Tragedy Again in Nova Scotia

It is not uncommon for fishermen to be drowned at sea. This has been the case throughout history. But it is deeply saddening, to say the least. 

Although we tend to romanticize the sea, in stories and song, it can so well often be terrifying and unpredictable. The boats are small in comparison to the huge swells that can appear from no where. The work is hard and always dangerous. The risk is great and known by the men and women who live and work tirelessly on these shores.

Yet our fragile economy here in the Atlantic Provinces depends on the harvest of fish, lobster and scallops and other sea creatures. Most of us enjoy the results at our dinner tables.

But today and at this festive season, our hearts go out to the families and friends and co-workers of the six men from Yarmouth, all of whom are now presumed dead in the frigid waters of the Bay of Fundy.

The Night Before Christmas

A reading for children at heart at Christmas time: https://youtu.be/nX5gzfLb960.

I Came, I Saw, I Conquered

Veni, Vidi, Vici. Julius knew what he was talking about. This will not be the first time I have recounted the tale of a ladder, a tree and a chainsaw. However, it is the first time I have done so in a very long time. And it is the first time I have done so with regard to our home in Nova Scotia.

Once upon a time, I was a little younger and a lot more agile. Now I am older and supposed to be wiser. However, it seems I am not any less foolish. Perhaps, if truth be told, I should say, “we” are not any less foolish, because John plays a role here, just as I do.

Our rear deck sits high off the ground as the land slopes away steeply under our home. The view is magical. But there is a certain maple tree that has caused us concern. It is old and in perilous shape. And it rises just to the side of our deck. It sits on the property line.

Indeed, it is really two large trees intertwined. One has long since rotted and been taken down at about ten feet – or rather more likely, it has fallen at some point in the past. The other has been topped at about the same height. Where a mighty trunk once towered, a mighty limb has grown and looped its way to the side and up into a new double tower.

There are several other lesser limbs – branches one might better say – that are only several inches in diameter. These too are intertwined. One is dead. The others, very much alive and awkwardly placed.

The concern has been that these branches would weigh a toppling tree in our direction and cause insurmountable damage to a magnificently curved deck masterfully constructed by craftsmen to look like the prow of a sailing vessel. These craftsmen no longer exist, or, if they do, are no longer affordable.

One option was to take out these ballasts and hope that, when the rot increases as it no doubt will, the remnants of this once great tree will topple more or less harmlessly in the opposite direction.

To make a long story a little less long, I went to rent an extension pole chainsaw. The thought was that by leaning over the railing of our deck, I could easily slice through most of these branches.

Sometimes the eye does not accurately gauge distance. Yes, I was able to barely reach the first of these branches. Quickly and with ease the branch crashed to the ground below. But the next two branches were out of reach. So, John, who is taller, took the pole saw from me and leaned over the railing; but alas, even his graceful reach was not enough.

I had only rented the saw for four hours; so we had to think swiftly. This is not always the best idea!

We descended from the deck to the ground under it and stood by the  base of the tree looking upward. With the pole saw, I made a cut upward from the underside of the large limb. The wood was hard – hard like a stone. Then I took the saw, reaching as high as I could, and started to cut down from the top of the limb. This was tiring. John took over and the blade cut to within a few inches of the lower incision. Then the limb cracked. The saw jammed. It would not be freed.

Panic raced through my body. So as not to damage the trapped saw blade by letting go of the pole, John bravely held the motor above his head, while I fretted about what to do next. And he held the saw ably well!

Then I took over while John ran to get a pole of some sort so that we might try to heave the limb upward. It would not budge. Then I returned the mantle to John whilst I rushed to get an extension ladder. I propped it up against the tree. The ground was uneven. The ladder wobbled, but I secured it between the remnants of a branch that poked out from the trunk near the foundation of the problem limb. It continued to wobble; but it would not fall.

I returned to our basement to get our other handy chainsaw, the one that has featured in other lumbering tales from our past. John is still holding the pole saw above his head. I start the other chainsaw and proceed to climb the ladder. The saw stalls. I descend. I restart the saw and mount the ladder again cautiously. The saw stalled once again just before I reached the top. This scenario was repeated about five times.  I finally managed to carry the weighty beast successfully to the top, secure my positions as best I could and reach through a timber “V” to take out another branch.

I could tell the saw blade needed to be sharpened. From smoke that appeared I thought it likely needed some oil too. John faithfully stood with the pole saw now perched on top of his head to permit his arms to rest a little. I went back to the basement to sharpen the blade and to top up the oil.

The idea of taking off these other branches was to reduce the weight on the antagonistic limb; so that we might lift it enough to free the imprisoned blade of the rented pole saw. Another branch was cut off but it got caught in the tangle of branches. Lifting was not to be. Try as we might, taking turns, lift we could not. Then a rope was tossed over the limb to see if pulling it might prove beneficial. It would not budge.

I mounted the ladder again with the other now-sharpened chainsaw. I was almost becoming adept at the climb. I manipulated the saw through that awkward “V” once again. I had cut through five or six inches of another branch when I sensed this saw too might soon become trapped. I pulled it out just in time. But there was still several inches to go. I descended and retrieved a hand saw – a dull rusty one that had served us well for over thirty years of pruning at our former home.

John is still holding up the saw above his head, saying little. He was wise. I climbed the ladder once again with the handsaw. Reaching through the annoying “V”, I cut from the bottom up, from the side in and from the top down taking rests every few swipes as my arm ached and wearied. I finally got that branch free. But the limb would still not budge.

Then, I took the handsaw to the massive limb that was the source of our tribulation. Sweating, aching, grunting was I, but finally John uttered incredulously: “It’s coming free!” The pole saw was liberated.

The limb, however, was still in place. A little bit of a rest was had, a lot of relief. Then I went at it again with the handsaw, and after several minutes at what seemed futile, a great cracking sound was heard and the massive limb fell to the ground far below with a loud thud … far below because the land dropped off rapidly into the neighbour’s yard.

