her hubby and then go solo for the last part in Vancouver where we plan to meet.

Our day is great. We head out to hit the scenic route and see where it takes us.

Lots of pulling over for photo opps:

Cordy is a supportive passenger; not flummoxed when I drive on the wrong side of the road, twice (those damn pills or have I been doing this more frequently but alone so not realising?), even telling me she thinks I am doing a great job. We see so many lovely heritage roads. 

Happen upon a cool place for a coffee:

Summerside is a little disappointing but Victoria blows us both away.

We have an awesome lunch:

We drive and stop to take more photos:

Look, Cordy squeals, just like someone back at the hostel said- the sea sparkles at 4:00 because of where the sun is! 

We both have throughly enjoyed the day and our time together. We stop at a cafe I had clocked for a Chai tea: 

Cordy tells me it is one of her best days on her trip so far. I am still wiped from my sleep inducing meds. So another early night is in order. Cape Breton bound tomorrow and it is a 7 hour drive because I want to head up to Cavendish to see the Anne of Green Gables area. I had thought it would be 4 hours and this is obviously a gross miscalculation. I have a little run on the harbour and to Victoria Park before I leave in the morning. All these Victorias and soon will be back to the place I was born Victoria, B.C. It is Sunday and everyone is sleeping still in the youth hostel. I chat with the lovely worker preparing the breakfast. She is doing workaway and wwoofing. She has just arrived to do a 2 months here, following a few months on a farm in Texas. She wants work in education, but one of her teachers, who she holds in high regard, told her to go and experience the world for awhile. She is. South America next to work on a farm and then wherever the wind takes her- she wants to hit each continent, barring Antarctica. So, everyone you meet has an interesting and inspiring story. 

Cordy said to me I was brave. I thought exactly the same about you, I say. You see, she says, we all are just doing what we are doing, admiring each other and not always recognising what we are doing is just as brave. 

Sleeping on a bench might not be a commendable act of bravery or my finest moment to date. But adventuring on your own, drastically changing your life is kind of brave. With all the lovely friends you find along the way to inspire and enrich, you are never alone for too long. No more antihistamines, to keep lapping up my journey of wonders and happiness, I need to be sure to: "Be safe, honey, and don't miss a minute!" Will therefore keep off the antihistamines and therefore not endure the dangers of hypersomnia, wrong side of the road driving, succumbing to slumber on benches and hallucinations. Through the haze (and sleeps) I may have missed some potentially wonderful PEI moments, I am sure. But I have a number of precious ones: a new friend, a plethora of new vistas seeped into my soul and a restored constitution. Priceless.

26~Nova Scotian Gold: A Happy Homestead

'...people don't take trips-trips take people.' ~ John Steinbeck

Having put down tiny soul roots across Novia Scotia, I found myself uprooted once more. Transplanted to the farm lands of Annapolis Valley, I came across these boxes labelled 'Scotian Gold'. Their actual contents unknown to me, but I believe this land to be rife with treasures- spiritual and physical. So the label swam in my head as I bathed in the pleasures and wonder of the Valley, rooting a little down in the Scotian Gold soil of Woodville.

Aside from sweet potato fries, a great view (which I keep referring to as the 'Look Out' having been corrected numerous times, I can inform you it is called the  'Look Off') and hearing that Woodville is cute University town, I had not really thought about my next stop too much. In fact, I had gone against my own travelling advice and only booked one night at an airbnb (the only one in the area, no hostels either in this neck of the woods). 

It had all felt like a whirlwind: the final jam-packed events of Yarmouth, the whirlwind wedding in Lunenberg, the dash back across Nova Scotia to hit Wolfville before heading up to PEI. Bish, bash, bosh. It just isn’t for me. I realised as well that I was beginning to tire. Rae-Ann and I discussed this. She is a solo traveller that has hit all sorts of far flung places. Her friends always tell her she is lucky and that they are jealous. Which they of course they mean in the nicest possible way. She works ever so hard and makes these longer extended breaks and more exotic/adventurous locations her choices. Telling people you are tired out from having a great time and seeing the world does not really go down too well, from her experience and now from mine. They want to tell you just to jog on. I kept my fatigue under wraps but it was creeping over my body. So after the SatNav took me to a location that was not my airbnb address, I pulled over. I took a moment. The air was sweet with the breath of the surrounding apple orchards in the late afternoon breeze; these farm lands with rows of perfectly planted trees, quite a new Novia Scotian treat for my senses. These are the grape growing lands of Nova Scotia; Annapolis Valley where provincial wine (like the tipple I enjoyed so much on my birthday) comes from. Standing outside the car, my trusted beast, I surveyed the land. Then, I turned off the navigational system, went with my gut and found my way. Meanwhile, shaking off the tired feeling that threatened to consume me in a cloak of dullness. I had to vanquish my desire to hit the sack. Like LM back at the lakeside sung out each time I left, 'Be safe, honey, and don't miss a minute!' 

