July 4, 2004

HAPPY BIRTHDAU UNC’A SAM

Today in Coldspring, and other places in the world where freedom is cherished, people are commemorating the Declaration of Independence by the thirteen colonies that lay mostly on the eastern shore of the New World in North America.  In that day, as today, there were hotbeds of unhappy people.  Those people would rather live in ease and slavery than to risk poverty and death to live in freedom.  Loyalists and Tories in New York did their best to assure the defeat of the “rebels” who longed to “live free or die”.  Of course the rabble-rousers were unsuccessful as such folks will always be as long as there are men and women willing to risk their all for freedom.  Today, lest we forget, we have freedom loving men and women from the U.S. and other countries flung to the four winds defending our freedoms.  We should not take that lightly and should never forget that the cost of freedom is the same as that of slimness, eternal vigilance.  Whenever free men begin to take freedom for granted men of ill will come forth from their dens of iniquity and pass laws that govern even the most mundane of exercises of freedom, all in the name of the public good.  Their first supposition is that free men are unable to make rational decisions and need the elite governing body to protect them from themselves.  Yes this has happened in America and continues unabated.  As an example; while helmet laws for motorcyclists may seem great on the surface they take away the basic freedom to decide for oneself if one wants a mashed head in the event of an accident. 

Freedom of speech has been sacrificed on the altar of political correctness.  You don’t believe me.  Stand on the corner of any major city and say in a loud voice you don’t like Arabs, Orientals, Blacks, Mexicans or any other minority and see how long it takes you to be carted off to jail.  Our forefathers understood that we all have different likes and dislikes and gave us the first amendment so we could express those feelings without reprimand so long as we didn’t advocate the overthrow of the government and appear to have the means to carry out the threat.  Today that is acceptable in the name of PC.  Perhaps the Witches of Endor knew what was coming when they intoned “Right is wrong and wrong is right”.  Indeed the judges and politicians along with much of the media have turned our values upside down and continue an unabashed assault on the few remaining untouched.

When you reflect on this Fourth of July ask yourself what you have done to preserve liberty and not just political correctness.  If your answer is “nothing” the day may come when you have nothing to defend.

The laughter of children living in the freedom that only children know woke me at eight.  Onie lay sleeping.  Our week of travel had been fun and provided an opportunity to get know our fellow caravaners better than if we had stayed home in Belle Baie but now we were back and Onie was tired.  I woke rested and donned my robe, started my tea, grabbed a book and sat down to finish a story of hate and deceit that led to murder.  This was no fiction but a true life story that played out in several locales including Houston and involved a couple, who at one time, had been a darling of Houston High Society, the same high society that often selects those who run for public office.  While I sat thus involved a freedom lover was risking his or her life for me.  This would be no day of rest for the defenders of liberty.

Onie rose later.  With a cup of freshly brewed coffee she watched the news and relaxed in the knowledge that we were home and didn’t have to go anywhere today. 

Later in the morning our bodies told us it was time to feed them again so Onie served up a steaming breakfast in the cold coach.  Outside fog covered the bay while the sun shone around the Marlin.

Breakfast had barely ended when we heard a tap tap on our door.  Ann was invited in.  She announced she was going to go to some yard sales and asked Onie to go along.  Very soon they were gone.  My hope was if they bought any yards the taxes would be low. 

Enjoying the quiet I continued to read until my pot of tea was empty.  I paused long enough to brew another pot and then continued with my book.

With the book finished I shed my robe, showered and got ready for lunch.  When Onie returned, with a large print Bible among other treasures, she made a salad and we went for Sunday afternoon lunch with the group, at Steven and Yvonne’s.

The middle of the afternoon saw us back home and getting ready for church.  We cued up Brother Don Shannon’s sermon of June 4th, he is our pastor and we are getting taped messages of the Sunday morning services, took our places and listened to the message on worship.  We then read the Sunday school lesson for this week and discussed it.  We are receiving the Sunday school lessons via the web direct from our teacher.  We are thankful that we can still worship God without Big Brother interfering in the name of political correctness.  It may not always be so.

When our worship was over we signed on to the WWW to check our email and the current exchange rate.

