Yarnin’ with Grace

It was a great trip. However, it wasn’t the trip I’d planned as Mom had twisted her ankle two weeks before while she was visiting my brother out at Salt Spring in BC. Walking far was not on her agenda which put a bit of a damper on her hiking. My cell phone never worked after leaving Pearson, not even in St. John’s. Since Mom wasn’t up to walking, I didn’t want to leave her anywhere where she couldn’t contact me so we stuck pretty close together the whole time. There would be no off road adventure this time. I had planned this trip as a thank you for my 86 year old Mother who had always made sure that I got to experience the things in life that I wanted and I needed to show her the most amazing place in the world.

I had to take a bit of time before I wrote about the trip. I wanted the good stuff to settle in as lots went wrong and I was afraid I would dwell on that. We had a great deal of rain every day. ‘Writers at Woody Point’ was an amazing literary festival. The location was fabulous and totally suited to the events. It’s too bad it was so far removed from St. John’s but I guess that was part of the charm. Newfoundland was such a freaking big island.  

I had no idea that I would not have cell phone service there. Eventually,  I would get service in downtown St. John’s. In December, I had made reservations at Crocker Cabins, a bit out of town at Trout River. I hoped Mom would be comfortable there if I found someone with whom to hike. The other guests stayed in their rooms so she didn’t meet anyone. I did not feel that I could leave her alone, so I didn’t. It was obvious that I would need to make next year’s reservations before we left to ensure accommodations without the daily trek.

At the festival, heard great writers and storytellers so I left a fair bit of cash in Gros Morne buying books and music. I needed another suitcase just for the books. The rain didn’t really keep us from doing things each day but we were always late getting started since it was most often raining when we rose. Back and forth to Woody Point each day was a bit tiring for Mom. On the weekends there were two performances daily, so we did it twice a day.

Our journey was completely smooth until we got to the Deer Lake airport; there was no car. It seems they were expecting us at the downtown location so our car was given away. The car eventually came. It was a Grand Prix. A little bigger than the Yaris we ordered. This could be a good thing. As we left the airport, the light was beginning to fade but we pressed on. As we turned off the Trans Canada Highway, locally known as the TCH, the road conditions deteriorated, but at least I could see the centre line. The sunset was amazing over the mountains but there was nowhere to pull off. We were heading west so I hoped we could catch the sunset on a rise.  Soon after that, Mom starting to get anxious. She didn’t say anything in particular but I could tell in her voice each time she asked, “How much further?” Her seat was quite low down and she’d lost some height from osteoporosis. It must have been like being a kid in the back seat of Dad’s huge Impala on the way to the cottage when all you could see looking up out the windows was the light filtering through the trees. Up and down, down and up along the gravel road north out of Havelock… Up and down, down and up. The sun had set in the valleys but the tops of the mountains had a glow of purple on the tips. There was a huge grade coming down into Glenburnie which went down about a kilometer and a half. Straight down, no curve. No emergency run off. “Test your brakes” it would have said in West Virginia, but this was Newfoundland. The only signs pictured a crushed car next to a monstrous moose.

Mom was panicky that she could not see the road and probably thought that I could not as well.  I felt familiar with the area even though I could not see a thing beyond the edge of the road. I had driven it so many times in my mind. I counted off the towns one by one to Mom: Wiltondale, Glenburnie, Birchy Head, Shoal Brook, Woody Point. It was pitch black by now. We followed route 431 out of Woody Point around a steep sharp left-handed upward curve on the way to our destination.

“One more town, Mom.”

“How far is that?”

“Eighteen kilometers!”

“Oh my gawd!” she exclaimed.

Looking back on that made me laugh for the rest of our journey.

At about the fifteen kilometer mark, between the mountains, I could see the flat surface of the Gulf of the St. Lawrence and knew we were nearly there.  The twinkling lights of the town sparkled in the valley. Trout River. Now all we had to do was find our cabin.

The drive back into Woody Point was much improved over the night before. Although overcast with low clouds, the area was a sight to behold. On our right were the majestic reddish orange Tablelands, born out of the earth’s mantle rising 700 meters above with a gentle concave slope. On the other side of the road in direct contrast, the Gabbro rocks formed the inverse convex slope. They were hard and domed but unlike the peridotite of the Tablelands; the Gabbro can sustain botanical life. They were lush and green with the stunted tuckamore. There were many trails and parking areas to stop and enjoy the view. Mom would become all too familiar with these. The trails in this area were pretty rugged and not suited for Mom, so I guessed we wouldn’t be hiking any of these.  I’d save her strength for Prescott Street in St. John’s.