I think we wanted to cry. But lumberjacks don’t do such an unmanly thing. We took a short break and then dragged these weighty limbs, branches and debris onto our property; where, at the time of writing they remain.

It will be another day when these get cut up for firewood and the brush for a bonfire. The rented saw was returned in good condition and not a word of this traumatic tale passed my lips.

Will these two 70-something old men learn. Hmm. Maybe. One can always hope.

Birds of a Feather

 As we are normally away for most of the winter season, our bird feeder is not central to our view or our mind. Indeed, it remains empty of seeds much of the winter. But this year is different. We are not going to be travelling to our usual winter retreat in Cuba.

Therefore, the bird feeder has been resurrected. And it has been placed in a more prominent position. We can now view it as we sit in the comfort of our back room by the fire.

We enjoy particularly the Chickadees and the smaller birds. But as is custom, the Blue Jays invade and terrorize the smaller birds. But the tiny ones are patient and simply wait their time. 

The feeder has only been out and filled for less than twenty-four hours. It is already just about half empty. 

We have already seen a stunning male Cardinal, a Woodpecker, and a Grackle as well as the other more common visitors. The poor Grackle, although about the size of the Jays, is less adept at managing the small pegs that are the landing spots. It flutters and sputters and, try as it may, it flies away empty.

There is no decorum, even among the Jays. No graciously waiting one's turn. This is all about the bully winning. But the little Chickadees, simply wait for an opening. And they are much more capable of dining at leisure once they find their time. 

I suspect we shall have much amusement, and perhaps a little frustration too, out of this scene over the next few months.

A First Snow Fall

 A first snowfall of the season always comes as a bit of a shock, at least for me. It is even more so when it arrives on November 3. 

To waken early with a rooftop outside one's bedroom window shining bright white in the moonlight is a sight to behold nonetheless. 

A drive up the south mountain outside of Annapolis Royal to an admonishing fiddle teacher's home was more than a little unsettling. I do not relish the thought of my poor Mini, which has the unnerving gall to ring a warning bell about the possibility of black ice, travelling on a winding slushy road. 

However, when I had contemplated cancelling the session, my teacher, a tough farmer of the female variety, had replied "Suck it up buttercup!" No self-respecting 70-year old male takes that lying down! 

And I do have to admit that the snow on the trees in the sunshine more than made up for my anxiety. The fiddle session went very well.

Ready for Teddy

When we moved to Nova Scotia two and one half years ago, we were aware that there were some intense weather occurrences in this part of the world. But never before had we to so carefully ready ourselves for the potential of fierce tropical storms or hurricanes.

At our former home in rural Ontario, potentially damaging weather tended to be a surprise, - the odd tornado in the vicinity or a wind wall approaching with the frightening noise of a rapid freight train. But we have now been following the trail of this storm online for days.

Our planned trip to Cape Breton this week has been postponed because of the approach of a storm called by the ridiculous name "Teddy". Until now Teddy has been the stuffed bear I was given at my Christening seven decades ago. 

Cape Breton, and almost the entire Atlantic coast of our province, seems destined to get the full force of this storm. The expectation of lovely cliff-side walks by the sea and delicious meals prepared by our hosts was overshadowed by the likelihood of heavy persistent rain and terrifying wind, not forgetting to mention the significant possibility that with power outages, meals might be sparse. Oh dear.

Although we have been following the weather alerts for our region and learned that we are in a low risk area, we have battened down the hatches as best we can, just in case.

A dear cousin once informed us that meteorologists are about the only professionals who are paid to get it wrong most of the time. In Cuba they are known as “mentirologists”, with the verb “mentir” meaning “to lie”.

I am not saying these fine people intentionally mislead us. No, it is just that Mother Nature has a mind of her own. One can only hope that people will be safe, that damage will be minimized, or better still, that the storm will stay out at sea. But what will be will be.

Hereafter the Heron

It has been two years since we have spotted a heron on our shore here at our home in Nova Scotia. We have seen them fly by; but we have not recently seen one strut across the beach or in the shallows as we had during our first few months here. 

Since being home we have been able to enjoy many creatures of the air and water. Two days ago, an eagle flew by close to our lower deck. In a rare occurrence, it was not being chased or hounded by a multitude of smaller birds. And it flew steadfastly with a purpose in mind.

Now that the tidal power damn has been shut down for some time, we are seeing less of the seals, but more large fish. And these have been leaping  out of the water from time to time with a loud splash. I have read that these are sturgeons. And they appear to be considerable in size.

But lets get back to the heron. There were three. That in itself is most unusual for our sightings. Indeed, it is a unique experience. 

Each of these birds varied in size. There appeared to be a female and a young one. At least, that is my presumption, albeit based on stereotypes rather than knowledge. Further down the beach was a much larger bird, presumably the male. Eventually, it became air-bound and flew towards the other two. The smallest one scurried some distance away.

Now, I must tell you that there is a debate in our household as to whether these were herons at all. John says they were egrets. Egrets are in the heron family, but they are smaller birds. Their colour is white. The herons that frequent this place are bluish grey. 

Although egrets have been seen in Nova Scotia, I have read that they are extremely rare here. In any event, my eyes tell me that none of these birds were white in colour. The two smaller ones were, I would agree, a very light grey, perhaps, if I were to be most generous, even with a dash of white. The larger one was, however, much darker, especially when it flew; its wings massive.

Sometimes it is wise not to make an issue of such petty disagreements. After all, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things, other than that one of us could claim victory in a useless dispute. What prize is that if discord were to result.

Anyway, as our anniversary is looming, one should not dampen such a celebration. 

Nonetheless,I have prepared a card for the day saying:

"Heron lies a tail of love with no egrets”.

Perhaps I am walking, like the heron, in shallow ground.