While we were doing this Al and June stopped by.  We came to know them pretty well last week and were very happy to see them.  They stayed but a minute but their smiles and warmth were more than welcome.

With the bright sun warming the coach even as it traveled towards the horizon Onie settled in with an LMN movie, in the bedroom, while I wrote in the living room. 

Our Sunday had been quiet but very enjoyable.  Tomorrow would be quiet too as our friends would be returning to work.  We too had things to do, wash clothes, mow the yard, put up the clothes line, install some roof vents, clean house and refrigerator, wash the coach and do agency paperwork.  That should last us all week.  Tonight we enjoyed ourselves relaxing, writing, watching TV and going to bed in the stillness of our home.

July 5, 2004

LIFE GOES ON

            A couple of days ago we received the news that a young fried of ours had died while celebrating his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.  Onie had worked with him and he had been a client and friend of mine.  He leaves behind a young wife and his children, the youngest of which is in his early teens.  We were saddened to hear of his passing and Onie remarked she was glad she had taken the time to visit him before we left.  We will miss him.  His passing is but yet another reminder that we should give each other our flowers while we are living so we can enjoy them while we can.  Life will go on without him but we are each diminished a little by his passing.

Another foggy fifty seven degree morning awaited our late rising.  While I fixed the coffee and tea Onie tried her hand at some Spider.

It had been a while since we had tasted haddock so we added some soft boiled eggs and that was our breakfast.

The sun was busy burning off the lingering fog as we finished our meal.  Onie settled in with a travel guide on New Foundland and Labrador while I wrote.  It looks like we will be taking the toad and doing a self guided tour.  A week of caravanning told us we enjoy being with our friends as we travel but reminded us we don’t like rigid schedules.  A tour would put us with strangers and leave us at the mercy of the tour guide.  I like my tour guide just fine and she does an excellent job.  We will most likely add Labrador to our trip as I am very interested in the Viking ruins there.  Should Labrador become a certainty we will be gone from the Marlin at least two weeks as we tour doing the bed and breakfast scene with some fishing thrown in, hopefully.  If our bed and breakfast host insists on eating breakfast at some ungodly hour, say seven o’clock, we will change to hotels and motels.  We like our breakfast late and leisurely.

Saturday night we visited with Georgina and her husband.  They had just returned from New Foundland.  They showed us their pictures, nine rolls, of beautiful coastlines, sunsets and birds by the thousands.  They had stayed in bed and breakfast establishments, for the most part, and had no problem getting accommodations late in the day.  She brought Onie a book that contains a listing of B&BS and hotel/motels as well as a rating and pricing.  We will be spending time looking at that and the map as we plan our trip.

While Onie planned and I wrote the fog descended over the bay once again leaving us in the sunshine but taking away our view of Digby Neck.

Morning faded into afternoon and then afternoon became late afternoon.  Onie dressed and went to the gym, stopping at the washateria to start a load of clothes, while I continued writing.

Before her return I was outside taking care of some chores, draining the holding tanks, erecting our Acadian Flag, reading the directions for putting up our clothes line and getting the mower and edger.

Upon her return she began mowing while I moved lawn furniture and worked on getting the clothes line up.   

We are parked in the area of Belle Baie known as the pit.  When the park was built, years ago, topsoil and gravel was taken from here to improve other sites and the result was a gravel pit.  When the site was later developed for camping the name “the pit” naturally attached.  The only reason I mention this is so you will understand why, as soon as I begin to dig a hole to put the clothes line pole in, I hit gravel.  Some kind soul put a whole inch of top soil over the gravel so the grass grows quite nicely and on an even more positive note the gravel sub-base makes a very stable foundation for the rigs parked here.

