Rural Ontario

Parts of rural Ontario really is rural. We passed by a property along the Madawaska River that is all barns and wooden houses. I thought it was a Menonite community. But on closer examination, it was just a working farm. I wondered why it didn't have the fluffed up quaintness of more touristy pioneer towns. This place was real.

Here are some of their barns.



This house is full of junk inside. Its door was open. It didn't look like anyone lived there. Yet, someone is storing firewood on the porch.


Around the corner was this pioneer church, with a copper roof on the chimney.


Here's a view of a lake where we tried to fish but caught nothing, again. I wonder what we would do if we actually caught something. I think I would probably scream in fear.

Those Crazy Ducks

With The Boy at music camp this week, The Man and I went to visit friends and do some camping. We ended up at Bonnechere provincial park and selected a site by the river. The Man wanted to be here because he wanted to do some fly fishing. But a few attempts later, he lost two hooks then gave up. There just wasn't enough room to cast properly.

The river was quite still, which was eerie. I don't like still water. But at least the ducks came to visit us. It was pretty neat camping with them.

Here they come.


Here they are, just hanging around The Man while he reads the newspaper.

Textured Meaning

Well, the shed extension looks better than anything I could have imagined. The bikes are hanging up in it now. I'll be darned.

The Boy is in a good mood this morning. That's because he's getting ready for music camp. We're taking two of his friends with us, then The Man and I will go visit friends for a couple of days. The Boy just came storming up the shower and said,

"Mom, you know that song we used to sing in grade 4 called 'Get Down'? I was just singing it in the shower, and you know, it's a dirty song."

"How so?"

"Well, the lyrics go 'If you get down on me, I'll get down on you. I'll do anything you want me to.' I thought it was just an innocent song about a bunch of kids getting down with a camera. That's what the video showed."

"You were in grade 4."

"I bet there are still all these little kids running around singing songs they don't understand."

"Yeah. I was always nervous when you sang songs from the radio. But parents sometimes just let their kids take in songs at their own level. Then when the kids get older and they understand the lyrics, they say what you said."

"Sneaky, sneaky..."

Sunshine

I must be living in my own happy place all the time. I think The Man is building me an extension for the shed, I have great dinners with friends, The Boy is engaged in school and has good friends, my mother loves us, my friend calls me a lady of leisure.

Then I find out The Man is building not the extension I want but some contraption of his own design that bears little resemblance to what I need. I find out that at the dinner with friends, words were issued which caused slight. I thought everyone was having as nice a time as I was. Wasn't I at the same gathering? How come I didn't hear the exchange? And The Boy, well The Boy and I never have a conversation without arguing. Mom is always preparing for war time and tries to fatten us up while she can so when war comes, we won't immediately shrivel up to nothingness, and she doesn't even live with us. And in my leisure, I take Prozac and see a shrink.

This is all to say, I just saw a trailer of Little Miss Sunshine. It's about a family that looks normal on the surface, but is dysfunctional in massive proportions. Even from the trailer, I could identifying with their life, especially the part where they get pulled over by a cop and the father says, Everyone, pretend to be normal.

Yeah, I feel like we're doing that all the time.

Contentment

I had dinner with a friend this week. She's a wonderful, warm, and engaging woman, involved in the lives of her friends, family, extended family, and community. Almost ten years after her divorce, Long Legs is still very much part of her ex-husband's family. Not just because she has a daughter with her ex, but because everyone, include all her in-laws, likes her better than her ex-husband.

Recently, her ex-brother-in-law got married. She was the ringbearer. That is, ex-bro-in-law felt his own brother and sister might lose the ring, but knew she would get the ring to him safely across air travels. Her ex-mother-in-law remains good friends with her. Her ex-sister-in-law invites her to all family and social gatherings, with or without her daughter.

She dates but doesn't have sleepovers. She said men are generally good company, but they are way too sensitive and high maintenance. You get close to them, you have to maintain the relationship, stroke their ego, take care of their shit. She said, I don't need that, I prefer going out to dinner or dancing with them and being treated like a lady. No strings attached.

I see her point.

But then I'm having such a nice time with The Man right now that I would miss him terribly if we were not together, maintenance, shit and all. In fact, we had an evening with friends last night, and Outrageous commented that all the couples gathered - all long-time friends, were still together. And each couple still having sex and having fun with each other, I might have added. Touch wood. I do not want any of us to have serious marital strifes.

Long Legs and I exchanged e-mails today. She said, The Boy has grown to be a real charm and I know he brings you lots of laughter. The Man looks fine and happy. If we won the lottery, we would be more happy - because we are relatively happy right now.

Right on, sister.

Views From On High

I'm a big picture person. I always prefer the big picture; it helps me put life in perspective.

Looking down from Chateau Frontenac, Quebec City.