A Welcome Home

We are indeed fortunate to be able to travel from one piece of paradise to another. After two months at our rustic off-grid cabin on a quiet lake in northern Ontario, we have returned home to the beautiful Annapolis Valley and Bay of Fundy three days ago. That three days of glorious sunshine greeted us was indeed well received. And we have been enjoying our morning coffee in the early sun at our highboy table on the deck and an afternoon drink down by the water. From either vantage point we overlook the town of Annapolis Royal and the Annapolis River.

                                                  

The tide was coming in this morning. A small boat was out in the water with two fishermen. A scallop boat sat at the wharf. A heron flew gracefully close across my view and a large fish jumped out of the water for an instant display of might. Yesterday the waves rolled in and the wind blew strong, but this morning it is calm and relatively still for life by the sea.

We have come home to yet another bout of covid-isolation. And we are happy. It gives us time to settle in and catch up on forgotten chores. But the house has been well cared for in our absence and was as we had left it. Time flies. Did we walk out yesterday?

As we knew we would be confined to our property for two weeks, we arrived with an abundance of food. But we also discovered our larder full from the kindness of family, friends and neighbours: a large bag of potatoes, garlic, tomato sauce, beets, carrots and a variety of tomatoes from my brother’s and sister-in-law’s garden; a bag of French pastries and a bouquet of flowers from my niece; eggs, and jersey cow milk in our fridge and two 3-pound chickens in our freezer from a friend; blueberries freshly picked by two neighbour children; tomatoes from another neighbour; and goat milk and cheese from yet another kind friend. We have had calls and emails offering to shop for us from a half dozen other neighbours. 

We are well cared for. But that seems to be the Nova Scotia way.

Here's a Line

Cottage life on our small lake been for us a place to peacefully isolate and enjoy nature. We arrived here four days ago after our 2,056 kilometre trek across four provinces. Misty mornings, nighttime loon calls, hot sunny days, lake breezes, brilliant sunsets and clear fresh water to swim in or kayak on are reason enough for coming here.

And there has already been an abundance of wildlife to enjoy and amuse us, as indeed there also is at home in Nova Scotia. Two inquisitive and playful otters  visited us off our dock soon after we arrived. A beaver was sighted swimming at a distance. Several deer sightings delighted us as we drifted close in our kayaks in the early morning. Fuzzy tiny ducklings huddled together in their own family bubble on a cedar log floating by shore. They appeared to us to have been abandoned until a terrified mother came flying out of the bush. She mimicked injury and attempted to lure us away as she paddled and flapped across the water in the direction we were anyway heading. At least she will feel like she had done her motherly duty after her neglect.

Nine painted turtles of various sizes sunned on a fallen tree that had lodged itself off shore. Then there was the graceful heron that glides in the air close to the surface of the still lake, reflected therein so that it appears to be a multi-winged monster. And of course there are the large snappers that swim in the deep and sometimes are discovered lounging on our diving rock. Creatures large and small amaze us. The dragon flies, the humming birds and the wonderful song birds all delight. Even the mischievous and sometimes annoying red squirrel is our daily entertainment.

Now we have witnessed many wonderful land, lake and air creatures over the thirty-four years we have been coming here; but perhaps the strangest of all occurred just a day ago. We were sitting on our upper deck looking out at the lake and the forest beyond. The sun was hot and we were appreciating the dappled shade on the oak which sits beside the majestic giant white pine. Suddenly some object appeared to drop from the tree overhead and into the water below. It surfaced with a leap and quickly swam away cresting the water’s surface as it made a variable slashing sound.

I was sure it must have been a young bird fallen from its nest that was trying its best with its tiny wings to stay afloat. John thought otherwise. But then he had not witnessed the decent from above. He had merely heard the splash and seen the resurfacing. He was sure it had been a fish of some description that had jumped and strangely not dived again to the depths but had kept instead to the surface. We sat pondering the possibilities.

Moments later we both saw and heard the effects of another splash. Surely not another bird. Even I was skeptical. The fish, which I came to accept that it must be, had surfaced, and like the first, scurried away in the same manner as the first across the water’s surface. It made the same odd flapping sound and disappeared in the same general direction as the previous one.

We continued to sit and watch the view as we discussed this bizarre set of events. Then there was another splash as a similar creature emerged from the depths of the water and quickly disappeared from our sight in the same direction. Was this some sort of aquatic birthing ritual that we had, strangely, never before been witness to. We were befuddled. And there were several more of these creatures that emerged and fled in the same manner.

John became curious as to why they were all heading off in the same direction. Was there some current, some lunar force, some source of nutrition that attracted these newly born creatures. He went to peer over into the bay that lay behind us and hidden by the trees. There, quietly standing on two separate docks were two keen fishermen repeatedly casting their lours into the water in front of us.

My disappointment was great as I had already fashioned a story of alien creatures arising from the depths of our lake as a result of this pandemic virus that now imprisons our society. But we merely discovered that the mystery was only something ordinary that two people who do not fish would not contemplate.

The Wind in my Covid Hair!

Yesterday, to my chagrin, I temporarily forgot about Covid-19. It was sunny and pleasantly warm. I was driving home with the car roof down, the wind in my hair and the sea breeze filling my nostrils.  I stopped to offer a woman a ride home with her groceries. She lives at the far end of our little village. I have met her before briefly. I am quite sure she knows who I am. 

She walks ritualistically about 3 kilometres into an adjacent town each day to pick up her groceries. And then she walks another 3 kilometres home past our house with two bags of groceries, one dangling from each hand. It's a determined and graceful walk. 

When I stopped the car beside her and uttered my offer, she looked at me in composed horror. She assumed this haughty look which settled on her face. She stepped back, and huffed: "No thank you - Covid-19!" That's all she said. Then picking up her stride, she walked briskly on her way. I caught myself and I stammered: "Oh yes, um sorry" and drove off laughing, not at her but at myself. 