The army surplus shovel I carry was in the hoe position as I begin digging the hole for the pole.  It was very slow going even though I only needed a few inches to plant the receptacle that holds the pole.  I had finished burying the plastic tube that holds the pole and was busy stacking rocks, from the beach, around the bottom portion of the pole when Steven showed up.  He commented that it would take a lot of rocks to stabilize the pole and I agreed.  He suggested that a pipe, slightly larger in diameter than the clothes line pole, driven into the ground would provide better support and negate the need for the rock pile.  I agreed but mentioned we didn’t have a pipe or maul to drive it into the solid gravel base under us.  He opined that John might have what we needed and set off for John’s site to have a look.  I soon followed.  There was no pipe and no maul but there was a pickax and a six foot long round piece of solid steel that just happened to be somewhat sharp on one end.  We could drive the metal pole into the ground by using the side of the ax head as a hammer and then use electrical ties to secure the clothes line pole to the metal pole.  We set off to get this done.  Steven stood on a picnic table and swung the ax as I knelt on the ground and stabilized the metal pole.  With each bang of the ax head the pole went a quarter of an inch into the ground.  It took quite a few strokes as we wanted the pole at least a foot in the ground and preferably further.  Finally we were satisfied with the stability and got some ties from the Marlin and snugged the two together.  Steven suggested that a hose clamp would add even more rigidity so I got one from my supply and we screwed that down tight.  Now we had a very secure clothes line.

Onie got our wet clothes and hung them up to dry.  The metal pole Steven had found had been lying out in the open for quite a while and as a result had a good coating of rust on it.  As the wind blew the clean towels they flapped against the rusty pole.  That would never do so we went back to the Marlin and got some duct tape.  When that was wrapped around the two poles the towels could flap for all they were worth without accumulating any rust.  Onie, Yvonne, Steven and I stood back and admired our handiwork and agreed it was good.

Now we took time to discuss our day before Steven and Yvonne left for their home in St Bernard.  For the longest I thought they lived in Weymouth but in fact they live a few hundred yards from Weymouth.  The towns here abut one another in a solid string the whole length of the area known as Clare.

It was supper time for us and Onie began preparing it while I wrote some checks and got them ready for mailing.  With Onie’s help we paid my Visa bill on line.  Time permitted a few notes so I did that before sitting down to our evening feast.

Lifetime Movie Network had a movie, of Onie’s liking, playing so she retired to the bedroom to watch that while I wrote.

Later I joined her and we watched another movie before heavy rain obliterated the signal.  We drifted off to sleep as life went on.

July 6, 2004

WET

            Our clothes were not quite dry last night before supper so Onie took them down with the expectation of re-hanging them this morning.  The rain that had put us to sleep came down all night, sometimes in torrents and sometimes in a drizzle but fall it did.   It was in the drizzle stage when we rose but soon ceased falling.  Fog had hung over the bay when we rose and at noon it was still there.  In the pit we didn’t escape as the fog was so thick that one would have been soaked if they spent fifteen minutes out in it.  Our wet clothes would have to wait if they were to dry on the line.  Otherwise it was to be the dryer.

Breakfast was behind us when Onie began cleaning the refrigerator and I sat down to write.  During our trip to New Brunswick I had only made notes.  Eight days of stories needed to be written when we returned as well as the need to stay current.  Yesterday I had managed three and a half days of our trip as well as the day itself.  I hoped to make further progress in that area today.  Locked in the laptop memory is the beginning of a book I presently call I Remember and that needs attention.  Onie continued with her cleaning before she left for the gym, grocery shopping and the post office.

            Fog lingered on into the afternoon draping itself like a wet blanket over the pit and its environs.  That included us.  Except for a trip outside to deliver the trash and recyclables to the appropriate bins I stayed inside, helped a bit with the cleaning but mostly wrote and stayed out of the way.

            While out, Onie got her errands done as well as exercising her body.  When she got back I was still writing and continued through the afternoon.  She cooked and got ready for our dinner guests, Yvonne and Steven.  They were due at seven.  That would be a late supper for them and an early one for us but one we would all enjoy.

            At six thirty Onie had everything ready, the brisket was warming inside the freezer bags in hot water, the broccoli salad was made and the asparagus were ready for the microwave along with the green beans.  Yvonne was bringing a low carb dessert.

            At seven o’clock the Boudreaus were in the Marlin.

            We visited for sometime before Onie put the meal on the table.  After the blessing everyone fell to like real trenchermen.  The meal was great and the company better.  Low carb strawberry shortcake, courtesy of Yvonne, topped off the meal.

