Fiona's Faint Brush with Granville Ferry

Storm readiness is always wise. The weather, although often predicted by the weather gurus, is in the end unpredictable. A master of it's own house.

We watched the predicted tracks of the storm. We prepared. We waited. At bedtime, barely a flutter of leaves, a bit of drizzle. At 2:00 a.m. only the ocassional gusts, short lived. A little rain. At 3:00, I raised my head and noticed that the lights of Annapolis Royal across the river were out. Ours had not even flickered.

We were indeed lucky. Barely a leaf down on the lawn. But the destruction and disruption elsewhere in our province and the other maritime provinces! How dreadful. How sad.

One can prepare. One can hope. But the climate is changing and we no longer have the luxury of regularity. We must all be resilient. I think we are.

Of Time and Tides

We’ve had an amazing summer off-grid at our rustic cabin in Ontario. But is it ever good to be back home in Nova Scotia as summer becomes drowsy and autumn begins to awaken. There were plenty of herons on our lake, but the herons are here too on our beach at low tide. 

The view of Annapolis Royal, across the river from us, is always changing and always a delight, whether there be fog, rain or a stunning sunset reflected off the historic buildings of Lower St. George Street. Boats come and go. Some are fishing boats, some sailboats or smaller craft. 

I haven’t seen a seal recently and the loons are not yet back for their winter stay, but I have watched with delight a cocky small bird pester a magnificent bald eagle, and listened to the loud harangue of the sea gulls gracefully circling overhead, bleached white and blue-grey. It’s good to be home.

 

A Short Long-Weekend in May

It’s been a short long-weekend. It is Victoria Day. They don’t seem to celebrate it here like they do in other provinces. I guess it’s not considered politically correct. But it has been a busy time nonetheless. Friday evening we attended a movie screening at the theatre in town, a movie that made my own films seem like comedies. But it was powerful, although depressing. Life can be like that at times.

The outdoor Farmer’s Market – a misnomer since it is mostly crafts and baking, at least at this time of year –  opened Saturday with a flourish for the fair weather season. A new Town Crier greeted the crowd. A fiddler entertained. People were happy to be out and about.

We’d already been to the garden store to pick up plants for our deck pots. Then, after planting them, we went for a walk in our village and later to the pub across the river to hear a kilted friend and neighbour play his wonderful mandolin. We chattered and laughed and sang with others. A pint or two of local beer filled out the occasion and my bladder.

Sunday was hot at 30 Celsius. Too hot for the end of May. I suppose I must be getting old. The mirror says “yes”, but my mind resists. Fortunately, on our side of the river there was a nice breeze from the water and a bit of tree shade. But I had already, early in the day, transplanted a small lilac, watered and fed some of our many still young perennial shrubs, and gone for a walk while I waited for John to return from his Sunday duties. Then, following lunch on our upper deck, we went to a rare plant sale, as observers rather than purchasers because our garden is full. This was followed by a lovely and leisurely stroll in the Historic Gardens alive with spring bloom. After dinner, not to let the moss grow under our feet, we attended a wonderful choral concert in town.

Today, Monday, we were, as is usual, up early. But by 9:30 a.m., after breakfast, and following our daily exercise routine, fiddle practice and time spent reviewing the script of my most recent play, I wondered what I would do for the rest of the day. Fortunately, it is a more seasonal temperature today. I do have a fiddle lesson after lunch. John is at his easel. And we are thankful we have the energy to be so active, and the sense to put our feet up from time to time so that we might sit back and watch the ebb and flow of the tide.

Springing into Action

It’s raining today. But the deck has now been set up for a warming spring and on through summer heat into autumn’s crisp warmth. We’ve even enjoyed several hours out there taking advantage of the sun, the fresh air and the view. It has been sufficient to buff up the tan that has been fading gradually since our return from Cuba three weeks ago.

It is always good to be home. To be in familiar space. To enjoy familiar comforts. And to be with good friends once again. However, little did we know that we were leaving three months in a safe country, virtually free of Covid concerns, to return to a village hit hard by Covid for the first time since the pandemic struck. It had been, when we left, a Covid-free paradise. An oasis. But one adjusts.

The loons are back. The seal has paid us a visit. An eagle was spotted overhead. A boat has been cradled at the boat works across the river. Mr. McGregor is in his garden pondering the plants, gathering seaweed, and looking out for Peter Rabbit. Congenial chatter is heard from the yards down the road.

We are very fortunate to be living here, and we do not take that for granted.

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!