Winter visit

Every winter we like to visit some of the wharfs in Prince Edward Island in the quiet of winter. Recently we visited French River which is the subject of the header of this blog. 

The area is quiet this time of year. The inlet is frozen finally due to the colder temperatures in the last few weeks.

I take the photos of the wharf from the lookout above the area.

Beginning in April every year, boats are tied up at the wharf. Now some are high and dry behind the fishing shacks.

The slipway is frozen and the lift is tied in place, each waiting for the time when the fishers return with their boats for another season.

The fishing shacks are larger than many we see around the coast here. 

Despite the large shacks, stacks of lobster pots line the wharf.

In another month or so, the wharf will be a hub of activity again as the fishers prepare their gear and return their boats to the water when the ice is gone. 

It can’t happen soon enough.

Artistry of the sea

During our recent visit to the north shore of Prince Edward Island, we noticed a marked difference in the shape of the sea arch at Mackenzies Brook over the last three months. The shoreline in the area, fortified with rock armour revetments last summer due to the amount of erosion in the area, hasn’t any nullifying effect on the erosion by the arch. 

                                                                      Sea arch October 2020

Consequently, the open water in January, due to the lack of ice in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, had widened the arch forming nearby.

                                                             Sea arch in January 2021

The sea is a sculptor of the earth. The arches and sea stacks which temporarily line the shore last for years and are testament to the artist’s ability to carve the sandstone with her enveloping hands. The softness of the medium and the continuous work of the sculptor create an evolving work of art, unequaled by human hands. What was called the Elephant Rock at North Cape 

in the 1990s has evolved to the piece we see today.

Meanwhile, we walk in this gallery every year to take in the strong picturesque beauty,

the blocky and earthy design,

and the commonplace turned monumental, such as this naturalistic tea cup.

This sculptor works along the coastline all over the earth. She is such a prolific artist and is increasing production at an astonishing rate. While I appreciate the aesthetics, as time goes on, I fear it too.

 

Silence

It was quiet when we arrived. Not a breath of wind on a -6 C sunny winter day meant perfect conditions for snowshoeing. We were alone in the area on Islander Day, a winter holiday. We had scouted this old Heritage Road the previous day, wanting a place to snowshoe without the noise and traffic of snow machines. Luckily, snowmobilers don’t ride on the Millman Road. 

My husband and I put on our snowshoes quickly and headed out. 

Most noticeable was the absence of bird sounds and sightings. Our usual trails on the island have many species and numbers of birds, some year round. The Millman Road, which we frequent during the other seasons has always had the same. Not today. The woods were silent, accentuating the stark beauty around us.

The only sound was the crunch of snow with every step. The loose snow sparkled which I was unable to capture with the camera. Periodically we stopped to listen for the silence again, such an unusual experience. The sound of one’s breathing filled the air, a strange sensation indeed in this space. 

We weren’t alone however. Impressions in the snow left by other creatures gave us pause.

What could have made such a track? We speculated with each mysterious set. Hares, mice, skunks, foxes? Where are they now? The thought made the surrounding woodland feel alive in spite of the quiet.

Forty-five minutes later we stopped, having enjoyed every minute. We didn’t over extend ourselves since we wanted to be able to move the next day. The poles added extra effort, more than our usual walking. We will go further the next time we venture out on snowshoes.

A thermos of tea waited back at the car. The tea couldn’t have been better as we sat in our camp chairs in the silence. We absorbed it all, the tea which warmed us to the core and the stark beauty of this winter day.

                                                               View across a nearby field

Enjoying winter

While the title could be an oxymoron on occasion, it wasn’t this past weekend. Yesterday, my husband and I finally used the snowshoes we received for Christmas. We accompanied our daughter and the kids to a Prince Edward Island resort where cross country skiing, snowshoeing, tubing and skating are offered, with equipment rental possible. 

There were few people there and brief visits inside used Covid precautions but outside was safe and without masks.

Our daughter and the children rented snowshoes but my husband and I tried ours. Snowshoes have come a long way since the old wooden ones we used years ago. Our new ones are light weight aluminum and came with poles as well, a great bonus for two seniors. However poles go with snowshoes these days unlike years ago. 

