A DECADE--well, more--IN NOVA SCOTIA (1999 – 2011)

Belated Christmas letter from Elisabeth, Marike and Karin
 

Since we have now celebrated TWELVE New Years on the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia, we thought we might benefit from a reflection on our time here.  You’re our excuse for doing this, so we hope you can bear to bear with us in this extra long more-than-decade survey edition of our annual letter.

To be sure, living on Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore has great advantages, primarily the sheer beauty of the place--when you can see it.  It is said that skunks have their odour to protect them from predators and the Eastern Shore its fog.  Nevertheless last summer was relatively fog free and, while many of you might not consider 20-25C terribly hot, it was warm for us, so warm that we could swim in the ocean for long periods like fifteen or twenty minutes or even half an hour. 

Karin, ever one to see a glass half full, has taken to photography in order to convince herself and those of you receiving her Picasa updates that staying the course Down East has been well worth it.  So intent is she on her mission that she has upgraded from a point and shoot camera to the top of the line Canon SLR.  Now she resembles one of Canada’s soldiers in Afghanistan, although with more success, as she bazookas around the coastlines and woodlands of the province.  A good thing, too, that she is recording these sites, for the rising tidal surges are washing out the former while the progressive NDP energy policy is soon to eradicate the latter.  Nova Scotia Power has been given the green light, along with the almost bankrupt New Page Paper Company, to generate electricity from renewable biomass: read, Crown land stumpage, or, all of our remaining trees.

At first Marike continued to stride along at her usual breakneck pace as Karin and Elisabeth stopped every other whipstitch to photograph something.  Finally she succumbed to shutter-buggery, feeling lonely out there just looking at things. She has nicknamed the three of us out for a stroll “the snapping turtles.”

Karin not only has a half full glass, she now has a half-fulltime job at NSCAD.  This means that she teaches writing and administers almost full-time throughout the fall, winter and what seems like much of the summer, in exchange for half a salary and some benefits.  This is a fitting economic deal for NSCAD, which is itself on the verge of bankruptcy because its past director renovated a rented wreck into a new campus for $20 M without putting the financing in place, and then he left.  The current president has run away from the problem to South Africa for the next six months.  Who knows where it will all end?

It is unlikely that the provincial government with its out of control deficit will see fit to direct its scant resources away from illness to art education.  Perhaps NSCAD’s Port Campus could become Halifax’s 4^th conference centre since the proposed third seems to be garnering funding.  For a mere $169M we, the tax payers, will build the basement of a tower complex where we will bury alive “thousands of projected conference goers.”  We wouldn’t want them to look at the sea--after all they might want to stay and bring a business to the city.  That’s all Nova Scotia needs, more CFAs (abbreviation for “Come From Aways”) our status--once donned, never shed.  We are beginning to agree with the person who said that Nova Scotia is like a motorcycle gang, hard to get into, but then just try to leave it.

Marike has given up job hunting in Nova Scotia for good now.  At first she had some doubt about the outcomes of sending her CV to various solicitations since nothing ever came back from the endeavour.  But now, after being told by one institution that they had called off the search, preferring no one to her, and by her psychotherapeutic colleagues in the city to learn cognitive and behavioural therapy rather than try to be the only trained psychoanalyst in the city, she has decided to stop trying to add a dash of difference to  the mix.  Not much of a mix really though since immigrants and visible minorities do not come or stay here in any significant numbers.

But who wants a job anyway? It would interfere with our most extensive and thrilling pastime: planning.  Planning is Marike’s speciality, but she consistently sweeps Karin and Elisabeth up with the force of her energy and vision.  We think we are at plan # 24698 already although that may be a gross underestimate.  So far this year we have planned to sail across the Pacific three times--planned 3 x not sailed 3 x: once to sail through the Panama Canal and north to Maine, once to take Dockwise to BC, once to stay in Mexico and get new sails, and then once again (making 4x—yes, we do have trouble counting) we decided, let’s go to BC after all.  Thus we have finally booked passage of Quoddy’s Run on Dockwise Yacht Transport from La Paz, Mexico to Nanaimo, BC.  The exorbitant cost for this adventure will be covered posthumously by Karin’s grandparents, who have kindly left her a small inheritance.  Karin’s grandpa was a rather staid, cautious man, so we deem it fitting that he should help us to set off on the great adventure of exploring Canada’s west coast (and who knows, maybe even traversing the North West Passage!)  Her grandma would have loved to hear all about it, we are sure.

So it is that in order to work out how to renew a much needed proximity to our families and old friends in Central Canada and the USA, we are going sailing on Quoddy’s Run in British Columbia and frolicking with our friends out there.  Perfectly logical, n’est-ce pas?  This way we can continue planning and avoid solving the logistics of how to orchestrate such a move.

 A little eco-house on the land Marike inherited from her parents on the Bay of Quinte next to the old family cottage which is now Judy’s? But wait, it has to have studios and bedrooms for the three of us, plus guest quarters and enough wall space to house our art collection.