            Yvonne insisted on helping Onie with the dishes while Steve and I went to the campfire.  John and Janette were there along with one or two other folks.  Conversation turned around many subjects including a fellow who over indulged while under the effects of Viagra and suffered a heart attack.  It is thought he will recover but his reputation as a Lothario may never be the same.  Onie and Yvonne joined us and we whiled away the fog drenched evening.

            The boys ended the evening by walking down to the waters edge, at low tide.  It was a walk of at least half a mile, one way, over wet stones of all sizes, some big enough to be considered rocks, and seaweed, still wet from the receding tide and dense fog, that proved as slippery as ice to this sojourner.  I made a mental note on the way back to camp to take no more nighttime walks on wet beaches.

            Now the hour was late and eyelids heavy.  Most around the fire would have to rise early on the morrow so goodnights were said and we headed to the coach.

            Thick fog enveloped the coach as we lay snug in our bed and watched a movie about NASCAR race drivers.  When the final credits rolled we rolled over and went to sleep.

July 7, 2004

WHAT WAS THAT?

Sleeping in late is fun.  This morning we had fun.  When we did rise we were enveloped in heavy fog that hid the bay and everything more than a hundred yards distance.

Our last mail had brought work for me regarding the agency and I tackled that while I was fresh.  The work ran on until close to noon when breakfast was served.

Outside the persistent fog had burned off.  From inside the coach I wasn’t quite sure what was causing all the bright light so I went outside to have a look.  There was this strange looking orange thing in what should have been a gray overcast sky.  It beat down warmly drying the sodden pit running our thermometer to 67.

Onie took clothes out and hung them on the line to dry before heading off to the laundry to wash even more.  Soon she brought some of these back and hung them up, also.  The big orange orb still hung in the sky but I could tell the gray sky and fog would be back soon.  I was wrong.  Fog didn’t show up.  Rain did.  We decided that we shouldn’t wait for another day when fog and or rain were missing so we loaded up the wet clothes and took them to the dryers.

When the clothes were drying Onie headed off to the gym.  I stayed long enough to be sure the dryers were operating properly, looked at my watch so I could keep track of how long the clothes had been in the dryers, and then headed back to the Marlin to work on agency stuff, some more.  I shuttled back and forth between the coach and the dryers feeding the dryers as necessary to keep them running.  On my last rip to the dryers the clothes were nearing the folding stage.  I stayed and began folding as different things felt ready.  When the last piece was folded I picked up the basket with the warm dry clothes and headed outside.   Rain drops were falling on my head and the dry laundry but my rescue was at hand.  Onie had just driven up.  We loaded the basket in the car and Onie drove us home.  On the way I asked her “What was that?”  She asked what.  I said that funny looking orange thing in the sky after lunch.  She laughed and told me to hang around and I may see it again some day.

We noticed that most seasonal campers had their tires up off the ground.  Some sat on gravel while others sat on boards.  It was obvious that the purpose was to keep the tires out of the damp grass and off the wet ground.   With more rain falling we decided that we should emulate them and get our tires off the ground.   We did that by jacking up first the front and then the back, with our jacks, and slipping boards under the tires before lowering the jacks again and then re-leveling the coach.

Our exertions brought our hunger to the forefront so we had supper at 5:30. 

After supper we paid some bills on line, checked our email and replied to those requiring answers.

Steven and Yvonne came by for a visit and we passed a very amiable time with them before they took their leave.

I read for a while and Onie worked on preparing food for the morrow and getting her clothes put away.

Around eight we went to the camp fire at Steven and Yvonne’s where we stood near the citronella to avoid becoming dinner for the voracious bugs that circled just outside the odor.  Brian called.  He and his girl friend and her family had reached Manitoba, safely, and had been unpacking a couple of hours ago.  Now the Boudreaus’ only child was far away, missing from their home and hearth and so was Miko, missing.  When Steven had gone home after work Miko was no where to be found.  Yvonne had let him out earlier in the day, which was normal, and he usually returned home in time for Steven to feed him but this evening he had been AWOL.  Yvonne was surely missing Brian and Miko but she remained cheerful.