The "thank you" was not a nice "thank you" either. It was a "naughty boy" thank you. Oh dear!

Two Old Men and a Riparian Deck

I read somewhere recently that most injuries in older men result because they think they are younger than they are. A wiser and truer phrase has seldom been uttered before, and then only by those blessed with worldly insight.

We have just helped to construct a large deck at our home. It replaces a much older, poorly constructed and unstable one. When I say “helped”, it means more than writing the cheque to the contractor. It has meant a week of hard labour for two men in their seventies who like to think they are younger than they are.

The demolition stage resulted in a tall post holding up an arbor coming crashing down on the head of the younger old man as he was taking up the battered old decking below. A large lump ensued. And it knocked him to the ground flat out on his ample stomach. He moaned. His beloved older partner impatiently told him to stop being so dramatic!  And he had to admit to instilling the moment with a little bit of orchestrated drama; but, true to his nature, he was loath to admit it.

The demolition continued. The rough-hewn lumber then arrived with the contractor the next day.

Our house sits on a hill. The deck sits in a garden below at the water’s edge. The distance between the trailer carrying the newly arrived lumber and the site for the new deck was considerable when one considers the hill which lies in between. I am not quite sure how this transpired, but it seems that the two old men were the ones carrying the lumber from the upper realms to the lower. Be assured, the lumber was heavy and it was abundant. And being rough-hewn, there were splinters.

And I am not sure how, but the younger of the two old men was set to task digging the ground for the foundation posts. He was also set to the task of hammering the hefty nails into the hefty boards that would form the base of the new deck. Now in fairness to the older of the two old men, he had suffered of late from a very sore shoulder. But he did an able job handing the nails to his partner. And he dared not tell him he was being overly dramatic when he hammered a nail on his left hand’s thumb, rather than the metal one that he had been aiming for.

And when it came to the decking, the older of the old men unexpectedly had a meeting to attend in a town a half hour away. And then, on another day, there was a chiropractic appointment for both the lead contractor and the older of the two men. This left the younger old man alone to manage the power screw driver that was used to fasten the planking to the frame.

Now in fairness to the lead contractor, he was the mathematician that figured out the angles, and cut the difficult pieces and articulated the finer work of the construction. And in fairness to the older of the old men, he was really eager to assist, but reluctantly compliant with his partner’s direction to take it easy. And, like the nails, he did an able job of handing the younger one the screws, at least when he was present to the site of construction. And his freely offered advice on the manner of construction was somewhat digestible.

Now the weather did delay some of the work with three days of maritime rain. So, the contractor and the older of the two old men took advantage of this one of those days. They drove off to a distant place to pick up the decking boards, and to have lunch. The younger of the old men remained at home to soak his bruised, scrapped, splintered and blistered hands in hot water and vinegar. An ice pack comforted his lower back and shoulders.

                                           

But the result has been worth it, despite concerns for one’s health and, indeed at times, one’s very survival. The hands will heal. And the aches will subside. And the hours of leisure on the deck will be rewarding. So, sometimes it is good that old men think they are younger than they are.

Springing Into Life

Sometimes one wonders if spring will ever settle in or if hints of summer are to be forever postponed. But slowly the greening appears on the hills. Slowly the spring flowers pop up and show us their bloom. The bushes and shrubs burst into vibrant colours. The trees, recently bare, have magically come into leaf.

Yes, in late May there are still morning frosts and chilly winds, but when the sun is out one feels invigorated. And here in the Annapolis Valley, the apple and cherry trees provide a breathtaking display. The forsythia bushes are huge and cheerful in their cloth of bright yellow. And the magnolia that seem to embrace this beautiful place are magnificent. The grey and damp of winter will soon be a distant, memory.

Friends of a Feather

I had never paid much heed to seagulls before moving to Nova Scotia. Yes, I had seen them before, and even far away from the sea.  At our farm house in Ontario, they would flock behind the tractors tilling the ground or laying seed. And of course, we have had other seaside ventures in our long life.

But here at our home in Granville Ferry, we cannot avoid them. And I have to say they are magnificent. Their colours of bright white, soft grey and black remind me of the hues of the 1970s Swedish films by Bergman. And they are graceful, playful and from time to time fierce.

We have discovered that there is a pair of them that seems to make our immediate environs home. Perhaps the previous owners had fed them from the master bedroom window. For some reason they come to the roof top outside our window in the early morning and chatter away at us inside. To get our attention they will tap lightly at the glass. And if my partner is sitting at his desk in the day, one or the other of them will land and try to get his attention.  

But feed them, we have not: At least not from there, and certainly not very regularly. Other neighbours do. They are the garbage recyclers of our neighbourhood.

Our pair like to settle in the long grass at the foot of our lot on the grass flat that is submerged at high tide. But apart from our rooftop visits, they have not paid much attention to us. Even when we sit on the deck by the water, they have kept their distance.

On one of the few warm, windless sunny evenings of late, we sat at the water’s edge for a riparian supper of pizza and salad. And it was delicious and uneventful from an aviary point of view. How pleasant! How peaceful!

My partner climbed back up the hill to retrieve the next course, the remnants of one of my three birthday cakes provided by friends, and neighbours. It was a rich chocolate whisky cake with whipped cream and raspberries.

Well, I did not need to be told of his pending arrival with the delights. The gulls swarmed close overhead, squawking loudly, and our two landed on the grass close by… indeed the closest they had ever allowed themselves to come to us. Well, if you think either of us would surrender even a crumb of such a creamy chocolate delicacy, you don’t know us very well. But the pair of gulls stayed chattering quietly at us – one might even say clucking.

We decided they needed a name since they appeared to have adopted us in a manner of speaking. So the larger one, which we presume stereotypically to be the male has been crowned “Jesse”. The slightly smaller one is now “Jennifer”. We aren’t sure yet whether they actually respond to these nomenclatures; but we like to think that they are beginning to do so.