What about a pied-a-terre in Montreal?  At least then we’d be close to our own psychoanalysts.  That might help.  Sounds like a good idea, until you try to rent or buy a place that has a yard for the dog, room for other pets, bedrooms and studies for the three of us--and of course, centrally located with a consulting office for Marike who would have to practice 24/7 for the rest of her life and then some in order to afford the rent or the mortgage on such a space.

Instead of building, renting or saving for any of these plans, last summer Marike planned and helped to renovate our studio into a guest house.  (Any takers?  We’re looking for a renter for the season!) She’s taking a little breather from Green politics (worried about splitting the progressive vote) in order to dedicate herself to some small practical green projects—beginning with an eco-toilet and a grey water-treatment pit.  (Bottoms up!) 

We hadn’t made any art in the studio since the freezer truck—which has now ceased its racket--was pointed at it.  Last summer many friends and guests availed themselves of the place, reporting perfect functioning of the sewage treatment plant and great delight at such a lovely place by the sea.  We too were delighted to have their visits.  

Ever the contrarian, Marike at once began carving whale bone and oil painting, neither of which should be done at home.  But what else could she do? Whale bone dust wafted throughout the house and the place smelled like a dental clinic for whales. 

 A further avoidance strategy for moving ahead on any of our relocation plans was also devised by Marike and Karin who, as soon as the mortgage was paid down, rushed out to buy a used camper van, a Roadtrek, now fittingly named Toadwreck (it’s old so we go slowly in it, mainly to avoid consuming more fuel than a jet engine would), in order to pursue another project – visiting all of Canada’s National Parks and making a photo book about them.  So far we have ventured out to Keji for a long weekend and posted nothing though we have the blog site mocked up.  

Amidst this flurry of activity Karin managed to produce a book from her blog, Visible Poetry.  Quite amazing really--both the book and the fact that she managed to do this despite all of Marike’s distractions.  Marike did manage to distract herself sufficiently so as not to finish a collection of short stories.  And still she threatens to start a novel.
 

But what of Elisabeth in all of this?  Thankfully for her, she misses out on most of the talk since her hearing is greatly diminished.  We used to tease her that it was a fitting ailment for a psychoanalyst, and now we suggest to her that it is a blessing in disguise while she lives with the two of us – but we are not sure she’s heard us.  If she did, she doesn’t let on; in true psychoanalytical silence she carries on sanely with her photography, email correspondence, and vacations with French friends and family – Venice last summer and Vietnam this winter.  Only the letters WXY and Z remain.  An avid flower gardener, Elisabeth also applies her green thumb to vegetable gardening; at least that way we have gourmet greens to eat in these recessionary days.

While we did not approve of Mr. Harper’s stimulus plan--which appears to have spent something like $50 billion dollars in order to leave a legacy of back yard decks across Canada--we did nevertheless avail ourselves of the renovation tax credit and now defunct energy efficiency retrofit incentives.   Ah those bleeding heart liberals who can never be consistent!   We maxed out the allowances, working alongside our trusty carpenter, David, to replace doors and windows, insulate the basement, replace the furnace, install a fireplace insert, and fix leaks.  We have reduced said leaks from around 30--that’s more than our boat has--to just one mysterious source.  This huge house can now be safely left without fear that it will flood, cost thousands to heat, or become covered in soot from an exploding furnace.  We HOPE we’ve covered all the bases.

We are more ambivalent about the huge shore remediation work, forced upon us by rising water levels and high tidal surges.  Fearing a “washed out dyke,” we had huge stone walls constructed between us and the sea.  Still, when the bill for this arrives we may well have to wash out to sea after all.  Then again, perhaps instead of selling Quoddy’s End, we should have merely allowed the house to float to an alternative site.

Speaking of blessings in disguise, this time as tragic horror, we now have only two rather than three animals to move, if and when we ever do.  Last winter, while Karin and Marike were sailing in the Sea of Cortez with Allister, a friend whom we met in the Arctic, our precious Linus cat was fatally attacked by the neighbour’s two Huskies on our deck.  Courageous Elisabeth rushed out to grab her from their jaws, alas too late, but not before the beasts got in some chomps on her hands as well.  We told Elisabeth that she was going to extremes to avoid having to help stack wood or, heaven forbid, move furniture.  

Now don’t go confusing that neighbour with the one who pointed the freezer truck at us and only killed two of our cats while threatening to kill the rest of us.   Not at all!  Of the five neighbours on our street they are two distinct addresses.  Still, we try to appreciate them all, since their numbers are decreasing.  One has gone out West to work in the oil patch and stave off financial ruin due to the collapse of the lumber industry and the price of lobsters in the Maritimes.  Yet another tragically blew his head off this autumn, and in the process broke the hearts of the remainder of his family members.  At least the drug dealer is still of sound mind and body.

Yes, things were so cheerful in West Quoddy this December that we could barely imagine tearing ourselves away.  What, and miss the annual drunken red wine fling, now so much less exciting and so much easier to clean since we replaced the white broadloom with hardwood floors.