The stars were in my favour. An auspicious booking drew me from my inertia. Like shafts of sunlight breaking through a cloudy day, Kristin and Henry, who had a Lucy dog scrabbling in his arms, bounded up to me from the farm land. It was so strange. I knew them. I felt like I knew them. They were friends. Old friends. Resurrected somewhat from my sluggishness; rejuvenated by this new setting of an Annapolis Valley wonderland, more prepossessing and propitious people (and another comfy princess bed). 

The next day it came to me that Kristin has the unique spirit and look of Sal who is back in Morocco. Henry is a Londoner and lived in Bristol and has a certain lovely way about him, like the loveliest of the blokes I meet back home. They both felt my collapse into their cheery welcome. Pictures of health, sunkissed and earthy hands from working the land, Henry raises his eyebrows: Has Nova Scotia been running you ragged? They ask. Party time, eh? Not exactly, well sort of, see there was this wedding and I was lakeside and…

They usher me and my blathering with good humour, kindness and hospitality, into their kitchen. Kristin has made courgette muffins and we have a sit down and a chat like old friends. I surprise myself and say, rather candidly and somewhat blunt, ‘Have you got any one staying tomorrow? I already know I would love to stay another night.’ Of course, Kristin says, we would love to have you. Phew, I am glad I had not booked anything else because it would be a shame to fly this nest too soon and the big drive to PEI, even in my favourite wheels, just was not something I could face the following day. I feel invigorated to hear about their set up here. They want to live off the land they have managed to buy and have spent the winter months alone, renovating their house. It is something else. Already lovely as it is but soooo much potential too. I enjoy flicking through her farmhouse decor book. Losing myself in the homes photographed. They say the views, sunrises, landscapes have been spectacular; Henry has loved watching the season and land change over the months. 

It is all a learning curve for them. They set out on this venture, bought this homestead after driving around the area and waiting for it to come down in price. They may sell produce at markets- the organic tomatoes are going well and they just have a sign out on the roadside. Henry is a former teacher. This boy was immersed in the real London rat race; biking morning and night to and from school to work his butt off. It is his 'insurance policy' and something to fall back on should their farm dream fail. Every morsel of happiness and success they deserve, so I believe their aspirations will come to fruition. They tell me that potentially they will run workshops and farming classes, not just depend on the land. Everyone loves Henry, everyone loves Kristen. I can see them running something like this. 

They both are assimilating themselves into life here. Kristin is part of a group of women that have crafting sessions. They take it in turns to host the girls at their homesteads and bake, no doubt with goodies fresh from their land. While Kristin and I cook, a lady from the group swings by and they discuss the chickens and the veggies, life in general, and the next ‘Bitch and Stitch’. Doors are always left open, I do not need a key and neighbours just swing by; everyone is always welcome and people here ready to receive guests. 

Henry does not attend the 'Bitch and Stitch' events; his badge of belonging comes in the form of extra-curricular volunteer sessions at the Woodville Fire Fighting Service just down the road. I liken it to a grown up version of Cubs but this is actually serious and a necessity in these areas. Does he wear a firefighters uniform and everything? I ask. Yes, he was called out to something last night too but it was not that serious, Kristin reveals. That is pretty hot, isn’t Kristin? (I have always had a little thing for firemen). Not really, she says, because it is Henry I just find it funny! Kristin says that she has grown up around Canadian men. Archetyply chaps that know about cars, have tool sheds- you know, manly men. Henry reckons he is on the way to becoming a Canadian burly type. He does have an increasing list of good credentials and his truck is huge. My SUV looks positively demure alongside his truck in the drive.

View from my room

The little sparkle that I had left, has refused to be squelched out. Pulling energy from those last reserves,  I find my feet. I hike the trails nearby and manage two glorious runs. Immediately enamoured by the farm family here, my roots are well established. Lucy dog captures my heart. 

