A New Life

In Canada, when one moves from Province to Province, there are many adjustments to make. It is not like moving from County to County in England for example. So herein lies a tale.

Yesterday, Sunday, John drove off early to visit a friend he had not seen in thirty or more years. We were to meet later for a late lunch. It was a lovely sunny day. The roads winding as they passed the most wonderful scenery.

Now, although John has slowed his driving speed down considerably over the years, he does tend to ignore or miss the varying speed signs we can encounter on our drives. These can go from 100kph to 90 or 80 in short spaces of time on the main routes and from 80 to 70, 60, 50 and even 30 in lesser route. Often the signs are obscured by brush. Sometimes there is no warning of an approaching reduction in speed. And sometimes John is simply not paying attention. Now in fairness, I too can fall prey to such lax attention.

On this particular occasion, John had left a 90kph zone and turned onto an 80kph one. This in turn slowed to 60kph and then 50. John had not reduced his speed from 80 as he entered either of the two lesser zones. Suddenly a figure in yellow stood before him waving his arms. The trusted RCMP. They always get their … um … person.

Driver’s licence please… insurance card … ownership… Now John fumbled for the latter. These are all new documents to us since we have moved to Nova Scotia. There it was. Not the small card we had been used to but a large official looking piece of paper. The police officer disappeared with these. In the meantime, John called us to say he would be late. The call was interrupted by the returning officer who handed John a ticket with a hefty fine, albeit politely so.

The Officer hesitated and cleared his throat… “May I ask”, he said, “if you identify as...", he cleared his throat again, "... as a male or a female?” pointing to a prominent “F” on the said driver’s licence. Those who know John can surely imagine the look of utter surprise on his face. John rubbed his thick beard. (He has let it grow more since moving to the sea.) Then he laughed, a little flushed. “I am a man” he said firmly to the politically correct young officer, explaining that we had just received our new provincial licences in the mail and he had not examined it for errors.

Then sir, said the officer, you may want to have the error corrected to avoid confusion in the future. John thanked the helpful young man and proceeded to lunch.

John went in first thing this morning to the licence bureau. He was the first in the door at opening and he announced to the two female clerks, "Well I present you with your first dilemma of the week." A Groan emitted in unison from behind the counter. He handed his licence to one of the clerks and asked "Do you see a problem with this." She replied, "Well not right away." John pointed to the "F" and simply said "Sex". The other clerk called out: "Why? Do you have a problem with sex?" --- Laughter. In the meantime another customer had walked in. John said: "Do I look like a woman?" - pointing to his rather thick beard. The other customer chimed in: "Well these days it's hard to tell."

We had certainly expected our new life in our new Provincial home to be a significant change, a transition of sorts, from our former existence. Little did we know just how much of a transition it could be!

Catalpa

The mighty Catalpa rises to the sky

One hundred feet or more

I do not lie.

It’s girth is six feet, maybe more

Its aspect grand

I do assure.

But a crevice looms great and wide

Marring its structure

And the strength inside.

So now two men armed with sharpened saws

Mount swiftly its lofty reach

Without a pause

And limb by limb they take it down

The crashing branches

Hit the ground.

Sad though it is that it must go

Its memory lingers in the air

As young trees grow.

Watching

Sitting by the window of our riparian retreat

We watch the gulls bicker and swoop

In their grey white splendor

Ours is a quiet and hidden seat.

A seal sticks up its whiskered grinning head

And dives beneath the water’s ripple

To search for fish

Deep in the ocean’s hidden bed.

And then the eagle glides to our beach

A large fish within its razor grasp

And there it sits unaware of our regard

Picking at its dinner while the gulls screech.

Soon a fishing boat passes slowly by

The one from dry dock where it sought repair

Another boat sits now rusty in the dry dock cradle

And silence falls on the red evening sky.

What wonders unfold before our gaze

As we rest from our daytime labours

We are but audience to life’s majesty

And applaud the motion of the days.

An Eagle Has Landed

This has been a most amazing day. Of course there are many of these. The trick is to notice them and relish them. This afternoon, a new friend dropped by to share a growler of locally brewed beer with us. We sat down by the water’s edge. There we witnessed a number of seals lounging in the calm water. The sky was blue, the sun bright but pleasantly warm rather than hot. Of course there was a sea breeze, gentle not fierce as it often can be. 

On a distant shore, not too distant really, I spied what I was sure was a bald eagle. I had seen it glide to its landing place. I have rarely seen these magnificent birds. Once I caught a fleeting glance of one gliding past the field by our former home’s front porch. Another time I was sure I had spotted one high over the lake where we have spent our summers for the past thirty-two years. A mere once despite the frequent annual sightings of other aerial creatures, the hawk, the blue heron, ducks of many varieties, geese, and of course the marvelous loon. 

Apart from these two times, there have been no other sightings by me of the eagle – at least until this afternoon. And as the three of us sat there in silent awe, with our beers in hand, the graceful creature flew to within 20 feet of us with a large fish in its sharp claws. And there it sat for a long time, oblivious to us in our gripping wonder, its head, bright white, torso black or dark brown and spread tail glistening white. There it was, caught in our sight as clearly as an artist’s painting, picking away at its catch, while the gulls circled and dove, and screeched jealously.

Annoyed with the fuss, it eventually flew away, well sated.

Tree Hugger's Lament

When we first moved to the farm outside of Warkworth, Ontario, 25 years ago, there was a very young Catalpa tree growing beneath the wires that brought hydro to the house. I decided it should be moved so that it could grow without being an eventual threat to those wires. I moved it. It struggled for a few years, but eventually it grew and flourished. When we sold the Warkworth property, it was about 25 feet high with a truck of about 2 feet in circumference. Yes it suffered in the late frosts we occasionally had. It lost its leaves, looked dead and then eventually it would send out new foliage. Its bloom was magnificent.