These new snowshoes have metal spikes on the bottom, making it easy to walk over icy surfaces. It was common to find oneself sliding down an incline with the old wooden ones.

The children enjoyed snowshoeing. The girls had tried them at school, where class sets are used by the various classes in turn. The youngest, a boy of three, tried them for the first time and enjoyed the experience. He took great pleasure in arriving back at the starting point before Nanny and Poppy, who were taking up the rear.

Next came skating. Neither my husband nor I are skaters but our daughter and the girls are. Their brother had a pair of pink skates handed down from his sisters. Remember the days when the colour of clothes and such for boys never would have been pink? Thankfully those days are gone, at least until he starts school.

Learning to skate now is facilitated by a skate aid made of PVC which the child holds and pushes forward, supporting himself as he takes the first tentative strides. Our grandson loved the experience, helped by his mother and me at different times. He laughed with every fall and giggled his way over the ice.

The girls were tentative initially with this first skate of the season. By the time we left, they were reacquainted the the thin blades and glided over the ice with confidence. There are a number of outdoor rinks around Summerside which are maintained by the city this winter. The children will take advantage of them.

We brought a snack of granola bars, hot chocolate and marshmallows for the kids and a thermos of tea for the adults. Everyone enjoyed the warm beverage during an afternoon outdoors.

On our way to the resort, we passed an area where people were scraping the snow off a pond, preparing for a family skate. We recently saw a man and two children at Rollings Pond near North Rustico. A number of others were preparing to join them.

We had a great time with our family. While it was -8 C, it wasn’t windy and we dressed warmly. It was good to be out in nature, enjoying some physical activity. There is more snowshoeing in our future. 

Whisper goodbye

This is the story of one of those life moments, one that stays with you the rest of your life. I wrote this piece five years ago and every now and then, I am drawn back to it. It reaffirms for me what is important in my life and recently it’s been foremost in my mind.

That summer everything changed. Dad was sick. He had no energy and slept a great deal. This was different for him. At fifty-nine, since his retirement a few years previously, Dad had kept busy. Numerous tests and doctors had not explained the change.

During this same period, my grandmother O'Brien, Nan, had vascular dementia, living in and out of the world which included her family. By February, after Dad's last cancer treatment when doctors could not do any more for him, Nan was more often in her own world than in ours.

At that point in my life, I was married with one child, a daughter. In my teaching career I was principal of a small all grade school where I taught as well. My husband worked in the same school.

In February, I had a few days with my parents during which time Mom and I took Dad to see Nan. We spent every Sunday with Mom's family when my brother and I were growing up. That day, on the way to Maddox Cove, Newfoundland, to see my grandmother, I realized this would be the last time I’d see Nan with both of my parents.

My father had a great relationship with both of his in-laws, though my grandfather was long gone by this time. Dad's mother died when he was fourteen; he respected my grandmother O'Brien and thought of her as a mother figure though he always called her Missus. They never had harsh words and Dad helped Mom's family any way he could. There was mutual respect between my father and Mom's parents.

When we arrived in Maddox Cove, Nan was in her usual place on the daybed by the stove. She did not know me when I entered with my parents. I sat next to Nan with Dad on my right. 

Nan looked like she had for the last few years except her hair was greying at the temples now. She was thinner as well but her face was still smooth with few wrinkles. She looked younger than her eighty-five years. Her hair was lovely, kept that way by my mother who could have been a hairdresser. 

After I spoke to Nan for a few minutes, she recognized my voice, though not my adult appearance. Then, pointing to Dad, she said, "Who's that?"

"It's me, Missus. Sam," Dad replied. After all the treatment, Dad looked nothing like himself. He'd had radiation on his brain where the cancer had migrated, lost his hair and taken steroids which left his body swollen. If Nan had all her faculties she would have had difficulty recognizing Dad.

"Noooo, that's not Sam," Nan said.

"Yes... it is, Nan. He's... been sick," I said, choking back the tears.

"Noooo, that's not Sam. That's an old man," insisted my grandmother.

"Yes, Missus. It's me," Dad was able to say but then fell silent.

Sat there that day between these two people, I grew up. Neither of them was anything like the person I knew and loved. Yet, here they were, in essence the same, but each fading in his and her own way. Sat there, realizing the loss already, what was to come, the finality that was on the horizon, the days which would never be again, I shed the last vestiges of innocence. Being married, having a child, working, had not matured me the way this moment had.

