On our trip from Portland, Oregon, USA, to Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, Canada, I posted (on Facebook) at least one photo and one paragraph each day. These posts represent, as I mentioned in my last blog post, my cross-continental contemplation of being in Canada again, slowing down after a very busy and stressful job, and letting my writer-mind come back to the fore.
I did this for 21 days, not really such a long time. I felt like a total beginner at it. I was rusty. Some days I would forget to think about what the essence of the day was, and other days I would think too much about it. Sometimes I’d be so tired by the end of the day that I would be half asleep while I wrote. Or I would blow it off and then post three days all at once. I was not a model of discipline.
I confess this one-photo-one-para idea is not my own. It is Jonathan Harris’s. I met Jonathan–who is an internet genius, programmer, painter, and writer–in 2010-2011 when he was looking for a place to write and work. As the Executive Director of Caldera, I was able to find an empty cabin for him at our art center in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. The project that he did around that time related to him turning 30, and it is called “Today” — click here to see it. He continued it for 440 consecutive days. Whew. It is easy to get lost in his projects and web sites; I urge you to check them out. His photographs are stunning, his writing compelling, his ideas wild and wonderful.
If you want to change something, kick yourself in the butt to do something new, or reframe your life or the world, I highly recommend a project like this. It’ll jump start your brain, your heart, and the way you see things.
I took the photo shown above from the CAT ferry, on a 6 1/2 hour crossing from Portland, Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. That is the evening sky. The expanse of water seemed like a new page to me. I loved the simplicity of it. Life has felt too complicated for too long. I felt like a child staring out the window, anticipating our arrival into Nova Scotia and our new life.
I took many, many photographs of water–rivers, lakes, ocean–to the point of obsession. Seeing what my eye is drawn to, I’ve found, is a fascinating exercise that feeds my thoughts and my writing.
I believe that my eye is improving. My photos are a far cry from the photos that Jonathan Harris takes. But that’s OK: this was my first exercise of this sort, and I will learn–get better–by doing.
I had thought I would load all my photos-and-paras into this blog post. But there’s far too much material. I offer just a few to give you a taste. I urge you to try it. And I would love to hear your thoughts on the idea, in the comments below.
With love,
Tricia
Day Three
On our third day of travel we stayed in Kelowna, BC, in the Okanagan Valley, and we visited a friend I’d known back in high school, Jennifer Gustar, and her husband John. Jen and I had not seen each other since we were 20.
That’s 40 years ago. We’d stayed in touch through Facebook, and talked once on the phone when a friend died. So I’d messaged her before we left Portland, asking if she wanted to get together, and she’d replied with an immediate and generous yes.
Dave and I had breakfast with Jen and John for just a few hours, in the sun on the back porch of their house in Kelowna. It was instant connection on myriad levels; we could have talked all day. Jen is a professor of contemporary British literature at University of British Columbia, so we talked about writers and books (I asked for some recommendations, both of British and Canadian contemporary writers, as I’ve been gone too long from my mother country! I need direction…).
We talked about old friends and family, of getting married later in life, of music (and the 3,500 CDs that Dave has in our car, with which he will create a music library and listening room par excellence when we get to Lunenburg).
We ate Okanagan berries and heard about John’s malaria scare–he’d spent the night before in the hospital–after a trip to Papua New Guinea. He is an anthropologist, also at the university, and the type of person I would instantly choose as a friend… it was lovely to see Jen and John together.
We admired Lula, their sweet dog.
And we have plans of more, since we left not even close to covering it.
Afterwards, Dave and I traveled the road on towards Banff, Alberta, my heart stirred and in awe of how bonds grow stronger and truer even over many years of absence. Those instincts we had as kids to know each other, the perspective we have now on our lives and coming-of-age journey, plus the ability to cut through old fears or confusions–all that together is a powerful alchemy.
Day Six
Our sixth day of travel we stayed in Wolseley, a small town of about 750, east of Regina (rhymes with vagina, for my American friends). We stayed at the unpolished, unrenovated Leland Hotel, built in 1909. There had been an armed robbery there on June 1st. Two town inhabitants walked in in masks and with a gun and demanded money–the Wild West without much ambition, I thought–why didn’t they rob a hotel at least a few towns over?
I imagine the proprietor might have said “Alright Hank, I know it’s you under that mask…” but I didn’t ask him about it. It seemed impolite to do so (I’m Canadian after all). I asked a guy in the bakery/coffee shop the next day though, who was shocked that we’d stayed there at all.
The Leland Hotel has a country bar with regulars, in for the long haul. They also have a serious liquor store, with mega liquor bottles lining the shelves, next to the front door.
