Posted on September 19, 2015 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Don’t get bulldozed into getting married

 

 

Most of us vividly remember our wedding day. The endless planning, jangled nerves, the realization that you are going to have a mother-in-law; all stress-inducing to be sure. And when the big day comes, we are consumed with the last minute details of hair appointments, getting dressed, and pondering the imponderable; “is that women really prepared to put up with me forever?” And then there’s the church adorned with flowers and sometimes candles. It is important to create the appropriate backdrop for this once in a lifetime event. I have also witnessed weddings in parks, barns, farmers’ fields and, of course, at the ocean. Watching a stunning bride and a dashing groom exchange vows with the sun setting on the Gulf of Mexico is something to behold – unless the backdrop includes several D-18 Caterpillar dozers.

 

I fondly remember my own wedding. In retrospect, it somehow seems fitting that our wedding day was the day after a hurricane had brushed the northeastern tip of Nova Scotia, causing extensive wind and wave damage. My loving bride was not swept off her feet by her prince charming. No, that was done compliments of the hurricane. The one and only outdoor picture was taken moments after exiting the church with the umbrella inside out and pointing skyward.

 

So I am standing at the barbecues at our vacation resort, lovingly preparing some 2 for 1pork chops for my bride of 30 years. I am engaged in a conversation with 2 lovely women from Ohio who are permanently moving to Florida any day now. Why anyone would trade Ohio for Clearwater in mid-February is beyond me.

 

As the sun is beginning to set there is a stir next door at an establishment well-known in the area for putting on weddings. A young couple, beaming with excitement, followed by their entourage, emerges from the hotel to exchange their vows on the beach. Unfortunately the best man is wearing a hard hat with the words “American Army Corps of Engineers” emblazoned on his jacket. You see, this unsuspecting couple could not have possibly known that on this exact day, at this precise hour, at this particular resort, the wedding party would not be accompanied by the strains of violins or bagpipes but by the sounds of enough heavy equipment to rebuild the Panama Canal.

 

Some time ago a storm roared up the Gulf of Mexico, literally and figuratively changing the landscape. In order to restore the beaches, a major reclamation project was initiated to import sand from far offshore and bring the beaches back to their pristine selves. To do this requires engineering and lots and lots of noisy, smelly, heavy duty equipment.

 

I was trying to lip-read the justice of the peace as he began the ceremony amidst the din. After a while I noticed him wildly gesticulating with his hands which could only mean that he was reduced to using sign language above the defeating roar. We will never know for sure if the marriage was legitimate. If an annulment is ever requested by either spouse, a strong case can be made that neither of them heard the other say “I do”.

 

My offer of two perfectly-cooked pork chops to the bride and groom went unnoticed. They were too busy making sand castles on the beach.

 

 

Posted on September 16, 2015 under Storytelling with one comment

A little slice of paradise

 

 

“I can see for miles and miles …”

I Can See for Miles – The Who

I roll over and peer at the clock. It is 4:20 am. I start to wonder, “Whose bright idea was it anyway to watch the sun come up over Ballantyne’s Cove at 6:30 A.M., followed by a three hour hike? Why, it was mine, of course.” I had planned to tackle a particular trail out at “The Cape” for quite some time. I had invited my brother, a seasoned hiker, to join me. I slide my creaky bones over the side of the mattress, as countless thousands of others my age will do in short order. There is no more leaping out of bed.

I rub the sleep from my eyes. Last night was a rough one … a big party night. I would love to confess that it was me who was in the middle of the throng of students next door, kicking off another year at St. F.X. No. Those days are long gone but I certainly had a ringside seat, listening to the cheers and howls until the wee hours of the morning. None of the neighbors called the police. Most of us remember those days and know that things will die down when classes start.

At exactly 6:00 (my family is notoriously punctual) I pick up my brother and hit the road on what must be the clearest, most star filled morning of the summer.

We parked the car at the entrance to the Lighthouse Road. A soft, warm breeze had made its presence felt even at this ungodly hour. I have heard of arriving at a prom or some other special event “with bells on”, but I must say that I was just a tad mystified when Gerard pulled out two small yellow tinkling spheres attached to Velcro straps. I was about to ask him when he pre-empted me with one word: BEARS.

We grabbed our backpacks and crossed the road to enter the trail. Did I mention that I also had a small Martin travel guitar strapped to my back? No, I wasn’t planning on serenading the wildlife. One of the purposes of the hike was to scout out possible locations for a photo shoot. With book number 3 soon to be published, we were looking at some ideas for the cover.