Lunch at Cow Head seemed a good idea and along the way we stopped at Western Brook Pond trailhead for some photos. Oh my. What a sight. The low clouds were blue grey, green, and purple. I could not believe that I was  here to capture this. I have dreamed of this sight. I did not want to move from this spot. I kept watching to see the light changing. It moved in and out of the clouds, highlighting and shadowing the gigantic cliffs of the gneiss fjords. In front of me was the peat and muck that form bogs and fens which overlay the limestone bedrock. Mounds and ridges of till blanket the sandstone that had been formed in deep water and pushed here many thousands of years ago. It was about then that I realized my camera had reverted to some obscure white balance and was set for incandescent light; the shade of blue in my pictures was spectacularly eerie. Time to learn some Photoshop techniques. On the return trip we stopped again at this trailhead; now the sky had cleared and the sun shone on the north face of the cliffs. These were all new colours, a little more rust and the deep etched cliffs became more prominent.

Every few miles we saw the warnings to watch for moose. We both called out ‘watch for moose’, partly to acknowledge the sign and partly to make note of how often we saw the sign. Payoff! There was a moose feeding in the ditch, nose in the bush. I braked carefully after checking the rear view to make sure  no one was on my tail.  I wanted to get a good view as well as to ensure he didn’t turn and run into my path. There was no antler rack. I’m not sure if that meant it was a female or just immature. Mom got a good glimpse before I resumed cruising speed. I would have liked to pull off but there was very little shoulder and we were on the Viking Trail, the truck route to and from St. Anthony with a posted speed of 100kmh.

The flight to St John’s was less than an hour in the six passenger prop plane. The Captain cruised at a low altitude so we could take in the landscape from a different perspective. The sun decided to keep the clouds away and skies were almost clear so it seemed like a perfect chance to head up to Signal Hill and see if there was a view.  It was wonderfully grand.  The sun was shining on the Southside Hills and most of the town was in the shadow of the headlands.  Cabot Tower stood out in all its majesty and tourists were perched on the upper observation decks.  Massive black clouds looming in the west looked like they were ready to drop wild water on the city.  We had to move fast but I could see some great photo opportunities on the horizon.  For me, the emotion I felt on top of Signal Hill was euphoria.  I could sit there for hours watching the sea, watching the clouds, feeling the salt air fresh on my skin.  It felt like being on the edge of the world and nothing is in the way of your dreams. The wind makes you know you are alive. There’s a beauty that lets you feel as if you are standing next to God. It is something that you have to experience for yourself, and ‘see the world from way up here’.

A few days after the return to Toronto we had a fresh fish lunch at the Old York with a long time friend.  Mom had me retelling the stories about the car, about the roads, about the tablelands, about the tuckamore, about the moose, about the tower.  She couldn’t remember everything she saw.  I remarked on how we would make some changes next year.  Next year?  You want to take me back?  Yvonne remarked about mom’s comments last Christmas when she received the gift.  She was apprehensive; she figured she’d be dead by then or worse, die there.  I prepared an album for Mom with photos of all the crazy colours, the rain and the rocks.  Mom carried it around with her like it was a piece of gold.  She took it to the girls having coffee; she took it to line dancing; she took it to the hairdressers, and I bet she even took it to church.  She was so proud of that book, she was afraid to call me and tell me that she had lost it.

Posted under Newfoundland 2007

Early on in my Newfoundland exploits, I learned of the traditional dishes of cod tongues and cod cheeks. I was raised on simple Irish cooking, bland meat and potatoes, so this was an adventure. Traditionally the tongues and cheeks are fried in salt pork and served up hot and fresh, but many chefs are taking advantage of their scarcity to try out new and adventurous recipes with unusual spices to bring notoriety to their establishments. They have become a bit of a delicacy because cod stocks are depleting. The tongues are rarely found in regular markets as they are most often taken out with the cheeks and sold at the wharf.

In a bygone era, it was common place to see young lads carrying buckets of tongues and cheeks to sell door to door, to earn a little pocket money.

You did not know that cod had cheeks? This is the part of the fish that is just below the eye, it is most delicate and soft, like the tenderloin of the pig or cow and there are no bones.

