The alarm

This past Saturday when my husband and I did our usual walk on the boardwalk, Bedeque Bay was ice covered again. As I looked towards New Brunswick in the distance, it reminded me of a post I wrote ten years ago about another part of the country, where ice floes from along the coast of Labrador sometimes bring unwanted visitors to coastal Newfoundland. I am including it below.

I wrote the story in the Newfoundland dialect the man spoke. In Newfoundland, dialects reflect those of the original settlers who moved to an area. Dialects are more pronounced in rural areas today. I love this link to our ancestors!

The alarm

It woke the neighbourhood. Somewhere nearby a car sent its repetitive horn blasts into the quiet of the night, alarming everyone for several streets around. A rash of break-ins in the area recently meant more people installed alarm systems in their homes and cars. Periodically we wake in the early morning hours when an alarm sounds.

There was a time when an alarm was less high tech. I learned of such a system when my mother, mother-in-law and I visited L'Anse aux Meadows on the tip of the Great Northern Peninsula in Newfoundland. It was the summer tourist season; we visited the former Viking settlement, drove around the area, stopping where the road led to a small turn-about near the ocean. We were as far north as we could get on our beautiful island, in a place where it looked like a nor'easter could sweep away a little house and shed not ten metres from the water. You could see the coast of Labrador in the distance.

As we walked around, a friendly, elderly gentleman came out of the house and approached us. He asked, " 'ow ar ya taday?" 

"We're fine. How are you?" I replied.

"Alright, Mrs. Can't complain too much, ya knows. Nobody wants ta hear it anyways," he said.

"It must get really bad here in the winter, when that wind blows onshore. Have you ever had any damage?" I asked.

"Yees, moy dear. Me and da Mrs. 'ad ta leave a few toimes when da seas were warshin' o're da 'ouse. 'Ad ta use da boat one toime cos everyting were awarsh. Got da goat out o' da shed just afore 'e warshed away," he added.

"Oh my. I'm glad you got out and saved the goat too. I hope that doesn't happen very often," I said.

"Few toimes o're da years. 'Ad ta sove da goat, Mrs. Cuddna ford anudder one," he replied.

"Do you use the goat for milk?" I asked.

"Yees, Mrs. Not only dat. She's a good 'larm too, moy dear. Lits us know when a polar bear’s 'round. Kicks up some racket she do wen deres a bear comes ashore in da spring. Wen 'e gits dat toime o' year and da goat is going nuts, we knows wats 'bout. She'll woke us from a deep sleep, moy dear. Goats ar' great fer warnin' 'bout da bears, Mrs," he said.

I wonder if a goat in our shed…

Meanwhile, when we opened the car doors at the boardwalk parking lot one day last week, we could hear the tapping of a woodpecker in the woods behind the car. The little Downy Woodpecker was easy to spot as it moved among the trees. 

Another day, the ice had moved off-shore again and these Barrow’s Goldeneyes were feeding in the bay. It is always a treat to see these birds every winter on the island.

Have a great week!