It's true that one rolling hill is pretty much like the next. But the amazing thing is they exist, and there are still many to be found. Somewhere on PEI.


Baddeck, Cape Breton Island. The Alexander Graham Bell Museum is on a hill. This is a view of the Baddeck harbour when you step out from the museum.


Part of the Cabot Trail, Cape Breton Island.


Whale watching at Pleasant Bay, Cape Breton Island.



Looking down at the Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia.

So Pretty

At the Bay of Fundy, the park attendant gave us a tide schedule. I thought, What gives? How do you keep the tide on schedule? Who do you negotiate the schedule with? Can there be a delay or cancellation? The Boy was exasperated with me for most of the trip because I was too particular like that, and because I couldn't get over the tides. Every time I expressed awe about the tide, he said, Yes, yes, they're a miracle of nature. Then he moved far far away from me.

We camped in the park for three nights. While it was pleasant being together, camping is not as much fun on our own any more. I like camping better when we can create a village with our friends and families. And the fact that the sites were close together without a lot of trees in between didn't help. The Man was just looking for reasons to complain even though our neighbours were respectfully quiet.

We took all our meals in Alma, a 10-minute drive through the park. Very clever to have a town at the entrance of the park. The gas station runs a thriving business and convenience store. We bought T-shirts that turn brilliant colours in the sun. Fish markets sold cooked lobsters and dulse, dried seaweed that you either love or hate because it tastes fishy and salty. I started to promote the idea of buying a cooked lobster and eating it at a picnic table instead of going into a restaurant for one, a venture The Man and The Boy shied away from till we got to PEI.

Not to be cliche about nature scenes, but here are a few views that took my breath away at the Bay of Fundy.

Driving through the park.


A lookout on the road.


Alma at low tide.


Alma at high tide.


Covered bridge in the park.


Finally, some waterfalls.

A Spinal Tap Moment

In the movie, Spinal Tap, there is a scene where the band is on stage and a little model of Stonehenge comes down. That was a spinal tap moment.

On our way down New Brunswick's Hwy 2, we spied a town called Grand Falls. We were on a road trip after all, so we wanted to stop to see the grandness of the falls in the middle of New Brunswick. Following Visitor Centre signs, we came into a park.

There were the falls.


Puzzled by this trickle, we went into the Visitor Centre to inquire. Little Falls would also make a good name for a town.

"How grand do your falls actually get?"

"In May, the water covers all the rocks. You don't get that effect now because the water has been diverted for hydro."

"So to get the full effect of the grand falls, we should come in May."

"You could. But the park isn't open in May. We're only open in July and August."

Still in need of something grand, we stopped in the next town, Hartland, home of the world's longest covered bridge. We were not disappointed.

The bridge is this long.




Legend has it that if you make a wish, then cross the bridge with eyes close and breath held, your wish will come true. So we crossed the bridge several times making all kinds of wishes.

Lunenburg Lost

This is Lunenburg, a very pretty town.


But it's not the town I visited years ago. It's not that I want to stop progress to satisfy my nostalgic fantasy, but the touristy Lunenburg of today makes me cry. Makes many of the locals who grew up in the town cry too. One of the shopkeepers told me so.

Twenty-three years ago, we were two young women in our twenties. We went down east because we had never been before; we went without a travel plan or knowledge of the Maritimes. We drove into Lunenburg because someone at a gas station told us it was where the Bluenose of the Canadian dime was docked. Having nothing better to do, we went.

The charm of Lunenburg of old is that it was a thriving working waterfront. Townspeople built boats, fished, and transported lumber. My friend and I drove into town and saw a large dock with boats tied to shore. The roads were barely paved. We came down a bend into the dock and stopped inches from falling into the water. A fisherman waved us back and told us to park anywhere, just away from the dock.

I was looking into a backyard of colourful boats. The front view was from the water. Bustling activities, mostly of people and nets lined the dock. Horses and carriages pulled kids and wood and other cargo along the streets. Someone hauling a fishing net down the street told us they had been that way for 200 years and we should go look at the houses. People make a fuss about them for some reason, he said.

The houses were wooden shacks, brightly painted. I walked on narrow, winding dirt roads with houses that opened right onto the street. I felt apologetic as I trespassed on people's front yards. We asked where we could get some coffee. Someone suggested a diner might be open. It was the middle of the afternoon.

We stood on the street, holding our coffees, looking down on the dock. Tall masts and sails went every which way as people below them moved calmly about. I remember thinking, This is a time warp. How long will this place be undiscovered?

As we drove into Lunenburg this week, we first passed through Chester and Mahone Bay with their refurbished million dollar homes on the waterfront. Oh there is the charm of a well-to-do cottage town, and I picked out a place called Hairy Kids so The Boy can stop for a haircut on the way back. Lunenburg still had colourful houses, newly painted. The roads were paved streets with sidewalks and parking meters. Shops were everywhere, selling sportsgear to gifts to designer shoes.

