November Winds

Five loons I saw, I am sure they were

Swimming today in this tidal stream

Back from the lakes of summer bliss

Or simply passing this late autumn scene

Now November winds are cold and strong

The leaves' stubborn hold has finally let go

We’ve had our first frost in recent days

And do I see a pellet or two of icy snow.

We’ve been teased and spoiled this year

By lingering warmth and bright sun

Late blooms have given us extended joy

But warm days are now on the run.

Our stockinged feet are on the coffee table

The fire before us blazes warm and bright

A glass of peaty whisky cradled in our hand

Makes us realize that all is right.

Of Granville Fairies and Raindrops

We have lived in Nova Scotia for only three and a half years. Our village of Granville Ferry has a population of 110 according to the last census. Several houses on our road, the oldest settler route in Canada, are currently unoccupied as permanent residences. So one would think that our locale would not be one to attract trick-or-treaters.

Our first Hallowe’en here saw a timid three children appear at our door. This left us with a pleasant quantity of chocolate that we may not have otherwise purchased. 

For our second Hallowe’en, we were more prudent and purchased less candy. Between six and seven more energetic children appeared at our door that year. We thought this to be quite amazing given that we were living in the early days of the Covid era. 

Covid has seen an influx of young families moving to our general area. We thought that for our third Hallowe’en, perhaps there would be a slight increase in costumed visitors; so we purchased enough to feed a small army, realizing full well that we might remain the beneficiaries, as well as the benefactors, of a sizeable quantity of chocolate.

And they came. And they came from far and wide: From our village of course, from Granville Centre, from Granville Beach, from Port Royal and from Victoria Beach, from Annapolis Royal and Clementsvale, from Long Island (Nova Scotia) and even from far away Dartmouth. 

And they came early. We were sitting on our back deck enjoying the last rays of sunshine at 4:30 p.m. when the first knock came at our front door. And they kept coming. Until well after eight o'clock they came when it was finally dark and our carved pumpkin was, at last, able to display its glowing toothless smile.

There were Rabbits, and Ninjas, and Zombies, and Butterflies, several Witches of course, and Princesses, Angels, a beaming Soccer Player, and Astronauts, two Spidermen, and a giant Mushroom. All were truly delightful. 

Some were timid. Some bold. But perhaps the most interesting of all was a young girl who came as a shimmering Raindrop. And, as her proud father pointed out, it had all been her idea. Dressed entirely in white, she carried a large white umbrella bedecked with solar twinkling lights, and dangling ribbons of white cloth hanging around its perimeter.

In all, we counted forty-one costumed visions who went away with chocolate delights, leaving us enthralled, and almost entirely lacking in sweets.

Jack Frost is Sleeping

Today there is a heavy fog hanging over the river. The air feels fresh, moist and clean. And the sun is bright and strong.  I have been sitting on our deck basking in it.

I know that the days when I can do such a thing are numbered for this year. But I will relish in such days or hours as much as I am able and the weather permits.

The azalea by the water is in bloom. A lupin is in flower. The butterfly bush still has abundant blossoms and the rose has buds that are ready to burst.  Yet it is October 6. Although the nights a cool now, we have still had no frost.

Ah, Nova Scotia!

See You In September

September is such a wonderful time of the year in so many places that I have lived. And this is no less true here in Nova Scotia. It is, perhaps, my favourite time of the year. 

The air is clear. The daytime sun still has a comforting warmth. The nights and early mornings are pleasantly cool. The morning fog on the river is magical as are the sunrises and painted skies that we can see from our back room as we sip our first coffee. 

Last evening, the tide was very low and the gulls feasted and fought over fish in the shallow water and the crabs on the exposed shore. A heron strutted amongst them like a teacher on yard duty at recess. One could almost see hands behind its back, a flowing scholar's robe and spectacles on its long nose, as it sought out mischief among the flock. 

And the full moon rising above the South Mountain over Annapolis Royal needs no description. It was simply stunning.

Evening Reflections

 

Last evening at 8:30 from our deck in Granville Ferry. 

... Sometimes words are not needed.

In Search of Ghosts

 

Yesterday we took a drive down the road several kilometers. We were on a search for a graveyard, that until recently had been abandoned. It is known as the Mariner’s Burial Ground at Port Wade. The entrance sits hidden among the brush at the side of the road. 

