A deluge of precipitation welcomed us to the Maritimes, providing cooling relief from the hideous sunshine and warmth that afflicted us in Ontario and Quebec. I get to practice the trick of photographing memorials in heavy rain without permitting the cameras to drown in the downpour.
Before departing Edmunston we checked out the town’s display of chainsaw public art and the Saturday craft market. Typical of open-air Maritime markets, we liked both the quality of the wares on offer and the prices; we walked away with a bagful of prizes to dispense to kith and kin.
A royal welcome awaited us at Nackawic. Cousin Carole and Herb provided their usual generous measure of hospitality and good conversation. And an after-dinner floor show too: daughter Leanne came by with 11-year-old Corey. Corey is a carrot-topped boy’s-boy who perfectly fits the character you’d imagine if Lucy Maud Montgomery’s famed book was not about Ann, but
Andy of Green Gables. Leanne showed us her own just-published kids’ book,
Snoops and the Red-tailed Shark. Corey entertained us with stories of life on the farm, accounts featuring a one-eyed dog, a one-eared cat and a goat well loved despite its occasional practice of peeing on the living-room couch.
The rain continued as we rumbled though Harvey NB, birthplace of Don Messer. If you remember the name you are of a certain age. A half century ago, in a simpler, perhaps happier time
Don Messer’s Jubilee was a down-home, beloved staple of Canadian television. Nowadays
Little Mosque on the Prairie seems more to Canadian tastes. I wondered what that says about the cultural evolution the nation has undergone.
St Andrews NB is a Loyalist town, established in 1783 by refugees from New England confident of feeling more at home as continuing members of the Empire than as
citizens of the new American republic. In the persistent rain we gawked at 200-year-old buildings, checked the names in the Loyalist burial ground and took shelter in yet another national historic site, the St Andrews Blockhouse.
Nova Scotia beckons. Tomorrow we expect to reach my native province at some point of the mid-afternoon. We anticipate another red-carpet welcome at Amherst Shore, from pals Garth and Carole. Garth says I’m not a
perfect friend – I’d have to be a golfer to reach that echelon – but otherwise good enough. We expect an outbreak of the usual merriment.
Before departing Edmunston we checked out the town’s display of chainsaw public art and the Saturday craft market. Typical of open-air Maritime markets, we liked both the quality of the wares on offer and the prices; we walked away with a bagful of prizes to dispense to kith and kin.
A royal welcome awaited us at Nackawic. Cousin Carole and Herb provided their usual generous measure of hospitality and good conversation. And an after-dinner floor show too: daughter Leanne came by with 11-year-old Corey. Corey is a carrot-topped boy’s-boy who perfectly fits the character you’d imagine if Lucy Maud Montgomery’s famed book was not about Ann, but Andy of Green Gables. Leanne showed us her own just-published kids’ book, Snoops and the Red-tailed Shark. Corey entertained us with stories of life on the farm, accounts featuring a one-eyed dog, a one-eared cat and a goat well loved despite its occasional practice of peeing on the living-room couch.
The rain continued as we rumbled though Harvey NB, birthplace of Don Messer. If you remember the name you are of a certain age. A half century ago, in a simpler, perhaps happier time Don Messer’s Jubilee was a down-home, beloved staple of Canadian television. Nowadays Little Mosque on the Prairie seems more to Canadian tastes. I wondered what that says about the cultural evolution the nation has undergone.
St Andrews NB is a Loyalist town, established in 1783 by refugees from New England confident of feeling more at home as continuing members of the Empire than as 
citizens of the new American republic. In the persistent rain we gawked at 200-year-old buildings, checked the names in the Loyalist burial ground and took shelter in yet another national historic site, the St Andrews Blockhouse.
Nova Scotia beckons. Tomorrow we expect to reach my native province at some point of the mid-afternoon. We anticipate another red-carpet welcome at Amherst Shore, from pals Garth and Carole. Garth says I’m not a perfect friend – I’d have to be a golfer to reach that echelon – but otherwise good enough. We expect an outbreak of the usual merriment.
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