Just as we were about to commence our trek, we turned around and watched a most magnificent display by Mother Nature as the sun rose over the Northumberland Strait. We stood in silence and in awe.

I offered to let the more experienced hiker take the lead. I had done some thinking after attaching the “distant early warning” yellow jingling ball to my belt buckle. I reckoned that my younger brother would be a far more appetizing meal for a bear!

The conditions could not have been better. In the shelter of the woods, the firs and spruce provided a natural, cooling canopy. When we came to open areas, the aforementioned warm breeze kept us comfortable and bug free. Idyllic, really.

Not far along the trail we saw the first of many piles of bear scat. When I think of scat, I have this mental picture of Ella Fitzgerald. It is a thrilling image. The fresh excrement on the ground didn’t give me the same kind of vibe.

Along the way we saw a handful of benches with dedications to loved ones who lived in the area and walked these woods … a wonderful way to pay tribute.

We reached the summit and looked off into the distance. You can see all up and down two coastlines, with P.E.I. and Cape Breton easily recognizable. We opened our packs for a nutrition break. I had packed a peanut butter sandwich and a handful of carrot sticks. When you are surrounded by the wonders of nature, this humble fare is a meal fit for a king.

We pondered about retracing our steps to bring us back to the car and decided instead to complete the loop. This meant that at the end of the hike we would be several kilometers away from our car.

The banter along the trail was about work, family and health. We both acknowledged our extreme good fortune to be well enough to hike and to be able to do it in one of the safest places in the world. Hiking and gratitude are worthy traveling partners.

The descent was rapid and we found ourselves emerging from the woods across the road from the wharf. There is a feeling of satisfaction when the job is complete. I slipped the guitar off my back and we stood there waiting for a car or truck to come by. One can only imagine how bewildering it must have looked to the kind folks who came upon us five minutes later. Two sixty something guys, one toting a guitar and both with yellow jingling balls hanging from their belts. We should have flashed a peace sign for old time’s sake.

Two of the ladies in the car walk this road daily. They leave one car at the bottom of the steep hill and take another to the top. We teased them that they have chosen to walk downhill rather than up! They dropped us off at our vehicle and moments later, we were on our way back home.

The next time someone tells you to “Take a hike”, give them this answer:

“With pleasure!”

Posted on September 12, 2015 under Storytelling with one comment

The dreaded 8:15 class

( Originally published August 2013 )

 

 

On most days I walk to and from work, a trek of about two and a half kilometres. The good news is that the trip to work is all downhill and the wind is at my back. Of course, I have to come home at the end of the day and while the walk is not arduous, the north wind is always blowing in my face. In the summer this is a wonderful thing. In the dead of winter, it can be torturous.

This street is a major thoroughfare, and this being a university town many students use this route to get to classes. Some things never change. As long as I can remember, the first class of the day has always commenced at 8:15. Last spring, on my way to work, I came over the last hill which brings one to Main Street, and on both sidewalks was a long line of students with their back packs, making their way to campus. It looked very much like a column of ants.

Now, lest you think I am being disrespectful to be referring to students as ants, may I remind you that ants are very industrious, bright insects. They are the animal with the largest brain in proportion to their body size. They are known to be the smartest type of insects with about 250,000 brain cells. There are warrior ants who engage in hand to hand combat and apparently execute well-planned strategies to overcome their victim.

In a rebuttal to the phrase “It’s a man’s world”, the male worker ants have a lifespan of between 45-60 days while the queen ant can live upwards of 20 years. Reminds me of that old country and western song; “She got the gold mine. I got the shaft.” And apparently, slavery is alive and well in the colonies… the ant colonies, that is. The slave- maker ant raids the nests of other ants and steals their pupae. Once the pupae hatch, they are made to work as servants within the colony. Sort of like a hostile corporate takeover.

And finally, ants are capable of carrying objects 50 times their own body weight. One of the varsity football players would have to lift a mid-sized car over his head to equal the strength of an ant. Some have tried.

The ants walking down the sidewalk on this winter morning are the engine of the local economy. Antigonish has been welcoming students since 1855. Technically the university was started in Arichat but later relocated to Antigonish. While there has always been a healthy tension between town and gown, it is a symbiosis akin to anything in the animal kingdom.

Every time I witness this parade down the sidewalks I start humming the soundtrack from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs; High ho, high ho, it’s off to work we go. Let us celebrate this ant colony. Brains and hard work should pay off for them too.