Three Boats

Most evenings we will sit in our rear living room, which has been known as the Great Room. We find that name somewhat pretentious. Last night I offered the suggestion of naming it La Salla del Mer or Seaview Room. Perhaps equally pretentious. For now the rear living room will do.

Room name aside, we sit and look out over the tidal river at the mouth of the Annapolis Basin. Across the water is the historic town of Annapolis Royal. It is debatable as to whether our view of that town or their view of our historic village is the better one. Both are lovely.

But our sightline is that of the older lower town, where most of the houses are designated as historical. They line up in various colours and shapes and sizes as neatly as the model villages I created for my childhood train set. When I look at them from the comfort of our fireside, it is as if I am a child looking wide-eyed through a frosted store window at the display of a perfect model village with its tree lined streets and tiny perfect buildings. What is missing is the little steam engine I loved so much with its carriages circling by, into and out of tunnels created in papier-mâché hills, with their tiny hand painted cows and sheep grazing. Just as that treasured childhood train set has long since disappeared, long gone are the trains that frequented the harbour across the water in the 1800 and early 1900s.

But wonder of wonders; the train is replaced in my vision by three fishing boats lined up at the wharf. One is in dry dock being repaired. The others sit waiting, nestled against the pier, sometimes floating high and sometimes sitting on dry land. The gulls screech overhead, a heron parades on the shore and an eagle flies majestically by with a fish in its claws. The clouds come and go, shaping my perception as they change the horizon. I am not looking at a model village. I am looking at life by the sea. And it is wonderful.