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.