However, once out of the car, one could see there was an old laneway through the overgrown bush. Recently it had been cleared enough to let one pass through. The clearance had been undertaken by a dedicated solo rescuer of forgotten cemeteries in Nova Scotia.

We trekked along this laneway, climbing over a fallen tree and ducking under overhanging branches. It was a little distance and as the water of the Annapolis Basin came into sight through the trees, one wondered if ever there would be a graveyard in this tangled wood.

But there it was , two small clearings surrounded by trees and brush, sitting close to the water’s edge. And several of the stones, going back well over 100 years, were still clearly marked. 

And there standing adjacent to another marking his wife's death, was the stone we had come in search of: Captain John Johnson, died 1843. This was the father of the man by the same name who is supposed to have built our house.

Our house is reputed to have been built “c.1844”, the year after the Senior John Johnson died. However, when the house was rescued from demolition in 1991, documents found in the walls suggested that the Senior Johnson had lived with his son in the house before he died. Indeed it is suggested that before 1844, there was a smart Cape House on the site, perhaps built in the 1830s.

Over the years, the house was added to, perhaps in the 1860s, and then tarted up about 1905 with bay windows and a turret and perhaps a bigger rear wing than one that may have been added in the 1860s.

The person who rescued the house in 1991, states that although it was not exactly a restoration, but rather a salvation and renovation, he attempted to return it to a semblance of its former self. He also added a large rear room overlooking the water with grand decks.

But in seeking out the past, one often comes upon confusing or inconsistent information. Captain John Johnson Jr. had four children. One document indicates that a son, also named John Johnson, died at sea at the age of 22 on his way from England to Cuba in 1865. Another document states this son "died of billious fever on board this vessel in 1866 en roye between Newport, England and Cardenas, Cuba (Armstrong & Wagner, pg 72, 184)" and a further document states that this same son, who was "unmarried", was murdered at “St John harbor”. Perhaps the story of his death at sea was simply a cover-up of what was viewed as a seedy death. We may never know the true story there.

These ghosts all had vital lives and were important people in their day. Their memories should be preserved. Indeed, there was even a schooner built here in Granville Ferry in the 1870s named the John Johnson, presumably named after this well known sea Captain who owned and managed many barques and schooners during his lifetime.

At any rate, the house, which is now our home, passed out of the Johnson family in 1874 to a succession of owners. At some point it became a tenement with three apartments. Eventually, this led to its neglect and near demise. When it was purchased in 1991, it had been vacant for many years.

Thankfully, someone with vision, took on the task of it’s regeneration. And today the house sits proudly on a knoll overlooking the Annapolis River. Gone are the wharves and the schooners and the flurry of maritime activity. The shore has eroded. But there is still a good life to be had here. So we honour those who were good stewards of this property and are grateful that those who were not have passed forgotten.

A Seal of Approval

I saw a seal yesterday just off our shore.

I spied it

 there lounging on the surface,

  to my delight.

Unrestricted, except by the tide,

 it was unaware of Covid.

And then with easy grace

 it breeched and dove out of sight,

  leaving me wanting more.

Sunrise into Spring

When I was a child, I was taught that the seasonal changes happened on the 21st of a month. I now know that the lunar calendar is fluid, although with a certain rhythm to it. So, I know that spring arrived officially in the morning of the 20th this year, and not today, the 21st. 

But, although there was lovely sunshine yesterday, the wind was strong and carried a winter chill with it. This morning, however, the sun rose over a perfectly flat river which shimmered like glass. The sun was strong and called out loudly that it is springtime. Awake. People came outside to enjoy it in droves. Children played on the hillsides of Fort Anne. Adults strolled on the boardwalk and trails. 

I enjoyed a leisurely 2-hour walk myself. And when I got back home, I doffed my coat and then my heavy shirt, socks and trousers and donned a pair of shorts and a light shirt. My feet were bare. Then, I went out and sat comfortably on our deck basking in the sunshine, and feeling it energize me.

The wind only picked up as 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon approached. Reluctantly, I retreated inside behind glass walls. The waves have grown on the river. There are whitecaps and the tide is coming in. 

But I can still see the bright sunshine!