Yesterday evening as the sun moved westward overhead, Jesse  landed on our deck’s high-top table and started to chatter away at us as we sat inside with our happy hour beverage. Then Jennifer appeared and the two settled down for a rest for the longest time, preening and occasionally looking in at us.

This was a first. I know they are trying to weaken our resolve; but as lovely as this was, we do not wish to encourage such close encounters over a longing for food scraps.  But we have to say, we are enjoying the new friendship, even if the bond appears to be in a hope for nourishment.

More Reflections on Eight Weeks of Annapolis Covid Life

The day my partner, John, and I arrived home to Nova Scotia from our winter retreat in Cuba was March 22, 2020. It was the day this Province had imposed emergency measures to combat the Covid-19 pandemic. We were already feeling not only anxious but also relieved. The uncertainty of our hasty evacuation from Cuba three days earlier than we had planned, by reason of pending boarder closures and flight cancellations, was the cause of our sense of anxiety. Relief was being in home territory. But it was to be a different territory from the one we had left almost three months previously.

We were picked up at the Halifax airport in our own vehicle by a friend. Despite keeping distance, we could not strictly comply with the two meter separation requirement we had just been informed of on our exit from the arrivals department at the airport. The desire for a friendly hug and the knowledge that we could not have one gave me a sense of awkwardness.

We had been away from home for three months; so we knew that our larder was bare. To our surprise and great pleasure, when we opened the refrigerator door, we found a two litre bottle of fresh cows milk, a dozen duck eggs, some chicken livers (as I am known for my fine pate) and a whole cleaned organic chicken.

Our friend told us that the local grocery store was filling orders and, if need be, delivering. Our order placed early the next morning, was filled within one hour and we arranged for a niece to pick it up. Our larder was stocked within a further hour. We felt fortunate indeed. And a few days later we received two litres of creamy goats’ milk and goat cheese and this is has become a weekly occurrence.

We did not fully understand the restrictions imposed on us, which were for a two week period of “mandatory isolation”. In large part this was caused by a radio clip we listened to in the car on the way home. It was of our Premier who was saying that we could go for a walk in our neighbourhoods for the purpose of exercise but not to socialize. And this is precisely what we started to do each evening after supper. Rarely did we see anyone. If we did one or the other of us would awkwardly give wide berth to the other, usually by crossing the street. Sometimes, there would be a wave or a short verbal acknowledgement. But people were uneasy.

After several such evening strolls, a neighbour chastised us for being out of the house while in isolation. We felt humbled. We slinked home and went on-line to check things out. We never did find a satisfactory answer to our dilemma. But in the interest of caution we halted our evening strolls and only ventured out into our garden or onto our deck for the rest of our isolation.

The end of that two weeks of imprisonment felt like a breath of fresh air – a sense of freedom, albeit of limited freedom. We returned to our evening strolls with relish. Over a period of several weeks we found that those we met along the way, and there were few, while maintaining the dictated distance, were ever so much more relaxed, chipper and  chatty.

We continued to place our food orders on line or over the phone; but one of us would go to pick them up. And we discovered that the grocery store employees often did a better job of shopping than we did ourselves. We were extremely grateful for this service as we did not have any great desire to navigate the different rules of different stores.

Some people when out in public, not many, wore face masks, a few wore those dreadful blue plastic gloves. It all seemed so sterile. If one did not conform one was often the recipient of a scornful glance. Fortunately, most people did not undertake such rigid measures; so we were not alone in that regard.

We discovered Zoom, that on-line video meeting program. We had never heard of it before returning from Cuba. We had known, but infrequently used, Skype. I then discovered DUO, another video form of technology, on my smart phone. A Zoom tea party with family was a failure as our devices were not state of the art and our internet connexion far from adequate. But we persevered. A Zoom cocktail hour (actually forty minutes) with friends in Ontario, was only satisfactory from the point of view of seeing people one had not seen in a long time. The sound was dreadful and the visual inconsistent. A Skype get-together with neighbours just across the road was a little better. We had not seen them since returning home as they were rather reclusive in the circumstances. After all, we live in an area of people who are considered, or who consider themselves to be, vulnerable to this dreaded virus. And a DUO telephone communication was less than satisfactory as we both facially looked like stuffed pears.

But email proved my friend. I got in regular touch with people I knew. We shared stories and Covid-life experiences. Everyone was in the same boat, or at least a similar one, regardless of where they lived in Canada, the U.S.A. or overseas. Everyone wanted to share their feelings and their anxiety. Everyone wanted to feel connected to others.

Cooking became a pastime. And the meals we prepared were wonderful and have continued to be so: beef stews, chicken stews and soups, lasagnas, cod and scalloped potatoes and so on. 

Writing, reading and listening to music have filled many hours, as has fiddle practice. And since my retirement five years ago I have annually performed a monologue to raise money for various causes. Some of these have been written by myself. However, live performance is not permitted in this time of pandemic. I had written and worked on a new play over the previous six months. I felt a need to perform it somehow. I considered video; but I do not have the equipment or the skill or the financial ability to effect such an undertaking. And practically speaking it would not be feasible in this time of social distancing. I decided on an audio version. That too had its challenges. The result was less than perfect from a production perspective; but I posted my first ever podcast and used it to raise money for performing artists who were negatively impacted by the pandemic restrictions. It did not “go viral” but it did raise $500.

The weather has not, until more recently, been particularly pleasant, so outdoor gardening has been limited. And it seems everyone is baking! We have been the beneficiaries of homemade, bread, hot cross buns, Danishes, cookies and cakes. And much of this has come from a delightful seven-year-old girl who lives close by. She appears secretively at our back door, having hidden behind the wall to make sure no one will see her. She looks in our kitchen window. If I am in there, my partner will call from his upstairs window beside the desk he works at, and tell me I should leave the kitchen. I do so. And when I would go to the back door shortly after, I would find a container with fresh baking delights sitting on a table. We have reciprocated with our own homemade cookies, not doing the clandestine bit so aptly. I am not, however, up to the culinary standard of some of our fine neighbours.