The proprietors are an East Indian family who bought the hotel five years ago because their daughter is a student at U. Of Regina. They said the Queen (as in Queen Elizabeth / the Queen Mother) slept in room 7, our chosen room, in 1945. We grooved on the idea of this for awhile, but ultimately doubted it.
“Do you need a key?” The proprietor asked as we toured the rooms to choose which one we wanted. Then a search for keys ensued, something that did not seem to be a frequent activity.
We had a delicious tandoori chicken dinner that night, cooked by the hotel owner, amid the country songs on the jukebox. There were even a few dancers.
I took this photo on the down low, so to speak. Propped my phone on our table and looked nonchalant while groping around for the screen’s shutter button.
The town boasts a swinging bridge over a beautiful “lake” (really a reservoir built around 1900s to service steam engine trains) and some beautiful old houses. It was a bustling metropolis at one time, and it was bittersweet imagining that.
Day Eight
At a roadside grocery with a shady porch that included a TV, I stood with another woman and watched a Canadian channel reporting on USA politics. At the end of the report, the woman turned away saying “Oh my God, I’m so glad I’m Canadian.”
This entire trip I’ve inhabited my dual identity with some confusion; yes I am glad I’m Canadian, always have been, but then I can’t simply be glad I’m Canadian, because I’m an American citizen too. Feeling such a mix of emotion, but mostly this horrible sadness for the United States and a deep disgust for the White House.
Day 14, 15, & 16
A big attraction of visiting with my family in Ontario was catching up with Lewyn, my grand-nephew. Grand is an excellent adjective for him; he is a very positive guy, and as you can see from this photograph, he is working on claiming his place in the family band.
Lewyn’s favourite phrase is “oh yeah” and as I am in the mode these days of taking everything as a sign or omen, I am making it my phrase too.
While there are all sorts of family members and friends we visited on our journey, Lewyn gets the spotlight here. I feel incredibly lucky that I’ll be able to watch him grow up, just as I did his Dad, my nephew Matt Snell (also a writer & musician — so many of our family are writers and musicians of some kind, as well as avid walkers and dog-lovers). Feeling very lucky to have such a family.
Oh yeah.
Day 20
Our 20th day of travel was full of the anticipation of our final destination…
We had dipped down into New England for the penultimate leg of the journey, then arrived in Portland, Maine in early afternoon (feeling fond, that as Portlanders from Oregon we could claim some kinship here, and also knowing it was the last we’d see of the States for awhile).
Then we got on the 6.5-hr CAT ferry (as in catamaran, but more like a ship in feel) from Portland, Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, crossing at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy (which has the longest most powerful tides in the world, and can be rough, but for our trip it was calm, and we enjoyed a soft pink sunset too).
We went through Canada Customs into Yarmouth after midnight, with a murder of motorcyclists. We went straight to Room 3 of the eclectically decorated Lakeview B&B there. We were told Room 3 was Joseph P. Kennedy Sr.’s favourite room, where he stayed whenever he came over to Yarmouth (really, how often was that? we wondered).
We tiptoed up the stairs and into our room, so we wouldn’t wake others up, like arriving home at an aunt & uncle’s eccentrically decorated farmhouse.
In essence, we tiptoed back into Canada….
The next morning they served us a huge breakfast next to a little goddess statue, flowers, and a Canadian flag (see photo above), and I could hear the owner talking to other guests in the next room about the strange tendency of Americans to vote for celebrities. I felt defensive, even while I kind of agreed (my usual dual reaction).
Day 21
Our 21st (and last) day of travel was our arrival to Lunenburg … and into a blaze of music. We didn’t unpack. Headed out immediately to hear Vishten, a Prince Edward Island / Magdalen Islands Acadian-Celtic Francophone band (part of the Lunenburg Folk Harbour Festival, which was in full jig on its second of three days).
They were playing in a huge white-wooden-with-black-trim Anglican Church a few blocks from our house (it is St. John’s, and spectacular architecture).
Vishten pulled my heart right out of my chest… fiddle, guitar, accordion, flute, bodhran, whistles, mandolin, jaw harp. Gorgeous vocal harmonies, great rhythmic energy, my eyes full of tears.
Folk fest venues also include the harbour, a restored Opera House built in early 1900s, the town curling rink, a Lutheran church, and a huge tent up at the top of the town near the town blockhouse and cannon.
Walking from venue to venue feels like walking around in a Brueghel painting, tho with different architecture and fashion…
In this fine way, we arrived in our Nova Scotia home.
Recent Comments