Lucy plops herself right on my yoga mat

They call her a little wombat; to me she is a baby piglet, a wriggler with extreme agility, lavishing love and licks (particularly predilection for licking hair!), charming everyone where ever she scampers. Henry arrives at the homestead, rescued by a local (knowledgeable in the field of soil, reveals Henry)- he has been locked out of his truck at the gas station by an excitable, inquisitive Lucy. Her skittish and zealous movements had forced the lock, leaving poor Henry stranded, but not for long in these friendly parts. Lucy loves everyone and everything; she gets all that love right back. A clear message for what you put in, you get back if I ever saw one.

Kristin is the kind of girl I could spend my days with. Natural, fresh, full of smiles and warmth. An avant-garde farmer gal, with grace. I watch her from my window, heading across the land in her red hunter wellies. Her home made bread and pastry skills are to be marvelled. She tells me she was wwoofing on a farm back on the West Coast of Canada. The farmer woman taught them all how to bake bread and she has done it ever since. They need the sustenance and carbs for the daily farming activities and they have two ravenous young German boys who currently reside on the farm. They are big lads with appetites that are never satisfied. Reminds me of Adam. Whole halves of melons with the spoon left in and monstrous bowls of Weetos, the chocolately milk residue sticky in the bowl. Ewwwwww. I remember the day Steph went into his bedroom looking for the dog. It was mid afternoon, a hot sticky day and Adam lifted the duvet to reveal a snoozing Jasper, in the boy pit and a whole lot of food wrappers. Quite gross. A big snacking boy, endlessly gorging. Where do these big lads put the calories they consume? The German boys are not teenagers and certainly not slobs (sorry Adam Wolff, at the Weeto and melon point in your life, you were a bit of a sloth), they are polite, sweet, hard working and trained well. Their mothers would be proud.  

They also don’t have a penchant for candy, meat is their bag. Kristin and Henry do eat meat (not necessarily daily) but are not carnivorous in the way the German lads are. There is a big event here in Woodville coming up at the weekend; a chicken BBQ at the community hall and the boys are hopeful to get their fill. It is also an exciting event because most nights are early ones, spent around the dinner table, then by the fire, fatigued bodies from working the land and the fresh air sending them to their beds. The boys all head out one night to help dig the fire pits for the BBQ chicken event. The girls stay home. Lucy hangs in the kitchen as Kristin rolls out her pastry, she is gorgeous- this fresh faced modern farm wife look is enviable. I dreamily imagine myself one day, living off the land, replicating her pastry skills. Her look is complete with a gorgeous rolling pin her mother gave her. I would definitely need to get one of those bad boys in my role as a newfangled farm gal. Quite possibly I should start farming and working land asap too; I don't think the perfectly cute rolling pin accessory a successful farmer makes. 

Kristin and I head out with her neighbour to have a look at the chicken coop the German boys are constructing and also to collect asparagus for the quiche.

A Stephanie Wilson inspired salad of grated beets, carrots, apples in a lime, honey and ginger dressing, topped with chopped nuts is underway. I chop and Kristin rolls. The boys are back and our little farm family gathers. Needless to say Dominic does not go in for seconds; the scoop he does take is noticeably heavier on the nut front than the veggies. He jokes whether both quiches are vegetarian- as the bacon that is non-vegi does not count, really, as a meat portion.

Woodville mesmerises me. Blossom in the twilight, breathtaking. Sweet fragrances drifting by and around. Skies, hell yes. They have those in abundance. The homestead is bathed in light, the sun sets and the landscape is still clear in the gentle after light. Kristin and Henry, what they are doing here. It is like a spiritual retreat, being in this nest. Sheltered by the valley. 

I head out to Wolfville to check out the town, a 20 minute drive away. There are some cool cafes and I sit and blog. Most students are away now, so things are a little quiet but this is just perfect. I leave the farmers back home preparing a plot for the asparagus they have to get in the ground. After a day of coffee and lovely local, organic snacking and veggie food at Oats, I drive to the homestead. I sit by the fire with the farm family. I need to stay longer. I could stay for A LOT longer. Especially for the shindig at the weekend (I would love to see the German boys attack the BBQ chicken and meet the people from around these Scotian Gold parts), but I can not afford to keep extending the time on the car and I really want to see PEI and Cape Breton…

I have one last day and do the hikes just up the way from the homestead. 

Whimsically immersed in the trees, and woodsy expanses that differ so greatly, I realise that I cover a hell of a lot of territory. 