During this time, I turned seventy. There has been no celebration, which my partner had wanted for me. It was a very low key day. But friends from Europe, the United Kingdom, Cuba, the U.S.A. and across Canada sent me congratulatory emails, creative personalized videos and made musical phone calls. And in the baking category, I was the recipient of three incredibly delicious cakes. People are reaching out. People want to reach out. People are discovering the need to reach out. And I have been doing the same.

Weeks have passed. Little by little people seemed to relax. Not everyone has by any means. Going out to different stores can prove nerve-racking. Shopping on line, which I had rarely done before, is daunting. I have sought items such as ink cartridges, computer paper, even shoes and so forth. This was not always a satisfactory experience. Indeed, some things ordered never arrived, others were not exactly what one had desired. Trying to get on-line help to resolve issues has been a nightmare and frequently proven impossible.

Sitting on our deck in Granville Ferry and looking over at Annapolis Royal across the river is bizarre. There has been little or no activity, few vehicles, fewer people; and we have missed the almost daily routine of watching the local bus pass by on St. George Street or the Causeway. Gradually, thankfully, one has started to see a few more vehicles pass on Lower St. George in the past week. People were getting stir-crazy. Cabin fever if you will. But I have to say, at the same time we have enjoyed the greater silence.

We could never understand why we were allowed on the sidewalks, but could not use the trails, the boardwalk or the parks. We did not understand why exercise and fresh air were not considered essential to one’s well being, both physical and mental. When these venues finally re-opened six weeks into our state of emergency, there was another sense of grasping at that freedom – being thankful for the re-gifting of what had been taken away.

However, it seems to me that few people are taking hold of this renewed freedom. Today the sun was out and it was warm. There was not the relentless chilly wind that seems to have been with us for so long. But on our circular walk along the waterfront trail by the new development, and up Lower St. George onto the Boardwalk and into and around Fort Anne, we passed very few walkers. Those that there were were mostly individuals who may have said a quick hello or smiled cautiously as they continued on their way. On our outward journey today, there were two individuals who passed us, one hastily and one with a more vigorous greeting on the waterfront trail, a woman and her dog who gave us wide passage on the boardwalk, and a single male who overtook us at the Fort. On the homeward journey there was a woman and a small child who timidly smiled as they quickly passed us on the boardwalk and a single woman who passed us with a friendly hello on the waterfront trail.

And then, one has only recently discovered, despite assertions to the contrary, that we could have always walked on the pathways at Fort Anne during this period. Being a national Park, it was only closed to vehicular traffic, not pedestrians!  The Historic Gardens had been open too for a while. Why were we not told this? The messaging was all about “Stay Home”. This message was everywhere; and one always had a sense that there were spies out with disapproving eyes eager to shame us and to keep us at home.

But, to the chagrin of some, we have early on seized the right to have “non-essential social distanced gatherings” of up to five people on our deck when the weather is somewhat agreeable. Many thought this was not acceptable. But carefully analyzing the confusing rules, led us to feel we were within our rights. And now we are told we can have a two-household bubble. For us, and for many, this is ridiculous and would not work. So, we will stick with the occasional gatherings of up to five disparate people. It takes some effort to stay socially distanced; but it is not by any means impossible.

We long for the day when we can again go to the local pub to have a pint and to listen to live music, or to go to some of our favourite restaurants; should they survive this extended period of closures. We long for live music and the theatre to be once again available to us. We are not television viewers and do not enjoy it.

We know we are fortunate to be living this strange time in such a wonderful place. We know we are fortunate to have a lovely home with a lovely view. We know we are fortunate not to be out of work and struggling financially. We each of us know that we are fortunate to have a partner to share this time with. And we ache for those who are alone, financially hurting, or stuck in dreary places that confine them to solitude.

We hope this time is a time of learning. A time for re-evaluating what is important and realizing that we need far less than we thought. But we do need each other. And we do need a healthy planet. So time will tell.

Of Oddities and Odysseys

These past eight weeks have been bizarre, to say the least. A time for conspiracy theorists to thrive.

We were essentially evacuated at the last minute from our winter home in Cuba amidst considerable uncertainty and stress. Borders were closing. Airlines were allegedly shutting down.

We came home to a “State of Emergency” here in our home Province of Nova Scotia and indeed in Canada. Forced isolation for two weeks greeted us. This has been followed by six weeks of social distancing and awkward encounters. And it is ongoing. Messages are mixed and sometimes conflicting.

Yet we have not been hard done by, and perhaps that is because we are not alone. Everyone is in the same boat – or at least the same sort of boat – whether they be in the United Kingdom, Germany, Cuba, virtually every other country in the world, or here at home.

The weather has been disappointing but perhaps orchestrated to keep us inside – if you are a conspiracy theorist, which I am not. We have found creative ways to give us a sense of normalcy.

But we do exist in limbo, as does the rest of the world’s people. For us, we wonder if we will be able to traverse three provincial border stations to make it to our summer cabin in Ontario. One wonders, what has become of our mobility rights under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms?

 If we cannot do this, it will be the first time in 34 years that we have not been able to spend a good deal of time there during the summer. Of course, we should be loath to complain about having to spend it here by the sea, where the seals keep us amused, as do the small birds harassing the bald eagle. It’s all very symbolic you see.

But our rustic cabin needs our care. It has sustained damage for the first time in all of those 34 seasons. High winds, no doubt orchestrated by those same elusive daemons, have toppled a mighty cedar tree, which crashed thoughtlessly through the large front window.

It is a difficult time to deal with repairs especially form a distance; but fortunately the kindness of neighbours has secured it against the elements for the time being.

