23~ A Whole Lot of Happiness (The Wholesome Kind)

A memorable 35th birthday in Lunenberg, feeling full of love from all around, I thought things could not get better. The Novia Scotian open roads I was let loose on in my SUV seemed to promise so much. From my shaky start in my vehicle in the city roads of Halifax, to relaxing into the smooth easy drive on the highway, I was captivated by the beauty and wonder that splayed ahead in the lupin studded landscapes. The roads and vistas symbolised/evoked adventure and liberty; a great combination which has rung true so far. I did not deduce or infer friendship from the roads- believing this section of my trip would be much on my own. I could never have dreamed up the wonderful people that I would encounter in Novia Scotia. But, now I have learnt, wherever you are going in Novia Scotia, whether undertaking a serious chunk of open road driving alone, you will always arrive in a spot of welcome and wonder; where you make new friends, where a whole lot of happiness is there for the taking and where you can indeed, '...depend on the kindness of strangers.' ~Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire 

I have had no time to write and only now have just settled into a little cafe in Wolfville to reflect on the many experiences that have consumed me over the past two weeks. Firstly, I have extended my time here by two weeks; I have embraced my SUV and have been driving the length and breadth of the province. In fact, I love the damn car. Although, I seek desire from attachments, I have decided I want one of these beasts. It is slightly incongruous, I feel, with my ideologies. But it seems the right way to travel (here at least it would be necessary and in terms of preferred modes of transport, well, I should not be so fickle and remind myself of my infatuation with the Dutch cycling legs I embraced). I swear this car is like magic; it practically drives itself and chucking your stuff in the boot and not on your back is a complete luxury.

In fact, as time has gone on, my car rental time extended (I got SatNav and the full insurance pack when I saw the car; sure I would at least crash and perhaps die), I have realised this driving malarkey is a luxury (but really the only way to delve deep into this province). I will most certainly need to work the summer Vancouver. The rite of passage waitressing work that I missed out on in my teens, here I come. Babysitting the Burritt babies, oh yes! Hope the tips are forthcoming to cover car costs and copious amounts of cookies I have been chomping...

In order to get up to speed, I will provide a rundown of the past weeks events. An abundance of photographs will hopefully enhance the brief stories (I may be giving those Japanese tourists I met a run for their money in amount of selfies taken, although none are with exaggerated pouty lips/fish face- this has apparently taken over from the peace sign) I endeavour to relay.

So many places to pull over on the drives to snap a poto

After a lobster linguine birthday feast, I sank into my Dragonfly den and actually blogged! 'Roman Holiday' would wait until the following evening. There was a full house at 'Alicion B&B' that evening so joining the other guests for breakfast was fun. On Lorne's recommendation I headed out to enjoy the weather.

A hike at Gaff Point with leftover lobster linguine and beet salad was a triumph.

The hike was so beautiful, I literally ran some of it- I was so invigorated by the beauty and the varied landscape.

I almost went off trail and felt a little 'Hansel and Gretel'. The woman at the 'Salem Witch Museum' had pointed out that this story in fact features cannibalism, when giving her talk about 'The History of the Witch'. This memory coupled with the gingerbread-like houses I had just been admiring on my drive, is not a thought path that should be entertained on a solitary hike.

So I shook it off. A more realistic concern should have been the possibility of tick taking residency on my person, rather than a child eating witch living in a house made of sweets eating me whole. I did question the beetle type bug upon my leg as I lunched and am grateful I quickly flicked it away, later learning about these little buggers.

So apart from my first meeting with a tick, I crossed paths with one couple and other that that, the hike was my own. A perfectly flat bit of slate, with a perfect panorama provided a picnic point and a place to snooze in the sun. When I returned to Lunenberg, Lorne had leant me his bike and I pelted around town and out, not wanting to miss a thing. Lorne and Janet had invited me to a BBQ they were hosting with their Lunenberg pals. These ladies are amazing: Chrissy- a British lady with an Inn here, and also works with young people in school; Barbara- an actress, writer and a storyteller for children in NS libraries. Rick (such fun, so kind and interested- he came the next day armed with lots of Hull facts), John (a publisher and children's author!!), a lovely couple celebrating their wedding anniversary and more. These people were a scream, open, interested and kind. I even got a little drunk. We played games in the garden and shared beautiful food.