As I drove back to my childhood home, I felt drained. In many ways, a girl had driven her parents to visit her grandmother one last time; a woman drove them home. I had a few months to assimilate what I had learned. Dad lived two months, Nan less than a year.

That day, in part, made me who I am today. It is woven into my being and as real now as it was then, a coming of age, guided by two loved ones whispering goodbye.

Hope

We’re tired, tired of the isolation, the precautions, the fear. We see the news every day showing parts of Canada faring poorly against this virus. The news makes us sad. That’s how my husband and I feel here in Prince Edward Island and we live in a place without Covid hospitalizations and deaths.

Following a shortened lockdown, we had Christmas in our little bubble with our daughter and the grandchildren. Some members of our family, living elsewhere in the country, though closely supported by family, haven’t been in their company since March. We are fortunate to live on Prince Edward Island and we know it. 

What is it like for people living alone? Many are on their own and have been for a long time now. Normal channels of social interaction are gone. Reading some of the blogs I enjoy gives me a glimpse of how people on their own are managing. It’s not easy. 

While there aren’t any stories of the previous pandemic circulating in our families, we have glimpses of some health issues affecting society and our families before us though. When I started school in 1959, school started later in the autumn because of the polio virus. At the time, I knew the name but little of what it was about except for images of people in iron lungs on tv and in newspapers. I know someone who acquired polio from a package sent into her northern community for Christmas. She was away from her family for years, receiving treatment as a young child into adolescence. Vaccine saved lives and people from disabilities. 

Going back further in time, people with tuberculosis went into sanitariums. Many died. My grandfather lost both parents and five siblings to TB when he was a young child. What was it like for families to wonder who would come down with that disease, or parents dying of the disease and leaving young families? Such tragedies were common.

My husband’s grandfather was a welfare officer on the west coast of Newfoundland in the 1930s. If someone in a family had diphtheria, the family went into quarantine for a period of time. Grandfather Smith put the quarantine notice on the door of the home and provided the family’s needs, such as groceries. My father lost his younger brother to diphtheria. Sometimes several children in a family died. 

Today, it is easy to complain about whatever our experience is because it is what’s real to us. However, we only have to look around us today and back in our own lifetimes and those of our parents and grandparents to see how fortunate we are. We have the knowledge of science to help us deal with the reality of this virus, a way to keep ourselves safe and now, a vaccine which was developed quickly. We need people to take the vaccine so we can live Covid free.

This current pandemic experience has highlighted how much we have to rely on one another for survival. My survival depends on my own actions, those of others around me, the community at large and vice versa. We need everyone to take the situation seriously and do their part in keeping themselves and consequently others, safe. That’s life in general though, isn’t it? Now our interdependence is magnified.  

Of course we are tired but also determined to live through this, healthy fear in tact and protocols in place. It looks like it will be summer before our age group will be vaccinated on PEI.  However, when the day arrives and we can all leave our bubbles safely again without Covid precautions, I hope we have heightened awareness of our interdependence as a people and are better for it. 

Frosty

Looking out the bedroom window as I closed the blinds, it looked like it was snowing. I watched the street light for a minute. Peculiar. Not snow but fog, an unusual visitor on a still night in winter. 

The next morning, everything but the air was white. A thick layer of radiation or hoar frost covered the branches and trees, created by nature’s paintbrush as the air cooled and deposited the water vapour in crystalline form on the twigs and branches. It left an impressive canvas.

After breakfast, we dressed quickly for a walk in the frigid air since the sun was already warming the east facing branches. The boardwalk was our destination of choice but we stopped along the way on a street with giant senior trees, 

so pretty in this frost.

Many along the boardwalk had cameras and one could understand why. The frost hung in the air as we looked out to the lighthouse. 

Along the trail, the trees and grasses were frosty, 

creating a magical though nippy cold atmosphere. 

Everyone we met remarked how beautiful it was to walk in those conditions.

As is typical this winter, it looked like the sun wouldn’t last long as the blue grey clouds spread over the scene. 

However it lifted our spirits to experience the phenomenon with so many others in the setting we know and love.