We have, however, learned of another strange and recent occurrence in these bizarre times of weather bombs and foreign conspiracies… Our small lake, which is usually home to loons, ducks, and sometimes Canada Geese, with occasional visits by a cormorant or two, has recently been visited by another type of water fowl.

We learned this from a cottage neighbour. And this visitor has ne’er been seen by my eyes on our lake in those 34 previous seasons. It is a graceful Trumpet Swan, and one accompanied by a strange bedfellow” at that: a lone Canada Goose! 

Strange times indeed. Perhaps an omen for better things to come. Or is this just another conspiracy?

Exhale

Just as spring offers a warming, and an unfolding of leaves and flowers, a reawakening of nature, I can feel the pre-pandemic life starting to come back to us, little by little. 

The recent re-opening of the parks and trails in our province has seemed like a huge release of energy. I notice on our evening walks that people seem more relaxed. There are more smiles and there is less fear. I don’t mean people are being careless. They are merely demonstrating less anxiety at meeting up with people on the way. Those who previously would not even accept the right to have a socially responsible social gathering of up to five people are now starting to seize this liberty and to relish in it. 

We are inching back to some semblance of community. There is more laughter. More optimism. Let it grow.

No Idle Mind

Keeping busy during social isolation has not been so terribly hard on me. I am in more regular communication with friends near and far. A very dear friend from England just emailed me a newspaper clipping about the redoing of Alan Bennett’s iconic “Talking Heads” series of monologues. She thought I would be interested because of my own staging of several of his works. 

However, she had only kept the paper in which the article was found in anticipation of the arrival of her new puppy. I told her that her puppy could now pee on it. I do always hate to see a re-make of something great. But then I guess that is precisely what I did, isn't it?

Right now, I am struggling with putting together an audio version of my most recent play, written as a monologue and intended for the stage.  However, given the current state of affairs, I had to rethink that plan. 

Now, I am attempting to use the voices of other characters that the main character would only tell you about in a monologue. These voices have been recorded in individual homes on individual devices: laptops, ipads, smart phones. And the challenge for me is and has been figuring out how to insert them into the main recording with some degree of success.

My laptop voice recorder leaves a lot to be desired. So do my recording skills. And managing the keyboard while I try to do my lines - with some feeling - is daunting: Press play; speak my lines; press pause; try to simultaneously press play on two separate screens in order to add a voice clip at just the right spot, with just the right volume, and with some measure of accurate timing. This has proven to be almost impossible - for me at least.

I gave up on the several sound bytes that I had hoped to use: the sea and sea gulls, birds in a park, bar noises with music in the background, and so forth. This not only required a third screen on my small laptop monitor, but the reproduction left a great deal to be desired: The waves sounded more like a toilet being flushed repeatedly. The birds sounded like a steam kettle boiling. The bar sounded like a 1950 Morris Oxford trying to start up on a frosty morning at -10 Celsius. And a clip of a poorly played fiddle, intended to be so, sounded like a distant, whining chainsaw!

But at least all of this has helped to keep me busy with take after hopeless take. What I seem to be arriving at will be far from perfect. I accept this state of affairs, albeit reluctantly. But this will be my humble attempt to give something back to this wonderful province of Nova Scotia in these difficult times. It may also ruin my theatrical reputation. But one has to take risks.

Tears for Nova Scotia

Unbridled madness in our paradise of Nova Scotia. It’s unsettling to say the least, and sad beyond measure. More than twenty senseless deaths. Yes, even the death of the perpetrator is senseless.

We have received heartfelt calls and emails from friends in other Canadian provinces, as well as other countries, including England, Germany and the United States of America. This is not the way we want them to think of this wonderful province: home to Canada’s worst mass shooting. No. Home to wonderful people, caring people and the most beautiful  land and seascapes. 

One has to remember that Nova Scotia has not been without tragedies throughout its history, albeit not of this nature. There is the treatment of our indigenous population since settlement by Europeans, the treatment of the Acadians during the period of the expulsion in the mid-1700s, and the treatment of the Blacks who came here in search of freedom in the latter 1700s, and found far less than they had hoped for. 

And then we’ve had other tragedies too: the Halifax explosion (1917), the Springhill mining disasters (1891, 1956, 1958) and other such disasters through the 1900s including the Westray Mine disaster in 1992. Of course, there have been countless hurricanes, and far too many fishing deaths at sea through the centuries. 

And we have responded to many others including the Titanic in 1912, and the Swiss Air disaster in 1998. And we cannot forget our response to the current Covid-19 pandemic.  In all of these we’ve shown our resilience as a people. 

Although it is difficult for us to come together in this time of social distancing and isolation; no doubt we will find a way. And we will heal. 

Is Anybody Home?

It’s mid-April to the day. There is a solitary daffodil by our shore now in bloom and many others with plump buds. We learned only yesterday that the restrictions imposed upon us here, even prohibit us from walking on the rocky shore that abuts our property. But we can sit inches away and look at it.

We have enjoyed the loons particularly this year. They are now in their resplendent summer colours. We have two pairs that haul fish quite regularly from the waters beneath. We chuckle at the mighty eagle soaring, with annoying small birds dive bombing it as it glides away. A heron just flew by on its way to some camouflaged landing.

Yesterday the sun was even out. I did my daily morning exercises bathed in its rays. I chatted with a neighbour two houses down who sat peacefully reading on her deck. Conversation feels so good. And so does a neighbour’s smile.

I confess to feeling a little house bound. I am fortunate to have my beloved here with me, although we spend much of our day in different rooms writing, reading or doing other things: for me there is fiddle practice and working on a script. And of course there is cooking. We each keep busy and find the days pass quickly.

Because we are apart during a good part of the day, we have much to talk about at lunch, at tea time, and for our late afternoon happy hour. And of course our daily after dinner walk in the neighbourhood is a special delight. Yesterday, the peepers were shrill and loud in the upper marshland just a few blocks away. Rarely do we see anyone. It is a brief distant encounter if we do. But those we see seem glad to have a wave and a quick chat en passant.

