We went on a
multi-purpose road trip. Knowing that Jan’s affection for traveling in Leo,
the noisy Ram three-quarter ton pickup, is much slighter than my own, Darcy and
Amanda generously offered the loan of their shiny, new Toyota Corolla. I would
have considered the offer far too kind but Jan accepted—and happily drove every
one of the 1,200 km of the journey.
A main objective of the odyssey was to bask in the presence
of Doris Irene Bowles MacLeod, my beloved Mum, now in her 95th year.
The dear old thing remains a gold-standard model of positivity, good nature and
engagement, a model I can dream about
emulating in years to come but know I never will. Mother and son canvassed the
usual array of subjects: family affairs, the World Cup, the rescue of the
cave-trapped Thai boys, the latest astounding and incomprehensible developments
in the Donald Trump saga. Of course we played cribbage too, culminating in a series
finale that saw Doris skunk me in a drubbing that brought to mind Secretariat’s
thrashing of the field in the 1973 Kentucky Derby.
Nancy and Donald put up with us for a couple of nights at
their shangri-la at the mouth of the Shubenacadie. I got up early both mornings,
went for a walk, nearly stepped on a porcupine when his path crossed mine on
the grown-over old Princeport road. Whether I was more startled than my barbed
friend, who can say. I flushed a family of pheasants too, savoured the vocal stylings
of an array of warblers and a brilliant rose-breasted grosbeak, felt freshly grateful
for nature’s plenitude.
Halifax was the scene of the Atlantic Independent
Booksellers’ 2018 Summer Book Fair. I was one of four writers invited to give
presentations on their latest works at the Monday breakfast session. I spoke
about Frank Fredrickson and Duke Keats, two of my favourites among thirty-two
members of the Hockey Hall of Fame who were also soldiers in the Great War of
1914-18. My new book, From Rinks to
Regiments, will be published by Heritage House in October. I hope the
Monday talk will have persuaded a bookseller or two to give Rinks a turn in their front window
displays this autumn.
At Amherst Shore, Garth and Carole extended their usual
over-the-top welcome. On Monday evening the women thrashed the men at bridge.
On Tuesday we went to New Brunswick, the women to take in a quilt show, the men
to inspect the old Albert County courthouse and gaol and to attend to exhibits
on two local lads who made good: R. B. Bennett, Canada’s prime minister from 1930
to 1935, and Cy Peck, commanding officer of the 16th Battalion,
Canadian Scottish, winner of the Victoria Cross in 1918.
At Alma, gateway to Fundy National Park, our quartet invaded
a little building that is currently the venue of Saprano’s Pizzeria but once
upon a time was the cozy home of my Aunt Catherine and Uncle Cecil, a place I
knew intimately as a boy. Other intimacies occurred there: goaded by Garth, I
explained to the Saprano’s clientele, servers and husband-and-wife proprietors
that this very place is where I was conceived in early May 1946. The honeymoon
corner is now re-purposed: the Sapranos’ men’s loo. Where Mum and Dad took the
key initial steps at producing their first-born is now the place dozens of men
go to pee every single business day. The female half of the proprietor team
made my day—no, my whole month. Regarding me with plenty of eye contact and a
very warm smile, ‘Ms. Saprano’, said of my parents, the newlyweds, “they did a
good job”. Honest. I neither lie nor exaggerate.
Departing Alma we chose the coastal scenic route and were
not short-changed. If, gentle reader, you ever have the chance to select NB
Highway 915 as your road of choice for getting from Alma to Albert, do it: the
views of Shepody Bay, Cape Enrage and Mary’s Point are every bit as enticing as
the place names are evocative.
Some road trips are better than others. Hearing an impartial,
objective observer assert that HJ and Doris did “a good job” in that corner
bridal suite oh so long ago did much to make this particular road trip one to
remember.
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