Posted on May 23, 2016 under Storytelling with 2 comments

First bonfire of the year

( Previously published )

 

“Get you motor running, head out on the highway”

Born To Be Wild. Steppenwolf

You start thinking about it when you flip the calendar over on May 1^st. When is the Victoria Day weekend?

There is nothing quite as satisfying in life as the prospects for a long weekend, especially the first long weekend in Spring. Especially after a very tough winter. So ,when the forecasters call for warm sunny weather, it is all you can do to concentrate on work, particularly Victoria Day Friday. I haven’t conducted an exhaustive survey but my bet is that the province of Nova Scotia suffers the largest drop in productivity on this Friday than any other single day of the year. Most working stiffs try to build up pious credits ( or vacation days ), so that they can pack up the car and head out with the camper or make way to the shore or lake … at noon, to open the cabin for the first time since the cool fall winds of the previous year blew through.

Anticipation. You can nearly taste it as you assemble your equipment and supplies. You grab bedding, utensils, cleaning supplies and a brew or two and off you go. Whether you are heading east from Halifax or west from Cape Breton, you can expect thousands of other folks just like you traveling the highways and byways. Road rage is at an all time low as you quickly find your “chilling out” gear. If you’re lucky, you can put the roof down. If you’re a biker, there’s no need for that.

Heaven. The open road, sunshine and three blessed days.

You arrive at your place of bliss. You disembark and swat away the first black fly and watch the dandelions grow ( rapidly!) right in front of your eyes. You open the creaky door to the cottage  or enter your camper and discover mouse droppings but far from being offended, you just accept this as nature’s way of saying “ welcome back.”

You do a bit of mandatory housekeeping, unload the groceries and, most importantly, plug in the fridge, praying that it hasn’t given up the ghost over the long winter months. You grab a handful of lawn chairs, crack open a cold one and look out at the expanse before you. If you are at the cottage, your number one priority is gathering the wood for the first bonfire of the year. If you are in a campground, you have either brought your own or paid a king’s ransom for the luxury of not having to scavenge.

It is early evening on day one and you can scarcely control your unbridled enthusiasm. You may have stopped at a lobster pound to pick up your first feed of the year to go along with a barbequed steak or decided to leave that until day two. Sometimes a roasted hot dog is every bit as satisfying.

As the sun sets, you gather round the fire and prepare that rare eastern delicacy: a smore. You are now 100% certain that summer has arrived. Someone grabs a guitar and within the first hour, your neighbors are coming by, when they hear the fourth verse of American Pie.”

The air is filled with the beautiful smell of wood smoke… and laughter, and everything is right with the world.

You stand in awe and wonder as the sun sets over the horizon as it has thousands of times before.  But this one is extra special because it is the first one of the new camping season.

You know it’s getting late when everyone within 100 miles is singing the refrain to Barrett’s Privateer’s with incredible gusto. And then silence descends on the land as the perfect day has drawn to a close. You put your head on the pillow or maybe you lie outside and stare up at the stars. You hear the peepers off in the distance.

And you are one with nature… again.

“And I hope and I pray, we’ll soon make our way, to this old cabin again.”

Oceanside. Sons of Maxwell.

 

Posted on May 19, 2016 under Faces in the Crowd with no comments yet

“I left Toronto in 1967 and the Leafs haven’t won the cup since then.”

Meet Jamie Benoit.

Though he was born in Ontario, he is a local boy, through and through. His great, great grandfather was William Davis, the miner infamously killed during a strike in New Waterford in 1925.

He grew up in Merland in a house filled with music. His father’s people were well known fiddle players and it was not uncommon for a “session” consisting of Benoits, Wallaces and Teasdales to break out on a Friday, often lasting most of the weekend! He learned to play guitar, studying a book of lyrics and chords to learn the music of Johnny Cash.

Following his father’s footsteps, he decided to become a carpenter and attended the Adult Vocational Training Centre (presently the Marconi campus) in Sydney. One night he wandered into a bar. It was easy to tell that he wasn’t a “local” by the stares that he attracted. Someone wandered over to his table, and once the bar patrons realized his Cape Breton lineage he was immediately accepted as one of their own.

Jamie laughs easily. He is well known for his ability to tell stories and he is not embarrassed when he is the center of misfortune.

At the age of 17, he and his best friend decided to go “state side’ and visit relatives outside of Boston. He meticulously cleaned the car before the trip. Two teenage boys travelling to the U.S. were bound to attract some attention, and sure enough, they were pulled over at the border, luckily without incident. On the return trip, they encountered a myriad of car problems. When they got to Calais, they were once again detained by border officials.