I trek along each colour, more or less

I have a snack of an apple and some almond butter in my bag. Thank god for that, I am starving and stupidly set off on an empty stomach. I kind of get lost at one point. The markers have disappeared and the trail ambiguous, if even there. Admitting defeat, I decide to head down to the road, because I am pretty certain the direction of that. I see the farm selling Nova Scotian honey which is good- at least I recognise something and decide to run from there back to the car. It is a lot longer on foot, I have only driven this way before. I am relieved to get back and proceed to eat the biggest bowls of cereal I can. (Adam, I could rival your bowls that brimmed with those Weetos.)

Better than a trail of crumbs, relieved to have registered this
landmark...

I have to go find the sweet potato fries and go to the Look Off. They weather is great and I enjoy the little outing. 

View from the Lookoff

But most of all, I enjoy going back to the homestead. One last night with my farm family. We all sit in the living room. The German boys show us some German pop on youtube and also some rap, much to the hilarity of us all. Early night is had by all- I manage to get up to banners of sunrise. I never close my curtains, my window faces east and I swear I feel the beauty of the morning whispering to me. I run around the valley that is bathed in the radiance of a rose hued sunrise. There is an early morning frost- Kristin and her farmer pal had said this was forecast. The morning sun creates and alchemy of mist, pale and translucent, rising from the frosted ground and hovering amongst the plants. 

The view from my bedroom window when
I returned from the magical mists of the morning

Kristin and I have coffee together before she heads out to be trained for a job she has just landed. It is perfect for her, allowing summer months to be spent working the land and winter months working from home. I say good bye, I cannot thank her enough. She was quite happy for me to stay longer, expecting no money- her and Henry had discussed it. It feels like I am supposed to be here and you are no trouble (you proud, Mama Wolff?) and I have inspired them. Me? Inspired you?? You guys have inspired me!! I have a lovely hug with the German boys. Their visas run out soon and they will be back to Germany to study. Frank knows what he wants to do- this year of farm work has inspired and led him down a path that he is very clear and excited about. I am really happy for him. 

Henry and Lucy say good bye last, seeing me off down the drive. I see them head back onto the sun drenched land for a day of work. Henry is right. It is a perfect day for a drive. And the old road number 14 he told me to go on is just fabulous. The skies are more generous than one could hope, an assortment of clouds that tell stories and scenery to soak up. More fabulous though, my time in the nest of a little farm family; a latter-day (happiest of) homesteads in Annapolis Valley, Woodville. A homestead cloaked in the aura of both promise and possibility: pure Nova Scotian gold.

25~Love and Lobster in Lunenberg

New location for a spot of the old blogging… Viarail. Halifax to Sainte-Foy, to then catch a shuttle bus to Quebec City. I am in it for the long haul, recliner chair for a 20 hour journey across Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and into Quebec. Determined to get up to date within this epic leg of a journey. So throught the rain and mist that surrounds this train, I travel back in time, dissolve into memories...

Like a 

guardian Angel,

the Lighthouse stands,

Sending out hope into the night.

Like a faithful friend

Reaching out a hand

Bringing comfort, truth,

and light.

From my happy home in Yarmouth, I travelled back to my first love, Lunenberg. “Welcome home!’ Lorne calls as I get out the trusty beast that seemed to sail across Southern Nova Scotia this morning, my Dolly CD making the trip all the more lovely. He is weeding with a special little contraption (he says it is an addiction- the lawn looks perfect to me, so either he does a blooming good job or his addiction is OCD). He gives me a big hug and I have to say ‘Alicion B&B’ looks picture perfect. I note a few spruces in the short while I have been gone. New flowers, a sweet little patio area, paved to the side of the house, private and cosy with a table and chairs. There is a hive of activity in the living room and the spread looks fab, as do all the ladies! Wow, glad I picked up the flats; I have limited footwear options and converse/Uggs/flip flops/running trainers would just not do. Janet, Chrissy, Barb, Rick are all here, and some other Lunenbergians I did not meet the first time round. 

