Out of the patio door, beyond the decking and the electric barbeque and the hot tub and the old barn, a view of the high / low tide. Although difficult to tell from my vantage point in the Crow’s Nest (at the top of the lawn) where the water level is. As long as I remain above it, I guess I’m getting by.
Party Girl is nowhere to be seen … it must have been a good night.
I take a trip over the unsealed mountain track, for a fish lunch in a large shed – from one Crow’s Nest to another, on the other side of the peninsula.
Chowder, clams and fries served up in a specific order, with crackers and a fresh-baked roll and a saucer of butter. This is a seafood diet, alright … it’s a shore shack redemption of sorts.
In the gift shop, you can buy souvenir fishing gear – the whole works. If I was so inclined, I could kit myself out as a full-on trawlerman here, I could go the whole Captain Haddock.
Back in reality, in the store, the yellow and orange creel sinking into the deep blue background almost walks out of the door with me.
Once I’ve waved my credit card in a particular way, I’m allowed out.
Over in Annapolis Royal, conflict. A frontline for the English and the French to throw fruit and cannonballs at each other, watched on by a bemused Mi’kmak populace.
Letting cows and sheep into the star-shaped fort was always going to be a bad idea, a real stinker. At least the gunpowder magazine is a dark air-conditioned sanctuary, somewhere to throw (unconventional) shapes.
Old houses, old boxes, the boardwalk along the waterfront from the cop shop.
To the other end of town, past the maritime-themed playground with the washed-up boat frame, children occasionally tumbling out in amongst the bilge water.
Back around to the fort and along the main drag to the brewery taproom, where seemingly everyone retires to, on an afternoon. A live band have struck up, and that’s definitely not French music they’re playing.
People dancing in front of me, average age 70.
At one point, Grandma Moses asks me to dance. Playing hard to get, I decline the offer … my Goodwill Ale has run out, and I’m moving slowly to the bar to get myself an Acadian Honey.
When the sun goes in for the day, the clouds take over, and I find myself liberally violating local traffic laws.
Back at the ranch, my bovine neighbours have re-appeared; they’re lounging about, saving their energy I reckon for another full-moon party tonight.
The kitchen in the shack is a magnet for re-arranging thoughts and words, and yet the beer holder is outside on the hot tub.
Down on the beach, it’s low tide now, but later everything will be all out of reach.
And yes, fish flew from here – remember birding.
An Outside World 