Then we sold our home and moved to Nova Scotia. It was a delight to discover that next to our driveway at our newly purchased home was a towering Catalpa of a size we had never seen. Its girth was at least five or six feet and its height approaching one hundred feet. As in Ontario, it came into leaf late.

Unfortunately, we discovered it had a large crevice at the base of the trunk and the main limb near the top was splitting away. The tree had a definite lean towards our house. Sadly, it had to go! But the tree was about one foot off our property line and the house next door was vacant; its owner rarely coming to the house of his birth.

Luckily, we discovered that a neighbour was acting as a caretaker of the large home and was able to contact this absent owner. After explaining the situation to the owner, the neighbour advised that we had permission to remove the tree, but that it would be at our own expense. Although this was not the hoped for response, we agreed.

However, being new to the area, we had no idea whom to contact. The neighbour said he could recommend someone reliable and that he would give us the phone number when he got home. That day the phone number did not appear. The next morning as we were having coffee, there was some commotion outside. It was the neighbour with two young men who operate a professional tree removal service. They have the equipment for such a daunting job. Yes, they could take down the monster tree and they could do it two days from now!

Since arriving at our new home, we have been constantly amazed by the endless stream of very capable contractors who have filled our need for various undertakings here. Carpenters, plumbers, electricians, heavy equipment operators and more, they have all been extremely reliable and a pleasure to be around. Moreover, they have all been promptly at our service. The amount of work that has been accomplished in the short time we have resided here has simply astounded us.

Ho Ho Hoe

We received a phone message last evening from our newly found electrician. Therefore we knew that someone was to arrive early in the morning to dig a trench from the house to the boat house. The purpose was so that electricity could be hooked up at the water's edge. We anticipated someone arriving with a small hand-held trench digger. But at 8:00 a.m., a large truck with a rather large backhoe/front-end loader on a rather large flatbed trailer arrived with two men... When they discovered they would not be able to get the machine down into our yard, they called a third person who spoke to a fourth who lives down the street to see if they could enter from his property and traverse yet another person's lawn ... Of course they could - after all, everyone here knows one other. Then two others arrived with heavy cable for the 200 amp service. After all, the boat house, which is really a large shed with large windows overlooking the water, is to serve as a waterside private pub.

The backhoe operator, who lives just down the road from us, dug a trench two feet wide and three feet deep from the house to the shed. In the process, he avoided all of our recent shrubbery plantings - We were amazed at how the operator manipulated that machine with ease, grace and precision. Once the trench was completed, the cable was laid and the soil was replaced, raked and patted down. Large rocks were disposed of on the shore and, afterwards, the place appeared, to our amazement, relatively unscathed. Afterwards, the operator dug up a large nuisance tree stump for us. Not only all of this, but then they took away all of our large and unsightly brush from the trees that I had pruned a couple of weeks ago. And one of the fellows replaced three outdoor lamps that had not functioned properly.

At one time there were seven of us standing around, which only goes to prove that "many hands make light work". In this case several lights that is.

Restoration

Today has been a blustery June Sunday by the sea. The air is chilly, more October than June. John went to the beautiful and historic Anglican Church. I did not. I have no place in my life for organized religion in particular, or any religion. People can believe what they want in that regard, and if it brings them a sense of tranquility, then lovely.

I, instead, went for a bicycle ride across the causeway to the Historic Gardens in Annapolis Royal. There, I went for a peaceful walk in its seventeen pristine acres. The rhododendrons were magnificent in their vibrant and varied colours: mauve, purple, red and white. The towering trees offered a respite from the biting wind. 

A gate, latched shut to keep the deer from intruding, leads to an outer trail along an ancient dyke. It had been built centuries before to keep the sea out and the salt marsh fertile. I walked slowly along its grassy circular path. I breathed in the salty air. This was meditation enough to restore my soul. 
The wind flared my nostrils clean and expunged fatigue from my heavy lungs. My pace was measured. However, the cycle home along the river shore was against the east wind. It was both challenging and invigorating. As I climbed the second to last hill, I passed wild lupins, purple. pink and white on both sides of the path. Out of breath and nearly home again, I felt cleansed.

Boat Launch

After a very enjoyable bicycle ride into town and along the rail trail that follows the Annapolis River, we stopped for lunch at the "smallest pub in Nova Scotia". This pub sits near the pier in Annapolis Royal in Market Square. 
After lunch we stopped at the adjacent pier. Our purpose was to inquire about a large wooden fishing boat in dry dock at Annapolis Royal. 
There we spoke with three very engaging workers who were obviously associated with the boat and pleased to tell us a little about it. We were very excited to learn from them that it would be water-bound at the next high tide in about one hour's time. So we peddled home at full throttle and sat on our shore with our cameras at the ready. 

Then the boat started to move. Ever so slowly, it inched its way down the rails into the water. The boat, the Lady Cavell apparently built in the 1980s, harvests salmon from salmon farms around the coast of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. 
This dry dock is operated as a non-profit business for the private fishermen in the area. A much smaller lobster boat was tied to the pier waiting next in line for its turn at repair work. While writing this, it had settled into its cradle on shore.
I caught the event in a rather wobbly video. Admittedly, it is a little like watching paint dry. However, for those who have never seen a boat launched, it may be worth while to take a few minutes to view this:
Here is the YouTube link: https://youtu.be/ty4RbtDNFHw.