This wedding I have had the privilege of being invited to has quite a beautiful backstory. When I had left Lunenberg, I knew that Janet and Lorne were expecting her 80 year old mother to arrive the following week. Not alone. With her NEW BOYFRIEND. This was quite the talk at the BBQ amongst the girls. Chrissy, Barb and I both felt that there was hope for us yet. Janet’s mother Mary had fallen in love and was bringing her beau, Bernie, to meet Janet and Lorne. Naturally, the wouls saty for a week, a little respite in ‘Alicion’. When I am invited back to Lunenberg, I make the arrangements for the Saturday. Lorne then informs me that he and Janet are preparing for a wedding; Mary sprung it on her daughter at the airport- she had arrived not with a beau, but a fiancee. Lorne assures me that I they would love to have me there. It is a casual ceremony and the girls have never met Mary before so it is really a chance to support Janet and most importantly, celebrate love. If anyone could organise a wedding with 3 days notice and pull it off with grace and flair, it is Janet and the ‘Alicion’ setting is perfect. 

The groom joins the hustle and bustle in the living room. What a fire cracker! He is charming, funny and a Brit. He schmoozes with us ladies. Barb and I catch each others eye, laughing and a little shocked, mirroring each other with raised eyebrows. All us ladies receive a compliment. In this photo he is saying to me, “By golly, you have the sweetest looking lips.” 

When his bride to be joins us, he tells her, “Mary, there are a heck of a lot of beautiful ladies in this room. But you are the most beautiful of them all.” Barb and I look at each other, melting. 

This pair, both 80, look youthful and their love literally lights up the room. We all sit, Lorne takes Mary to Bernie and I am unsure as to whether there was a dry eye in the house. It is incredibly moving, beautiful, intimate, hopeful, pure, honest. A wonderful recipe of all these things, quite clearly, makes true love. With a little dash- well, actually- a huge dollop of passion. The ceremony ends with quite a kiss and Bernie makes it quite clear in a number of remarks that he fancies the pants off Mary (I do believe he told Barb, “She is gorgeous. And you know what? She is brown all over.”). Barb dedicates a song, we dance. Bernie grabbing the single gals and giving us a spin. We drink champagne and have a gorgeous cake. 

Rae-Ann and I arrange to go to the ‘Salt Shaker Deli’ for dinner. Lorne, Janet, Mary and Bernie will head out for a fancy meal later. Lorne and I race to get some lobster; he has read the blog and noted that my lobster linguine experience was held in high regard; he wants to show me the real thing. 

When I look at the pictures he takes, I have to message Mama Wolff. Mama, isn’t there a photo of me where I look exactly the same but I am 4? Sure enough she digs it out- uncanny, eh?

Mary and Bernie are exhausted and go for an afternoon kip. Janet says they sleep in till 10/11 in the morning. Some of the gang stay behind and we chat the afternoon away. Time is getting on and Bernie shuffles into the living room in his shorts and t-shirt, bed hair and looking a little crumpled, with his bright eyes a little wide, conveying a startled expression. We have been noisy- Barb presumes it to be her (she has got an amazing laugh and a very theatrical, expressive manner) but Bernie blames Janet. Already in the step fatherly role! 

Bernie joins us and tells us how he and Mary met. Mary had an arranged marriage to a much older man; she spent part of her life in the role of dutiful wife and loving mother. She has a disability that requires shoes to be made for her. Bernie was her cobbler. He always tried to make her blush, sneaking in a controversial comment or a slightly rude joke (Mary’s interjection to Bernie’s story). He always thought she was beautiful. Years went by and Mary’s husband had died. She bumped into Bernie and they had a cup of tea together. From there it has been quite the whirlwind. Bernie says, “I might be dead soon. Got to enjoy life while you can- we are not getting any younger.” He is so deadpan, I can not help but laugh. He winks at me. They are heading off to Europe for an organised trip on a bus in July. Janet later tells me that her mother is like a different person- rejuvenated, reenergised by the love she has found.

I am exhausted. After Rae-Ann and I have lots of lovely chats at my favourite little restaurant, I head straight to my ‘Dragonfly’ haven and collapse into my princess bed. I have breakfast with the other guests- two couples. One from Halifax who are having a weekend break away. She works in Truro for 911 call centre and the stresses of this can be intense. My only frame of reference os ‘The Call’ starring Halle Berry. She says that actually, there is some reality in this fictional story- the software, computers they use is identical, as is the training. She is unsure whether or not when she clocks off that she would go and investigate crimes. Well, it is Hollywood… Lorne and her partner have an interesting conversation about the state of the economy in Nova Scotia and the problems they see in the tourist industry. Lorne says that is extremely difficult for newcomers to set up camp here in the tourism industry, facing all sorts of adversity. Even from the locals. So it ain’t all the cinnamon and sunshine that I perceive it to be. Maybe if I attempted to move and set up something here it could take a while to assimilate. He is in web design and he agrees with Lorne, as they also compare how Prince Edward Island has a much more powerful advertising message in which to draw tourists.