And of course, we are both making a special effort to be more regularly in touch with distant friends and even with some of our family! We know many are alone. Many do not have the luxury of a large home in a beautiful setting. We know we are fortunate indeed.

But, we have discovered Zoom recently. So we have tried it. A tea party with family, and a drinks event with friends in Ontario were a little stilted but enjoyable. And then there is Skype, which we had been more familiar with but rarely used. A neighbour invited us to a Skype cocktail hour. To our surprise that was wonderful – wonderful to see people who live so close but seem now to be so distant; and wonderful to catch up on news – not just about Covid-19 but about “LIFE”.

Communication takes effort. Friendships take effort.  People had become sloppy in their human relations exchanges. Perhaps we are now learning to make that effort. Perhaps we will realize it is worthwhile.

Isolation Easter 2020

Oh here you have a tale from me

There's wine in my cabinet here you see

And food in my pantry to feast on a bit

And toilet paper when I take a shit

So what more could I want in these peculiar days

Than whisky and wine and a few sun's rays

A walk now and then on a neighbourhood street

Makes my long day a little more complete

And I've waved at the people whom I have seen

But I cross the street - not to be mean

I keep my distance, two meters they say

And wash my hands several times a day

I cook, and I clean, and I eat quite a lot

And email and Skype so I don't get forgot

And shop on line when I need some supplies

And listen to seagulls and love their loud cries

I watch the tide as it comes and it goes

All of this helps with my isolation woes.

But I hope and I pray, and I'll even beg

That the Bunny comes with my chocolate egg. 

Pirates Ahoy

The first sailboat of the season moored off our shores yesterday. Very early indeed methinks. 

I noticed a zodiac beached at the wharf and saw someone running back and forth up the incline. What else does one have to do in mandatory isolation than spy on folk! 

I think the police arrived but they left again after a short while. I suppose the visiting sailors may have just gone to the grocery store for supplies because they headed back out to the boat for the night. 

Of course, it would be much more interesting to imagine that they were pirates or drug smugglers or something. 

An Isolated Menu

Old mother Hubbard, may have gone to the cupboard and found it bare. I was dreading the same returning home from Cuba to mandatory isolation and a house that had an empty pantry. This was a bit concerning. 

But when we drove the friend who had picked us up at the airport to his house down the road, he ran inside and appeared with a handsome frozen free range chicken. When we went to open our refrigerator to place this bird inside, we found a two litre jar of fresh Jersey cow’s milk with a thick layer of cream on top. Next to it lay a bursting container of large free range chicken and duck eggs. And in the freezer, staring me in the face, was a bag of fresh chicken livers for my next foray into paté preparation.

A local butcher provided us with socially distanced fresh sausage and thick-cut bacon. (Although we had eaten well in Cuba, sausage and bacon had not been on the menu.) The next morning, a grocery order phoned in to the local store was amply filled within an hour and a kind neighbour and niece delivered it promptly to our doorstep.

A few days later, as our cow’s milk waned, a delivery of two litres of fresh goat’s milk and a healthy slice of goat cheddar appeared at our door. And behold, the next day, a large wine bottled filled with fresh maple syrup lay mysteriously at our threshold.

The chicken was roasted filling the house with the most gorgeous aroma. It provided a scrumptious two evening meals as well as a healthy batch of chicken soup laden with the fresh vegetables provided by our local grocer. One large duck egg went into the mix for three mornings worth of muffins. Beef stew and fresh paté will soon be on the menu.

Cooking and eating will help the time pass. And what better ingredients than those provided with love.

Reflection on Seventy Years

I wrote this musing sitting in our garden in Cuba well before I was aware that Covid-19 would have its massive impact on the world order. Now I am sitting in mandatory isolation in my lovely home in Nova Scotia with my partner of thirty-eight years. Although this new reality changes little of what I have to say here, it does make one appreciate one’s chosen family, friends and neighbours all the more. It also makes me appreciate good, humane government.

I believe it is a judeo-christian writing of old that mentions that a person’s life span is seventy years. I know that bit of information is now thousands of years old. Things have changed and still are changing. However, as I am now approaching that ancient marker in my own life, it does cause one to reflect.

Death is not something that I fear. I must say this. In my early thirties death was all around me as another health crisis erupted. Friends and associates of my age were dying in the hundreds. And that was only the young men that I knew. My time was spent at hospital bedsides and in funeral homes. It was a terrible time; but it was a powerful one.

Personally, I became grateful for every healthy moment I had. I wanted to waste not one hour. I turned my back on complaining and embraced positive action.

Now friends of ours are dying from illnesses associated with living longer: cancer, heart and so forth. Some have died in tragic accidents. Death is unavoidable. If life has been good, then I feel one should not be afraid of it. For others who may have been less fortunate in the hand life has dealt them, death may be seen as an escape.

One does not have to believe in a “hereafter”. I do not. I do not know what, if anything, survives of our consciousness – our “soul” if you will. If something does, then there may be a new adventure waiting for us. If there is nothing, then it does not matter.

I miss those friends who have died. I miss particularly those from my childhood and adolescence who travelled life's byways with me into more advanced years. I name them here: Kim and Jeff.

Though older, they died too young. I miss those who died tragically in my youth: Jim, David and David, Darin, Sam, Gary, Al, Larry, Terry, Christopher, Wayne, Bill, Doug, Bryan, Tim, Tony, Bob, Richard and Robert. And I miss those who have died more recently, newer old friends: Karen, Vikki, Ross. And I miss my parents and friends of their age.

I try to live my life to honour especially those who never had the opportunity to grow old, and the ones who taught me to live with dignity and pride. I welcome my approach to my eighth decade. I am grateful for so much.