Nevertheless tear—or at least pry away--we did, naturally, following weeks of to-ing and fro-ing over the difficult logistics of the trip with a dog in tow.  We loaded the car and the new Thule roof ski box (and we do have the bill for that!) full of skis, boots, dog bed, baking, and gifts, many of which looked as though they had been inspired by Amy Sedaris’ book Crafts for Poor People, finishing with a real fir tree from the back forty.  And then we almost didn’t blast off.  On the last evening of work in Halifax, Karin returned to our friend Peggy’s house where she rents a room, only to surprise a crack addict in the act of robbing the place.  As he left, computers, cameras, and jewellery under his arm he turned to Karin to say “Sorry,” of all things.  Karin’s parents, veterans of the inner city in Columbus, Ohio, were naturally, as were we all, relieved that Karin was not hurt, but they couldn’t get over this one thing: a thief who apologized and didn’t assault you! That’s just “the Nova Scotia way” we explained-– even the thieves are polite as they rob you blind.  After hours spent with the police and hammering planks of wood over the broken door, a much shaken Karin hopped in the car and off we zoomed to Quebec.  Finally we actually pointed in the right direction although, of course, there are plans to take Toadwreck to Newfoundland next summer.

Boy! Were we in for a culture shock!  After more than ten years away: SNOW! And it stayed on the ground!

We were graciously feted by our friends and family:  among them, Kevin in the Eastern Townships, Aaron, Tara, Henry, Emily, Yvonne, Barry, Matt, Danica, Charlotte, baby Lucy, Marie-Therese, Jean-Francois, Mathilde senior and Rosalie in Montreal, Marie-Luce, Mathilde junior, Hans, Helene, and Paul in La Prairie,  and “Chalet Emilie” in Saint-Alphonse…And there were so many others we wanted to see but couldn’t this trip—we’d no idea that we still knew so many people! 

Much reciprocal wining and dining occurred. Followed by sleeping in, and then more wining and dining.  We tried really hard to reduce the whining, and found that, mostly, in such company, it could be done.

We carried on intense conversations about all kinds of things and continued talking--especially when--we disagreed.  Marike, who often feels like a pit-bull in a teacup shop in Halifax, had her muzzle removed!  Karin perfected her French and now ca n’en finit plus.  Elisabeth reassumed her role as grandmere, even making chicken soup for the granddaughters.

We found that small towns the size of Sheet Harbour were decorated, filled with pedestrians, and offered up delicious duck meats, boutique chocolates, and reasonably priced champagne.  Best of all, other customers also filled their carts with such delicacies--rather than boiled dinner, salt cod, hamburger soup, and cheese whiz.  It’s not galloping but lonely gourmets we’ve been all these years!

Imagine: we were thanked for our gifts.  Folks responded to our crafts as though they were works of art.

Playfulness was everywhere. We even fell asleep watching a video of fog rise and monks stare into the sun and eat bad food slowly at a Carpathian monastery with our friend Kevin.  Marike swears the monks were actually lively during the one afternoon a month they’re permitted to speak, but Karin slept through that bit and can’t really verify it. 

Near our pine sheltered chalet in Lanaudiere, we cross-country skied, hiked the snow-covered back roads, and skidded around the frozen lake.  Sheba played ski patrol dog for Karin who fell—her count—no fewer than 77 times while accustoming herself to the novelty of short steep icy slopes.  We were accompanied by friends who also liked to move outdoors energetically and at all hours of the day and night.  (One or two of them might still be walking around the lake, we’re not quite sure.) We lit candles on our imported Christmas tree and our guests did not panic or threaten to throw pitchers of water at the tree.

Most extraordinarily of all, Karin and Marike went to Les Bains Nordiques/La Source  in Rawdon, a zen geo-thermal hot spring where, for hours one night, we varied heat, cold, and relaxation in one of the most aesthetically pleasing architectures we have ever experienced.  Outdoors.  In the snow! In -11 degrees! Our hair froze and ice formed on our feet as we walked around without flipflops and still we enjoyed it! Really! You will too, so long as you bring flipflops. And maybe a toque.

Poor Elisabeth came down with bronchitis and could not join us in many of these pleasures.  She still has not recovered and it now appears that she has pneumonia.  (And she never went anywhere where her hair could freeze!  How did this happen?) We and her doctors are keeping a close eye on her.

Alas, Karin and Marike were enjoying themselves far too much to continue skiing and Nordic bathing so they interrupted themselves by jumping into the car for a long drive to the Bay of Quinte to check out the right of way to our land and potential building sites, capped with a speed date dinner with friends Gale and Therese.  (Gale is Marike’s “fixer” in Napanee on this project.)  Then back to Montreal late at night and out onto the road home to Nova Scotia in one of the winter’s worst storms.  Ah the excitement of winter driving.  It is kind of like downhill ski racing only with all of the competitors on the course at once.  Our friends cried: “You could have been killed!”  Now that would have been going too far in the wrong direction.

Don’t worry.  We’ll be back!  Plans are afoot (#25304) to rent a chalet in Lanaudiere for a month or two or four—or maybe even buy a place—next year.  We’ll keep you posted.  
KME