The other couple from California are slightly cold. Considering they are from the warmer climate, Lorne and I are both a little taken a back , in particular, by the girl’s frosty and haughty attitude. I don’t know if Lorne puts something out in the Universe because I sit in my usual spot and the table is set for 5. I sit opposite the friendly couple from Halifax. Lorne brings the coffee through and says, “Oh dear. We have split the other couple up.” As he walks out, the three of us shoot awkward glances, thinking that the couple have argued and left or something along those lines. We then realise that he means they will not be able to sit together- so I move to the head of the table. The blonde, tanned couple arrive and I have to work hard to warm the girl up. She seems unimpressed by everything here. It is a business trip. She wasn’t flying all that way in a crappy little plane to just fly straight back so she took some extra days here. She does not really have anything positive to say. Nova Scotia does not love her and it starts to cloud over. I try not to let her kill my buzz. The couple that stay the next night and I share breakfast with, make up for the Californian couple. They look California. Fresh and full of smiles and adventure. I immediately warm to Ruslyn and her husband Brad- they look like they could be out of a commercial. They love yoga, biking and sailing. Ruslyn has a beautiful necklace and we share the stories behind our jewellery. She tells one gorgeous story that sticks with me. Her son was woking on a sailboat across some exotic workers. He and the others worked in shifts. One night they were all up- a pod of dolphins were swimming on the perimeter of their boat, under the canopy of stars and moonlight, with water which was phosphorescent. She has that love that only a mother has, moved still be her son's experience and his appreciation of it. She and Brad head off for a bike and a hike. Brad is quite the dreamboat but I reckon they both have a perfect match. We namaste each other but as I am chatting to Janet she rushes back in to give me a big hug. More than made up for the miserably Californians!!

A Lorne breakfast special shared with Ruslyn
and Brad

I go to do the same hike up at Gaff point but the weather is drizzly and it does not have the same effect of complete euphoria as the first trek but it is enjoyable all the same. I borrow Lorne’s bike and hit my coffee spot. It is incredible how different Lunenberg is after a week and a half. There is more people traffic and a trickle of tourists as the brink of the season is in motion. I liked it when it was all mine. I like it, love it still. It makes it seem even more special that I had it to myself those first days. Before I know it, I realise I am due back at ‘Alicion’. The gang are congregating for lobster. What fun and delish…

At bed time, I catch Mary at her bedroom door and she conspiratorially shares with me how happy she is. Mary did not expect to find love again, but she hoped to. She did not feel like being on her own and wanted a partner to enjoy life with. There is always a chance and a hope she tells me. Bernie shuffles by and we give each other a little smile, hug good night and I head up. 

The next day, I say good bye to the Lunenberg crew. Janet and I have a private moment where she shares her thoughts on yesterdays ceremony. It was so magical, I say. 

She agrees. You know, she says, everyone in that room is going through something. They are facing challenges in their lives. Being part of that moment in time was special for everyone there, it symbolised and embodied hope. We all need a bit of that. We all need to believe in lightness, love and happiness. We both well up as we discuss it and then the happy couple are there to say good bye too. I will see Bernie and Mary for a dinner in Victoria, B.C. Lorne and Janet say I can come back anytime. I pop to see Barb at the library where she is subbing. We have a lovely chat. I can just see her doing her story time for the kids. 

The workshops and events she runs sound so fun that if it was not totally in appropriate, I would sign up. Chrissy and I meet for a coffee. ‘One Stop Coffee Shop’ is also her favourite. She is such a smart, knowledgeable woman on so many fronts. I would love to stay and talk life with her. 

Chrissy here with a great hat

She sends me with instructions so that I will have a scenic drive to Wolfville. Jotting down somewhere to snaffle sweet potato fries, a place for a great view and a run down on must see spots on PEI. I leave and it is misty and a little grey. I watch the seagulls flock over the harbour. LM told me that they say seagulls are the souls of sailors lost at sea. I drive. I don’t need to look back. The love from the people here is like a beacon, a lighthouse in the distance, with the power to shine, luminate hearts… no matter how far away they are.

“Black met black on the distant horizon, the stars alone distinguishing sky from lake. On the sand below, Silver Beach glittered at the water's edge while on the north side of the river the lighthouse's beacon signaled safe harbor.” 

~ Erin Farwell, Shadowlands

...I will be your lighthouse, if you will be my sea...