Posted on May 19, 2015 under Storytelling with 3 comments

Sunrise at Bayfield Beach

 

 

“Get your motor runnin’

Head out on the highway”

Born To Be Wild – Steppenwolf

You start thinking about it when you flip the calendar over to May.  When is the Victoria Day weekend?

There is nothing quite as satisfying in life as the prospect of a long weekend, especially the first long weekend of spring.  After a very tough winter.  So, when the forecasters call for warm sunny weather, it is all you can do to concentrate on work.  Victoria Day Friday can be a particularly long day.  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 on any other single day of the year.  Many working stiffs try to build up pious credits (or vacation days), so that they can pack up the car early and head out with their gear.  They are on their way to the shore or lake or campground … to open their summer hideaway 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 food and equipment.  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 to meet thousands of other folks just like you traveling the highways and byways.  Road rage is at an all-time low as drivers find their “chilled 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.  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 fire 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 euphoria.  You may have stopped at the wharf to pick up your first feed of lobster to go along with the barbequed steak.   Or maybe you 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 those rare eastern delicacies:  smores.  You are now 100% certain that summer has arrived.  Someone grabs a guitar and, within the first hour, your neighbors are coming to join in as the fourth verse of American Pie resonates under the starry sky.

The air is filled with the beautiful smell of wood smoke and peals of laughter can be heard from near and far.  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 season.

You know it’s getting late when everyone within 100 miles is singing the refrain to Barrett’s Privateers with incredible gusto.  And then silence descends on the land as the perfect day draws to a close.  You put your head on your 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 … once again.

“But I hope and I pray we soon make our way to this old cabin again ….”

Oceanside Again – Sons of Maxwell

Posted on May 16, 2015 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Les. A lesson about perspective

 

 

I recently completed a cross country trip with my son.  We traveled from Vancouver to Halifax via the northern United States, re-entering Canada at Windsor, Ontario.  There were spectacular sites and memorable moments.  We passed through the majestic Rocky Mountains and zipped through the Great Plains.  We saw territory very near the battlefield of the Little Bighorn known as Custer’s Last Stand.  We posed for photos at Mount Rushmore and saw one of the biggest car assembly plants in the world in Belvidere, Illinois.  And we ate many fantastic meals and a few that were anything but heart healthy.  We traversed a route of more than 6300 kilometers in just under six days.

Every trip has at least one memorable moment.  Mine was a side trip we made to visit a relative at St. Mary’s on the Lake in Kingston, Ontario.  It sounds like the name of a resort until you enter the front door and see the wall of wheel chairs.  You realize that you have entered a place of shattered bodies … and of healing.

My nephew was involved in a terrible accident eight months ago and he has made an amazing recovery. But he also faces some major hurdles.  He has a lot of company among the other residents.   A few of them will live the remaining days of their lives in this facility.

After a half hour of chatting with Mike in his room, we all made our way outdoors to a shelter erected for the smokers.  There I met Les and Willie. Willie is a quadriplegic and has been a resident for 20 years. Les was involved in a motorcycle accident five years ago and he, too, is a quadriplegic.  He has the use of one hand.  That’s it.  I got involved in a lively discussion with Les.  I noticed right away that he isn’t angry or bitter about his lot in life.

He told me about the accident and how he had lost just about everything; his home, his employment (he was a long haul trucker) and most of his worldly possessions, save for his beloved Harley tools.  Perched on his head was his prized leather Harley ball cap.

However, Les hasn’t lost it all.  His sense of humour is intact, as is his perspective.  He told me that there are a lot of people inside who are far worse off than he is.  I struggled with this thought momentarily. Willie was hanging on every word and, though his speech was garbled, he understood everything we were saying.

As we were nearing the end of our visit I asked Les what keeps him going.  What motivates him to face another day?  Do you know what he said?  “Being able to come outside and sit in the sun.”  Wow.  Too many of us are searching for life’s ultimate experience, and all Les needs is the warmth of a spring morning.

We took our leave.  I didn’t feel sorry for these folks; rather, I was moved by the resilience and the strength of character that I had just witnessed.

