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Seeking a glimpse of legends from the Days of Sail when great men built boats of Nova Scotia timber and rode out to the Atlantic on huge Fundy tides, we went twenty-six-hundred miles in a little rental chevy with a leaky tire and a full load of camping gear, from Boston up to Yarmouth and around through New Hampshire and New York to visit family and friends. The colors were nice, there was snow, apple cider and donuts, maple syrup, Digby scallops and fresh Maine lobsters pulled from the sea just hours earlier, tender sweet things despite their appearance as spiny slimy giant sea insects. Pumpkin pie and hot cider herald the coming of winter but the chill in the air practically shuts down the towns to tourists. In another week or two, almost everything will be closed.
Captions are finished! Check back again later for tales of hot soup, the sound of a bell buoy upset by incoming midnight weather, the smells of fallen leaves and the crunch of fresh crisp white apples, sorrow for a vanished old Yarmouth, the eerieness of a seaside fishermans memorial listing dozens who never came home, and the scenes conjured up by old wooden ships sitting at the docks.
October 2009
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