The Bluenose was home, with a young crew of yuppy puppies welcoming visitors aboard its clean and sparking decks. A pay parking lot fronted the harbour. Restaurants lined the dock. Lunenburg has been gentrified, sanitized and Disneyfied.

I went into the Bluenose Shop where a woman sold souvenirs. I told her the Lunenburg I visited years before was very different. What happened? She said, The downturn of the fishery. When fishing dried up, Lunenburg almost died. What saved it was in 1995, the town was declared a UNESCO heritatge site, and some people came in to start new businesses. They still have bits of fishing and ship building, but the invisible industry is software development. That is, there are people in town who develop computer games. The town welcomed in tourism out of necessity. So Lunenburg survived when many older towns in Nova Scotia simply died.

Lunenburg is still pretty. It's just that the way of life the town symbolized is gone. What we see today is a ghost of its former self. It's hard not to lament a loss so unique in Canadian history.

This is the bend my friend and I came crashing around years ago.


That part of the once vibrant dock is now closed.


Further down is where the Bluenose is now docked.


With restaurants and shops facing the waterfront.


But in around the back streets of the town, the houses are still pretty, some quite grand, and more colourful than before.








They repaint the houses often. Here's someone doing just that.


As if the town would forget that fishery is an important part of the town's development, one of the church's steeples wears the sign of the fish.

Home

I guess three weeks with his parents is too much for The Boy. He missed his friends so. Three days ago, he was anxious to come home. He's planned an outing with his friends for Thursday night. Eager to comply, The Man drove as fast as he could and got us home Wednesday night.

The trip was enjoyable. But I agree with The Boy. As we got onto our street, he rolled down the window and said, Hmmm, smell that pollution. Just before we got out of the car, we did a group hug and he said, That was really fun and I am sure that we all look forward to not seeing each other for the next four days.

Now to download my photographs.

Future By The Sea

One day, I am going to relocate to Cape Breton Island. Summer temperature is rarely over 30C, winter is never colder than Montreal and they get powdery snow - the kind you can do stuff in. Alexander Graham Bell retired here because he read a book where the author decribed Baddeck (B'Deck, accent on the "deck" as in G'day) as a town where everyday is like a Sunday.

I am stunned by the physical beauty of the land - a perfect blend of mountain and ocean. We went through the Cape Breton Highlands National Park drive yesterday. That ride along the Cabot Trail is magical. I feel like I was on LSD - everything just seems so poignantly beautiful and majestic. The road is cut into the sides of the mountain. Every time you come over the horizon you gasp at the expanse of nature, height and harmony. I felt no fear of the cliffs; I even ran down one to pee so I wouldn't be seen from the highway. There is a peace and orderliness that I like, and still that capacity for unpredictably savageness. But any violence from the sea is contained by the mountains. I am absolutely giddy when I walk on the beach. I think that must also be why I like the Bay of Fundy. The waters are contained in the bay.

We saw pilot whales north of the park. On the way back, we saw a mother bear and her two cubs frolicking in the bush.

At the IT centre where I am using their internet service, they have a job board. I looked through it to get a better sense of what kind of work I could do out here. I could apply for a position as a researcher and program developer for Parks Canada to develop interpretative programs for their Alexander Graham Bell centre, at the smouldering wage of $9.75 an hour. Sigh.

But one way or another, my future home is where the mountains and the sea exist in harmony.

The House That Lucy Built

When I last visited PEI. I remember driving with a friend, looking for the Cavendish beach to hang for a couple of days. En route, driving on a dirt road, we came across a sign that said Green Gables. Thinking it must be Anne's house, we turned to follow the sign and drove up in front of a house. We went in and were told indeed, we were in the house that inspired Lucy Maud Montgomery to write about Anne of Green Gables. In the Anne fiction, that was the house where Anne lived. I remember thinking at the time, You'd think they could give better directions to this house so the visitor doesn't stumble upon it by surprise.

Fast forward 23 years. That'd take us to this week. We drove through the town of Cavendish. The main street is part of the highway 6, with Anne, Green Gables, Avonlea, and Village shops vying for attention. The poor visitor has a hard time separating the real Green Gables from tourist traps. Highway 6, or Route 66? I half expected a giant Anne head attached to the ground - the way giant hot dogs or ice cream cones are plunked into the ground - with her braids turned up, waving at unsuspecting passersby who subscribe to kitsch as a way of life.