But there is something you should know if you are going to try it. There are different ways to prepare the tongue for market. Some places give you the whole tongue. Others trim it up first. The untrimmed tongue has a glutinous jelly like consistency that can startle your taste buds when you first dig in. It can be slippery going down and will perk up some senses that have been lazing around. Try some yourself. All you need is some tongues or cheeks, rinse and moisten with milk, dredge them in some flour with a little salt and pepper, fry lightly in some salt pork or oil and serve it up hot with your favourite veggies, potatoes and crispy rendered pork bits called scrunchins.

Since I had taken the plunge with tongues and cheeks, it wasn’t a far stretch to accept a lunch invitation of canned moose.  It wasn’t so much in a can, rather in a bottle, like your mother used to can the summer berries but they were in little jars with paraffin seals. I thought of the days my mom would order a side of beef, I revelled in all the cuts of meat  wrapped in the butcher’s brown freezer paper, labelled and stacked neatly in the freezer in the basement.  Moose was an everyday meal at my new friend’s house, not a rare occurrence. The bottle of moose came up from the cellar and was prepared into a hearty stew with root vegetables. The meal wasn’t heavy; it was hearty for the midday meal.  The taste was surprising. I expected it to taste like the tough old cow we got at Uncle Ed’s place. But this was light, delicate and very tender with a slightly stronger scent and it was absolutely delightful.

Recently, in Florida, I discovered a menu of Alligator tail and Grouper cheeks. Stay tuned for that escapade.

Posted under Adventures in food

The debris from last night’s violent thunder storm was being hosed off the patio at the waterfront club as we approached. My skin had been clammy all day with the stifling humid heat of the Florida summer but now was feeling refreshed.  Miami’s Bayfront Park area is filled with many fine and casual restaurants where I love to enjoy a fresh seafood brunch but the acrid fume of an idling gasoline engine churning up the saltwater next to the wharf threatened to take the edge off my appetite. The last time I ate here, my lips were puckered from the refreshing tart unsweetened key lime iced tea and I look forward to it again. We heard the sound of the seagulls cawing overhead reminding us that we needed a table with an umbrella. We ordered several appetizers including Alligator tail and Grouper cheeks. The tail was prepared in a crunchy cornflake cocoanut batter and served with a spicy Cajun dip. The succulent juices of the delicate flesh squirted in my mouth as I bit into the tasty morsels. I felt my mouth stretch into a wide smile. It was a delightful flavour. The grouper cheeks were another matter. They were panfried to a light crispness and a tart key lime drizzle but where had all these tiny bones come from? Cod cheeks are the tenderloin cut from under the eye with no bone. I suspected that these weren’t really grouper cheeks. This was going to need some more investigation.

Posted under Adventures in food

My first job after graduating university was as tour hostess for a bus tour company ferrying clients around Canada and the US, to all the favourite tourist destinations. It was a great job. For the most part, many of the clients were seniors that didn’t want the responsibility to book and arrange travel for themselves. The tour company did everything for them. My job was to take care of them and make sure they kept up to the schedule. I thought that I did a great job. I was having fun, showing of my skills as geology major and keeping up to the plan. I had survived some of the roughest ocean waters between Cape Cod and Hyannis and had taken more than one side trip to the emergency ward to find care for a client suffering from the apparent signs of a heart attack.. I knew the company product, I had the program brochure memorized. The senior staff got the best, and longest trips. As September rolled around and many of the students returned to school, there was less staff to share the trips, but also less trips going out. Since I was staying on, this would be my chance to shine and get some of those long, exotic trips. My supervisor announced that my next rip would be 21 days to Newfoundland and Labrador. Yikes! Not what I had in mind. The Newfoundland  trip has two ferry trips. One 8 hours and the other 18 hours, overnight, no less. I was going to be the one in charge and scarred to death. The biggest boat I’d ever been on was the Toronto Island ferry with 200 passengers. If I didn’t take this assignment, I’d be home without pay for 3 weeks as all the other assignments were taken. ‘’Well okay”. I was resigned to do it, so let’s make the most of it. So, after a week on the road, I had had lots of advice on how to handle the crossing. “Stay up late, so you are really tired, and will sleep, if she starts to roll.” “Don’t eat a big greasy meal in the commissary, so you don’t puke.”Hmm, that’s all they serve. “Stay on deck for fresh air.” I tried it all. I spoke to a few crew members on deck that night and learned that this was a fairly rough crossing, but calmer seas were ahead. I was feeling fine. I spent several hours talking to other passengers. One young gentleman was making a backpack journey across Canada. We exchanged addresses and kept in touch for the next few years; he became a close friend and someone I could share my love of music with. It was close to 2 am that I decided to turn in and went to my cabin a few decks below. I was calm and tired and knew I should sleep.