Lorne, after a few glasses of wine, invited everyone for waffles in the morning.

I was the only guest again and he had promised me them on my last day. Their hosting is continuous, executed with incredible graciousness; what a joy to be in the hub of it all. 

I leave reluctantly. We sit on the porch and chat.

I hug everyone and Lorne says they miss me already, that he understands why I was lavished with gifts and cards. I am incredibly touched. I had bought a locket from the coffee shop, made by a local. I bought it, opened the locket, closed my eyes and took my love from Lunenberg and placed it inside. Clasping it shut, I have not taken it off since. 

I sailed to my new digs in Digby. Chrissy is full of NS knowledge and sent me on a gorgeous drive, where I had to drive my car onto a little ferry. I would have never known how this worked without her tips and the heavenly 'Le Have' bakery you hit on the other side was a gem. I stopped in Liverpool and grabbed a spot of lunch for a Liverpool picnic.
I took advantage of wifi and skyped with Mama Wolff from the little pizzeria. Everyone that I skype with says how well I look. But a whole lot of happy, the wholesome good stuff, is surely a recipe for looking well. Also constant wandering means I am exposed to the elements and my face is very freckly, quite possibly dirty at times and skype does not always show up the finer lines, shall we say? I stocked up in the supermarket and was looking forward to brekkie on the road and being able to cook at the hostel I was heading to. People in Liverpool were as wonderfully accommodating as Lunenberg.

I met this chap on the way to Digby:

Not sure he has the same graciousness or temperament of the other Novia Scotians I encounter. I actually drove around this fellow, supposing it to be roadkill. But as I drove on, possibly about 3k, I had to turn round. What the hell was it? A dinosaur?? No. Definitely extinct. Couldn't be. Armadillo? I don't think they are in these parts, but that is probably a less embarrassing assumption than a dinosaur. Maybe an armadillo that had lost his way. 

I stand of the side of the road peering down at him. He does not seem impressed. But he is quite something. He is like a armoured, hefty, outdoorsy version of T who I met back in New York (refer to blog 13~Carrot Juice With a Side of Wheatgrass, A Poet and a Turtle). This guy looks tough. He looks at me with intelligence that I had seen in T, but the defiance and noise he makes is a little alarming. I am later told by Claude at the youth hostel that it was quite a chance sighting. A 'snapping turtle'. Ancient creatures, that he describes as

a 'tank'. If I had got to close, I may be without my nose. Now that would be a shame, noseless and all in the name of a selfie with a snapping turtle. Mental note- email poet who I ignored after some more strange (somewhat indecipherable) correspondence in the form of emailed poems (described as lovesick by our Lyd). It would be polite to share this turtle type tale with him and it is a topic in which we can connect. Roald Dahl references in answer to his poetic prose was not going to cut it, but this story just may.

Digby was my next stop. Different, really different town to Lunenberg. The hostel is great. Although these Digby digs are much different to the princess palace I had just been living in, I really liked it. It was all a bit more industrial, a little run down and the restaurants on the waterfront were a little disappointing (although Digby is the capitol of scallops and these were obviously great), shops a little junky and tacky. There were a few doorstep dwellers (men, drinking beer) appreciating the warm evening and I was quite taken aback to receive a few cat calls. I thought I blended in- no make up, flannel shirts and converse. There were some boy-racer types in the supermarket car park and such a different feel. The sophistication that epitomised World Heritage Site Lunenberg was not here, but I appreciated the contrast. The skies, the endless and beautiful skies can not be taken away from this town. The town seems to be under a vast arena of blue for the clouds to tell stories, move in different ways and form wondrous shapes. The Digby sky was something else; ever-changing over the harbour and bay. Running on the old railway track the next morning, I enjoyed the panorama immensely. The Bay of Fundy is something else- so different to the coast on the Eastern shores of Novia Scotia.

 

I headed to Brier Island and did an amazing hike. I pull over as instructed by Claude and Saskia (owners of the youth hostel) and am immediately befriended by two locals that give me tips and tick
warnings. I take a wrong turn, even after all the instruction and consider whether this viewing point can really be it. I rectify my mistake and am rewarded by the view of the whole, even if I had to double back and put myself in even more of a tick risk situation in the process.