When we got to Parks Canada's Green Gables, I see it is the same place I visited 23 years ago. Only we were travelling on a concrete highway, there were huge signs pointing the way, there was an entrance gate with a parking lot rivalling Casino Rama's, a gift shop, a visitor's centre, and an introductory movie. The grounds are well preserved. No, not preserved. Created. Created to be pleasant walks, with posts and fences, signs and explanations, steps to preserve the walk, benches for the weary. What the grounds have to do with Anne Shirley is kept secret from me.

The house is newly wallpapered, all wood shelves are woodblasted to reveal fresh grain. They have an industrious housekeeping crew, for the house is truly a pristinely kept...historical site, where a non-existent person lived. The whole Anne thing has become cartoon like, a parody of itself.

Still, PEI the island is beautiful. I love the grand open skies, with nary a tall building in sight. I love the rolling, pastural fields of different colours and textures. Every turn we make on the road opens onto a postcard moment. I keep threatening to bring home real lobster traps, to start a maritimes theme in my garden. We've had several lobster meals. The best one by far was when we bought cooked lobsters and fresh oysters from the fish market and ate them on a picnic table beside the harbour. The Boy shucked his first oyster. I'm working on him and The Man to better tackle a lobster in its shell.

The Tides Of Fundy

I absolutely love the Bay of Fundy. It's a miracle of nature that the tides go out and come back in everyday. I know it happens wherever the ocean is. But the bay is somewhat special. Everywhere you look are water falls, rolling hills and pastoral flats of green and water. Covered bridges are a common sight; Madison County should blush at its silly boast. Yet, you know that simmering just beneath the surface is a storm waiting to rage. It's the seeming peaceful waters that I love, knowing the same water can be so potently violent and unpredictable.

The Boy stood in the ocean floor and waited for the tide to come in. Within minutes, the water went from his shoes to his knees. He kept saying we have to come back with his cousins next year, Kid1 and Kid2, and in fact, why not organize our annual group camping trip at the Fundy Park. I think that would be a blast.

There is a town called Alma, just outside the park. We had all our meals there. Lobster dinners are available everywhere. I am trying to not overeat, as I already look well fed. There are houses on cliffs that overlook the tide. I want a house there, where I sit and really focus on writing.

But this is what I notice about New Brunswick. Despite all the efforts by the Maritime governments to promote tourism, the service industry in fact isn't quite prepared to receive customers. Every person, whether in a restaurant, tourist booth, or gas station, wears that Twin Peaks stare. It's a wait, size you up, then act friendly. I keep thinking behind their forced friendliness, they all belong to some midnight cult, and when they stare at us, they are really trying to decipher if we are one of them. Or maybe they just feel their land invaded by city folk.

We had lunch in a family restaurant once. The Boy ordered caesar salad and something else. The waitress came back after a while and said to us, We don't have Romaine lettuce so we sent someone out to get it. Later, she came by and said, We couldn't get Romaine lettuce, so do you want Iceberg lettuce in your caesar salad instead? It's quaint and all. But she might as well have said, Do you really want to eat here? We have a sacrificial ritual happening in the back and you're kinda in the way right now.

Today, we made it to Charlottetown, PEI. It's nice here, but it's not the Bay of Fundy. Even though the tide also goes in and out, and you get the greenery, and water is not far away, I am not as enamoured with PEI as I am with the bay. I don't feel the potential for violence in the air. I need to know passion lies beneath my feet.

Out Of Montreal

We're lost in Canada. We were. But we've found ourselves again, many times. This is what I know about The Man. He drives without knowing where he's going. When he says he needs a navigator, he really needs one. But he's a poor planner. For example, he drives off in the car, throws a map at me and asks me to tell him which way to go. I look at the map and say, I don't know where we are on this map, and I don't know where we are heading to on this map. That's how we ended up skirting Montreal for an hour before leaving the city.

The Boy is more in sync with The Man. He has an excellent sense of direction and seems to recognize street names and directions just like that. Once, when we were lost in Montreal, he directed us back to the loft. I don't know how he does it. The Man says if he ever goes on the Amazing Race, he wants The Boy with him.

But I still like Montreal. Aside from the Botanical Garden, we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art and saw amazing Italian designs. The things I saw made me happy - a mix of...I'm glad people are around to tend to the functional design side of life and a kid in a candy store kind of happy. I bought a sugar dispenser. The Boy has taken to mimicking me when I get excited.

On leaving the city, The Man filled up on gas while The Boy and I went into the store attached to the gas station. As he drove the car to a parking spot, the gas station owner came running after him asking if he intended to pay for the gas. I can imagine how embarrassed The Man was. But we got everything sorted out. Expensive gas.

We went to a friend's cottage in Quebec's Gatineau hills for Monday night. Beautiful cottage, beautiful kids. Wonderful hospitality, just like you'd find in the Middle East. So very hot today. 45C factoring in the humidex. Swam in the lake and didn't want to leave.

We are now in Quebec City, trying to act normal.