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.

Home Sweet Home

When we left for Cuba three months ago, little did we know that three months later the world would have changed. Changed by something as small as a virus. Changed forever? Hopefully not. Optimistically, we may all be better off as a society, after this humbling experience. 


Our time in Cuba was wonderful indeed; but we were living as in a wonderland. We had little exposure to outside news and little interest in it. But suddenly the world came crashing in on us. And in our last week we experienced, panic, stress, and even resignation. We had to depart home early or face an uncertain future on this tropical island. Getting out was not easy and we had to depend on the kindness of a family member at home to make arrangements for us.

Now we are home. Home by the sea. Home where mandatory isolation is not really a huge inconvenience. Home where family, friends and neighbours are a support to each other even at an imposed physical distancing.

I know there are many who are facing financial, emotional, and physical trauma. I know we are the lucky ones.