The Games Birds Play

Ours is a riparian existence. But this is our first full winter here. Our usual “escape” to Cuba has not taken place this year. But we are enjoying our time, which seems to be passing quickly. We’ve had grey days for sure; but when the sun comes out it is truly glorious.

And we have enjoyed watching the water life, as we do all year round. We do not see the seals, nor have we seen the dolphins that occasionally entertain us in the summer and autumn. And we have not witnessed any of the very large fish jumping high out of the water. But the birds have provided great entertainment.

Several weeks ago, we noticed two loons, then four, then eight swimming close to our shore. They are bearing their nondescript winter coats. We have seen them before in the late fall and early spring, when their coat is more appealing. They will fly to the abundant fresh water lakes in the late spring, once the ice is out.

More recently we have enjoyed an ever growing flock of Mergansers swimming and diving off our shore. There must be an abundance of fish in this location.

What has amused us most, however, are the gulls and, in particular, their reaction to this infestation of ducks. The gulls seem incensed that these birds are feeding here. They land among them, harass them and even fly up briefly into the air and swoop down on them. But their targets easily dive out of reach, as a large hawk watches from a tree top at the shore.

We are not entirely sure that this act of the gulls is aggression. It is possible they are simply trying to get the scraps of the fish these intruders are feasting on. Regardless, it is great amusement to idle minds on a lazy, sun-drenched winter afternoon. 

Order of Good Whisky

Samuel de Champlain settled at his Habitation just down the road from our home four hundred and sixteen years ago. To bolster the frigid spirits of these early European explorers during the long cold winters here, he created the celebrated "Order of Good Cheer". Food, wine, theatrics and parades were the backbone of this merry festivity.

Now had he been Scottish, instead of French, he might actually have created a feast with whisky and haggis, rather than wine, fish and fowl. Had he been a poet instead of an architect we might have had cause to celebrate his birthday. 

Now the Scots did come here. But they did not stay long, although their presence has given our Province it's name, albeit in Latin. 

Then, more than a hundred years later, we had a whisky loving Scot who wrote poetry and has become a Scottish icon. He never visited Nova Scotia that we know of. But his celebration on January 25 every year is very much in the genre of that "Order of Good Cheer". And being in January, it is a convenient excuse to chase away the winter blues.

Most years in post retirement, we have been in Cuba at this time. There, we do raise a glass to his memory; however, we have to admit it is not of whisky, but of rum. Burns would approve, for it is excellent Cuban rum. 

This year, however, like most sensible folk, we do not travel. So we have stayed home for a Nova Scotia winter and been able to do both Robbie Burns and Monsieur de Champlain proud with our festivities on January 25, 2021.

Adjusting to Winter

Normally at this time, we would be basking on a beach on the north shore of Cuba . But one has to adjust to new realities. And I think we have.

Travel does not appeal to us in these uncertain days. And I have to say, we are enjoying our first “winter” here in Nova Scotia. Seventeen degrees Celsius on Christmas day was not hard to take. It was the first time we have ventured out in our convertible with the roof down in late December. And wine on our riparian deck on New Year’s Day was a pleasure too.

Yes, we’ve had snow. But not much. Yes, it’s been grey and chilly. But not always and certainly not like the minus 30 Celsius we frequently experienced at our former home in Ontario. Minus 7 we can take, even minus 20 will seem like a salve.

It is now mid-January. Our lawn is green. Our decks are clear. The wood pile is disappearing very slowly. We’ve enjoyed several pleasant walks in parks and on trails or just around our little village here in Granville Ferry.

But, I can assure you, we are not lulled into a false expectation of an easy winter. Cold will come. Snow will come. But the daylight is already growing longer and stronger. Stew bubbles on the stove. The fire burns warmly in our livingroom. The house is snug. And the view is always engaging and often invigorating.

Despite Covid, I stand looking out at walkers-by as I practice the fiddle. John finds comfort in his little art studio nestled at the back of the house. The telephone rings: an invitation to a socially distanced dinner. A call from old and dear friends comes from Germany on WhatsApp, and from friends in Cuba who are missing us.  A letter arrives from England six weeks late. There are cocktails on Zoom with former colleagues. And regular emails from friends near and far reaching out to us and we to them on our computer monitors each morning.

We acknowledge our good fortune every day.