Sometimes, Les is more.

 

Posted on May 13, 2015 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Landry and Laudadio. What a team!

 

 

“If there’s something strange in your neighborhood Who you gonna call?”

Ghostbusters – Ray Parker Jr.

Can lightning strike twice?  I am told by climatologists, soothsayers and my barber that the chance of lightning striking the same place on more than one occasion is very rare indeed.  What are the odds that two raccoons, separated by the passage of four years, would take up residence in the roof of our small side porch?  I called Vegas and they say it’s about 100,000 to 1.  Guess it’s time to start buying lottery tickets again.

Four years ago we acquired a nest of grackles under the eaves of our entryway.  When the chicks had flown, followed by mama bird, an expectant racoon moved right in to the attic.   We called Charlie Landry and, within 24 hours, the critter was trapped and carted off.  Last year our house was struck by lightning.  I was in the house at the time and didn’t realize we’d been hit.  Upon hearing this, my wife threatened to put me in the composter and cart me off somewhere!

So it was with some dismay that we discovered the telltale signs two weeks ago.  It was a forced entry by a neighborhood bandit.  The muddy footprints going up the side of the house and a torn off piece of soffit were dead give always.  Time to call the “Beaver Brothers”.   Charlie Landry and his brother, Eddie, have become famous in these parts.   Last year they starred in an Animal Planet television show that celebrated their live trapping prowess.

It’s bad enough that this would happen to us twice but there was an extra layer of angst.  We recently sold our house and were in that delicate time period just prior to closing date.

We called Charlie and the following morning he came by and set a live trap.  And we waited.

Now this particular raccoon must have had a discerning palate because she didn’t take the bait.  We hoped that she had found better digs somewhere else.  Sadly, half way through week two, our neighbors reported that she had been out sunbathing on our roof.   Even the animals have a bit of spring fever this year.

Enter Eddie.  In order to ascertain the exact whereabouts of the raccoon, he had to get into the very small attic over the porch.  Luckily, last fall during an energy retrofit, the insulation guys had created a small hatch in the porch ceiling.   Eddie said that I would have to find a carpenter to make the opening bigger so that he could get in to get a good look.

Most Catholics know what a “Doubting Thomas” is.  Sometimes you need to see, feel and touch something before you are convinced that it is real.  Did you ever have one of those moments when you were convinced about the presence of a higher power and that miracles really happen?

The word “carpenter” had scarcely passed through Eddie’s lips when, lo and behold, Carl Laudadio pulled into the driveway.  Days earlier he had seen the “SOLD” sign on our house and was coming by to congratulate us.  He is family friend and a fine carpenter to boot.  He had barely opened his truck door when I was in his face.  “Do you have your tool box?”

Before he knew what was happening Carl was on a ladder, expanding the hole in the porch ceiling.  Eddie took a quick look.  As his head pivoted in the opening he came face to face with momma raccoon and her four babies.

The next half hour was a bit of a blur as Eddie worked his magic, with the able assistance of Carl (my new best friend).  The mother was pushed to the opening she had created in the soffit while Eddie removed the young’uns.   Eventually, momma came scurrying down the siding and despite a valiant attempt by Carl to trap her with a large net, she managed to escape and made a bee line underneath the shed.

The entire drama had only lasted an hour.  I am happy to report that Eddie re-baited the trap and the mother was captured the next morning.

I sent a short video clip of the affair to my four children.  And then came the dreaded question (after a comment on how cute the babies were).  “What happened to the racoons?”

When Eddie came to pick up the trap, I asked him that very question and was afraid of the answer I would receive.   Eddie told me that the babies were picked up by Hope for Wildlife.   I had never heard of this place before but apparently this non-profit group harbours all kinds of birds and animals and eventually relocates them to a game sanctuary.

And momma was to be released into the wild, far from people and houses but next to a frog pond.  “She needs some good nutrition now” said Eddie.

“When it comes through your door Unless you just want some more I think you better call …”

Thanks, fellas.