Sleep came easy but not for long. I awoke about three hours later and there was a mossy green glow beckoning me to the porthole. Twilight at dawn had overtaken the sea and sky and presented a ghostly landscape in hues of green fog as we cruised up Placentia Bay. I was visually stunned and knew that my camera had to capture this experience. The millennia old mountains with their smooth and rounded tops were lush with the trees found in the boreal forest. Would my Kodak film render these shades? I thought I was in a place that came from Tolkien story books. It was sight that left me feeling like the Hobbit Pippin finally out of the Shire. As the days progressed, it would  become clear that despite my youth, this journey of a lifetime would ensure my growth and maturity in spite of my mistakes.

Posted under Newfoundland 1976

I’m not much a dreamer while I am sleeping. Although I have been known to dream a lot while I am awake; those are different dreams. If I do dream, they escape my head too quickly to write anything down. I don’t remember them. I work long hours and am usually very tired when I get home. It’s often straight to bed with a good book. Sometimes, I think I must dream about what I am reading because later I can’t find that place in the book. But last week I did remember waking after a dream.

I was in great search for the fastest pen. I searched paper shops all over the city for the perfect pen. I tried many pens but none seemed to be fast enough to capture my thoughts. I saw my hand moving fast, like in those TV scenes where they show time moving quickly, sped up.  I found some of the prettiest pens with purple felt, gold braids and even feathers on them. I wanted to buy a lovely Sherpa pen that would convert my favourite shade of slim green Le Pen into a chunky green and purple polka dot stylo, but it wasn’t fast enough either.   I asked one shopkeeper for some paper to try them out and she kept bringing me brightly coloured leather journals to test the pens. “No, no, no, I need fast paper, too. These wont do.”

Then I woke up with a numb hand.

Posted under Writing Projects

August 25, 2006.  20°

I picked up Jay today at about 6:40 p.m. at work.  Traffic was medium getting out of the city.  Sky was clear and bright the sunset was a bit distracting since we were headed west.  The volume of traffic improved outside of Milton we found very clean restrooms at Woodstock and a quick stop coffee Tims was terrific even had sanitizers in the washrooms.

The road is down to one lane near London but it is not much delay.  We started to get some rain about 40 minutes outside of Windsor.  We weren’t sure if we wanted to go all the way to Windsor as the hotels along Huron Church are quite pricey, so we decided to look for something after Tilbury.  No luck.  No choice.  We headed into Windsor along Dougal and found Comfort Inn .  Great room, great price.

August 27.

We left the hotel at 9:17 a.m., got over the bridge, through the border patrol and turned around on the highway to go in the proper direction all by 9:34 a.m. not bad.  It was the first trip across the border for the new Corolla so I wasn’t sure if there would be more questions.

This road is very bumpy. We’re on the I 75 at Rockwood south of Detroit. Once we move into Ohio the roads seem much smoother.  Boy, this land in Ohio is very flat lots of agricultural land but I can see some forest areas.  Nice smooth roads.  It’s surprising that given the amount of traffic on the roads around Detroit, you’d think they’d be in better shape.  The hardest thing about traveling in the US for me is where to eat, on the road.  Lunch choices are McDonald’s and Wendy’s, Burger King, Subway but mostly fried food or sit down meals.  So I find a Waffle House it’s a good choice.  You can get it in and out in half an hour.

So what’s with our luck?  It seems that every trip there is one product that throws us.  Every place we have tried to have decaf today, has had no milk. Sorry, just cream, even a Tim Horton’s in Monroe Ohio.  Our server was extremely pleasant and apologetic when we told her our story.  We all had a good laugh over it.  Oh yeah, it’s 33°.  It was 20° in Windsor when we arrived last night.

We checked into the hotel at 4 p.m. 90°. The AC was on in the room full blast but it really stinks of carpet fresh.  There seems to be a mildew issue at the hotel.  It was an older hotel that has been upgraded to add conferences facilities.  It has a fairly large outdoor pool with patio area but Lexington has rules about swimming alone so I’ll have to wait for Jay to finish a nap before I get into the pool.  Did I mention it’s 33° in the shade.  The hotel also has an indoor pool.  We picked up our registration kits and headed to the pool about 5.30.  We had a laugh when a family arrived with two boys who were so excited that there was an indoor pool and headed inside.  I’m willing to bet it was more than 90° poolside there.