This also means the long drive down (two ferries to board in my vehicle- pro at this now) to the island for a scheduled whale watching tour is just narrowly missed. I will have to wait for the next ferry to return up the island. The lady in the shop (the only shop on the island) gives me a map and circles the lighthouse and the tip of the island as potential points to explore.

How far is it? I inquire. Do I have time? She looks at me like I am a little stupid and points out the window to the tip of the island, probably about a 30 second drive. I sit on the rocks and enjoy the view.

A guy in a van pulls up and sit out on the rocks, he has a beer and a dog on his lap. He appears to be contemplative as I am. Also awaiting the ferry- we are side by side on the return. 

Although tired, I decide to pull over and hike to the balancing rock.

I bump into two giggling girls that appear to be road-tripping together. I had seen them the night before, at the same restaurant in deserted Digby. They are muslim girls, their pretty headdress making them memorable as well they were the only other people in the restaurant. They are having a whale of a time and we chat about the rock and the nasty climb up the stairs after hiking down to the viewing platform. 

Sunday Club back home

Curly Claude

Their comradery makes me think of my friends; they are having Sunday Club at Mama Wolff's and I hoped to Skype with them all, but wifi would have been a long shot on Brier Island. So I write a few emails to feel connected to my friends and I snuggle into my bunk bed, after a cooking fest and have nice chats with the Youth Hostel peeps the next morning. I am struck by how much Claude reminds me of Pops back home (aka Noodles or Curly Chris). I show him and Saskia pics of Chris and they have to agree.

They find his nicknames hilarious. Claude is also a builder by trade, just like my pal, Chris. I leave Digby, stop in Bear River. It is a tiny spot, known for artists taking residence. I have coffee in a gorgeous little cafe- there are only two choices and admire the houses and riverfront shops on stilts, sat at either end of the bridge. I skype with Fee and the waitress is so friendly, telling me to take care when driving (it is pretty rainy and misty). I head for Yarmouth, an airbnb spot on the lake. The host is Linda-Marie; we have been exchanging emails and her loveliness is jumping off the screen in her written words so I am excited to meet her. She works in theatre with young children and has invited me to yoga in a barn. Already, awesome. I pull into the drive, step out and take in the house, nestled into the hillside, surveying the lake. I stretch my driving legs, throw my head back and feel happy, breathing in the freshness of the grass and the Novia Scotia air. I was chasing a feeling for a while; something complete. I wanted a peace that lasted more than a momentary feeling, no questions, no ego, no neediness, no someone else to complete or justify me. I am on my own and I feel whole. I have found it supported by a cove of friends, family and new places. Now I can enjoy the peace I have found here in this setting: 'where my hillside meets the lake in curve of cove and trees' (Linda Marie's words). I head down the steps to a welcoming embrace from my new friend Linda-Marie. Lakeside with LM- it is going to be good. With this welcome, how could it not be?

As I sit and write, two woman come in, heckling and joking with baristas of this great coffee shop- 'Just Us' on Main Street, Wolfville. They refer to themselves as a married couple, requesting a blueberry muffin on the larger side because as marital bliss dictates- they must share this muffin, but they would never share french fries! I can not avoid snippets of their conversation. One of them encourages the other with all the enthusiasm and support that only a wonderful friend can provide. ‘You have to try, it will be an amazing change for you and you deserve to explore and try something different.’ Another lady, alone, and in a transient place in her life, I gather. Her friend assures her that a 'whole lot of happiness' is in front of her and she can not think of anyone more worthy, that she is her hero. 'You are so brave,' she tells her friend. I feel like they must have known what I was writing, but no, they are absorbed in their intimate chat. I wish her luck in my head as I sit and write and remember a quote I jotted in my journal:

‘Heroes take journeys, confront dragons and discover their true selves.’ ~Carol Pearson

So everyone is on their own journey. Everyone fighting their own battles and forging new paths. I am looking forward to returning to a set of heroes on a journey that I have the privilege of staying with out in Woodville. A young couple, Henry and Kristen, a British guy and a Canadian gal, upped sticks and are settling here in Novia Scotia, farming their land and assimilating themselves in the local culture. When I ask where Henry is last night- Monday is his session as a volunteer with the local Woodville firemen. These heroes are all around. I find comfort and (a whole lot of) happiness in that.  

Port Maitland beach near Yarmouth- the sea mist was rolling
and was unlike anything I had seen before