“Shut ‘er off. You’re going to be here for a while.” The boys were puzzled and dismayed. “Where’s the dope?” queried the Customs officer. While in Boston, a relative of Jamie’s had borrowed his car and left a small trail of marijuana seeds on the floor of the back seat. After a thorough dismantling of the car, they came up clean and continued on their way.

The car finally gave up the ghost in Moncton and they hitchhiked home. At four in the morning, just outside of Westville, they were offered a jail cell and a free breakfast by a member of the local constabulary. They respectfully declined.

Jamie is an avid outdoorsman who loves spending time with his sons; skidoo-ing, 4 wheeling, fishing and boating. Well maybe not so much boating. A few years back he bought a used speed boat. On the vessel’s maiden voyage, he inadvertently put straight gas into the tank, rather than the normal mix, and fried the engine. Much to the chagrin and embarrassment of his boys, the boat had to be towed to the wharf… its first and only trip under Jamie’s captaincy! The boat didn’t even survive long enough to earn a name.

Jamie plays music whenever the opportunity presents itself. “Music is a way for me to relax and unwind. I like performing with different musicians and playing different styles of music.”

His peers speak glowingly about him. “He plays with a natural feel and is full of jokes and witty comments between tunes … fun is always guaranteed when sharing the stage with this guy.”

With the recent success of the Blue Jays and the Raptors, Leaf’s management may want to cajole Jamie into moving back to Toronto to sing the anthem. Just as long as he doesn’t drive through the States to get there!

 

 

Posted on May 17, 2016 under Storytelling with no comments yet

A herd of elephants lives under the College Street bridge … seriously!

 

One of the joys of global travel is anonymity.  In far flung places, nobody knows who you are, or cares, for that matter.  You can dress outlandishly if you so desire and even develop a different persona if you so choose.

Mary June had always wanted to travel to Australia to do some hiking.  She was the adventurous sort who loved the outdoors.  So when her daughter did a one year student exchange “down under” as part of attaining her law degree, there was an added incentive to go.  Since it was off-season at the small inn she managed, she had the luxury of determining when she would take the trip.   

Mary June was an independent sort and was of an age that bus tours were to be avoided. Those were for old folks who might have mobility issues, or who didn’t want the hassle of driving.  However, in order to visit the world renowned Blue Mountains featuring “The Three Sisters”, an economy bus tour seemed to be the only option.

Mary June was also known as someone who was a bit of a prankster.

She and her daughter boarded the bus and were greeted by the jovial driver, Smokey, who was also the commentator and the hiking guide.  They took their seats, half of which appeared to be occupied by students.  As they made their way to their destination, Smokey educated and entertained his passengers.  As is often the case on a bus tour, the participants were asked their country of origin.  As one might expect, it was an eclectic group and they came from all over the world.  Oddly enough, there was only one other North American couple, hailing from Utah.

The tour guide also asked each person what they did for a living.  Although not a terribly shy person, Mary June wasn’t much for speaking in front of a crowd, even this modest assembly.  Row by row, every person stood up in turn and dutifully recited country of origin and occupation.  Mary June was the very last person to go public.

Saying that she worked in tourism and hospitality sounded rather ordinary.  So, when she rose, she stated that she was from Nova Scotia, Canada and that her occupation was elephant trainer.  Her daughter’s head whipped around and there was a look of resignation on her face.  Clearly her mom was up to no good.

The bus reached its destination and the hiking commenced.  By all accounts it was a wonderful day.  As the entire group hiked together, there were occasions to strike up a conversation with the other travellers.  A number of people asked her about her life as a large animal trainer, and however did she discover this talent.  “I just fell into it,” she said.  “A former boyfriend worked with the circus and I followed him around.  One day the elephant trainer didn’t show up for work and, just like that, I found myself working with elephants.”

Needless to say, her fellow travellers were quite fascinated. The embellishment (deception!)  continued, as Mary June went on to say that she had become a specialist.  Her job was to cajole the elephants into standing on their hind legs.  Someone else worked with the pachyderms’ trunks.  The group was getting quite an education.

No one thought to ask about state of the elephant population and prevalence of ivory poaching in sub-Saharan Nova Scotia.

Several months later, while tending the inn on a stormy winter’s night, she was chatting with three guests from Australia.  Mary June told them about her escapades, including the elephant tale.  One of the guests wasn’t paying attention and caught up with the story at the midway point.  She stared out at the worsening weather and wondered where the elephants were spending the night.

A few days later, the following appeared on Trip Advisor: “Awesome waffles with local blueberries for breakfast and GOOD coffee.  Just don’t fall for Mary June’s elephant trainer story … as I did!”