After a brief glance at some tourist info we decided to go downtown for dinner.  The banquet would keep us at the hotel on Saturday, so now was the time to see the city.  We wandered a bit before settling on da Shea’s  in Victoria Square.

This is a spectacular shopping ‘center’ with old-fashioned black and white floor tiles that is over a century old.  The food and service were great.  We both had fish and chips.  A huge pile of haddock with a few  chips.  Jay enjoyed a ” Kentucky ale”.  Jay says ” it’s not the best I’ve had but it’s enjoyable nonetheless”.

We strolled across the triangular park after dinner for some late-night photos of the 100 fountains at Lexington Center.  Many of the park benches were enjoyed by couples relaxing on a hot summer evening.  It must be 90°.  Back at the hotel, we had to open the window to let scent out.  The crickets and cicadas chirped all night long.  It cooled off to about 72° but rose quickly again on Saturday.  We were inside most of the day.  Judging started promptly with a breakfast at 630.  Judging was to go until noon and the local press announced the show would be open at 10, so we had to hurry.  We didn’t have enough copies to work with, so it was pretty hard to follow, but I managed.

The AC went at it in the lecture room and it got hot in a hurry.  There were 120 delegates from three countries. Lecture number one was a tour of Panama by Woodland Orchids in Maryland . Number two with Harry Phillips. It was on mounting by Andy’s orchids and lecture number three was Weyman Bussey of California talking on Mexican species. It turned into a bit of a comedy event.

The auction was hot, lots of donations, $4500, this set dinner back to 8/15 and it was difficult to enjoy because we were so late and hot.  There were lots of items from an orchid growers estate. There was a handmade comforter, handpainted cushions, jewelry. There was even a handknit Catts and cat sweater. It brought $300.  Mark Van der Voed modeled the bathrobe as well,  Barry Jones was ‘wrapped’ in bolts of fabric.  We shared a table with a group from Bluegrass Society.  Enjoyable meal of stuffed sole, huge potato and a flaming Bourbon dessert.  Bourbon balls were served at every turn.  This is bluegrass, horsey and Bourbon country.

While Jay was showering for breakfast I turned on the TV to find that there had been a very early morning commuter plane crash, here in Lexington. That put a damper on the meeting as some of our delegates had left early to the airport. So early in the investigation we had no idea of the details. The affiliated societies breakfast was also in a room that was too small, but another good meal.

I had to check out the ‘Hot brown” meal,  the local treat. Turned out to be Turkey with brown sauce with cheese then broiled. Mmmm, tasty.  Back to the show.  Judges forum for Jay had only about 20 participants.  I snuck in after checking out.

33° August 28.

We headed out to about one or so and found the bookstore, CD store and Dillards quite easily.  As we attempted to enter I 75 I noted the traffic was stopped solid, so we kept on the local road and found a ‘back road’ north. This was the aftermath of the plane crash.  Windy, hilly terrain through horse country.  Black fences, black barns well manicured and stately mansions on the horse farms.  We stopped for a quiet bite at McDonald’s around 5 p.m. and kept on going.  It’s still 33° at about 6:30 p.m. we decided to head back to the Interstate.  We entered it Williamston.  We drove to Findlay Ohio.  We stopped at 7 p.m. at the Ohio welcome center just past 7 p.m. so of course it was closed.  We were able to pick up hotel coupons and decided to try the Econo  lodge at a I 57. We checked in around 9 p.m. the beds or clean, the room was bright, the staff is friendly but there were no amenities.  The TV was not good either.

August 29 21° and rain as we leave.  We will stop at Lowe’s after the Waffle House.   Jay has some special remedies he likes to pick up that we can’t get back home. Wonder why? At 11:30 a.m. were back on the I 75.  Jay and I talked extensively about Soos rejoining the MAOC There are some benefits.  Most importantly is  the network for speakers.  It is hard to attract speakers that want to sell plants because of the regulations surrounding CITES.  At 130 we crossed the border back into Canada . After topping up our tank with gas at $.72 a liter, duty free shop at I75.  If the gas is always this cheap it may be worth our while to make a little jog around from 96 to I75 when we return from Ann Arbor to get duty-free gas at Lafayette.  Home by 6 p.m. 24°.

Posted under Road trips