Steven, John and I took a walk on the exposed fog shrouded beach.  Where there were exposed rocks the walking was tough but the footing was sure if a bit of a test for my balance.  Where we crossed the wet seaweed the footing became slippery.  The last time I had walked on anything that slick was in Colorado while elk hunting.  I walked on ice, slipped, fell and cracked some ribs.  It had been years ago but the slipping and sliding brought a twinge back to my side.  Even with all that I was able to appreciate the beauty of the exposed beach, a beach that would be under several feet of water in just a few hours, enough to cover my head.  As we completed our walk I made a vow to myself that future walks would be at leisure, in the daylight with the aid of a walking stick, after all the tide does recede during daylight hours, too.

Back at camp the fire was burning low and our friends were ready for bed. 

Onie and I stepped into the coach at eleven.

The Lifetime Movie Channel shows lots of movies that Onie likes.  Tonight they were showing another one.  She watched.

I sat down to read an issue of the National Review that was dedicated to Ronald Reagan.  After a while I sat down to make a few notes and fill in the blanks on some I had made earlier.  Then I signed onto the WWW and updated our portfolios.  In the meantime Onie’s movie had ended and she had gone to sleep.

At two thirty I joined her.

July 8, 2004

 SHOPPING

Our morning started at nine with coffee and tea.  No fog greeted us but it was very overcast.  In the fifty seven degree air mosquitoes swarmed outside our breakfast window.

Onie dressed and headed off to the gym.

I sat down at the laptop for a game of spider/solitaire before making some notes.

When Onie returned we set out for Frenchies and Jackies.  The daily regimen at the gym is having a salutary effect on Onie and her clothes are starting to bag and sag on her so we wanted to find something that fit better.  Onie is looking good.  We found some things for her and a wind breaker for me.

The afternoon was just beginning as we went to two different grocery stores, the government liquor store, a fish market and then home to do more wash.

After supper we did that wash and then got ready for our fishing trip, tomorrow.  We prayed the weather would be better for the trip.  We had spent the day in fog, fog, and fog and went to bed with it hanging on the coach like wet cotton.            

July 9, 2004

NO CONTEST

Last night we laid out our clothes and boiled some sausage for breakfast this morning.  The coffee pot, set to go off at 5:45 was right on time and when the alarms rang at six the smell of fresh brewed coffee was drifting into the bedroom.  With no snooze button we couldn’t doze much so we rose to begin the day.  Of course it was daylight.  I don’t know when that happens but darkness doesn’t come until ten or later.  The fog that wrapped around us like a blanket last night was but a thin veil and when we looked out our windows we could see the lights on at Steven and Yvonne’s.

We checked our backpack to be sure we had everything we needed for the day of fishing that was in the offing.  While we got dressed we ate our sausage and drank our coffee and tea.  Jeans, tee shirt, turtle neck and windbreaker were on my body when we left the coach at 7:15 to pick up Steven and Yvonne.  Onie was similarly attired.  We had an additional heavy shirt in our backpack should it turn really cold or foggy.  Our cooler contained our drinks and lunch of cheese and sausage.  We also had some pork rinds for a snack.

Steven and Yvonne were ready when we got to their camper.  After loading their ice chest and four life jackets we left for Meteghan Harbor where the Mr. T was waiting.  Mr. T is a lobster boat as are all the boats that will be participating in the fishing tournament today.  Being lobster boats they carry insufficient life vests for a party such as ours so we have to take our own.  Yvonne borrowed some for us.

The twenty mile drive was marked by some heavy patchy fog which made me glad we had packed some extra clothes.

At the harbor we drove out on the groin as far as we could before we parked and began unloading our gear.  Tides here among the highest in the world and as a consequence docks float and the steps leading to them are hinged to rise and fall with the level of the tide.  The tide was flooding so the steps were in the process of rising and weren’t too steep.  We negotiated the steps with everyone loaded down with something.

Mr. T was outboard of another boat so we had to board her, pass our gear over and then continue to Mr. T where the captain was already on board but we were the first of the fishing party.  We stowed our moisture sensitive items inside the wheelhouse and the rest we put next to the wheelhouse after bulkhead.

The rest of our party began arriving soon and with them came assorted gear.  All about us the same thing was taking place on other boats that would be participating.  The harbor and the boats lying within it were a beehive of activity as people prepared for a day of fun and fishing.  That may be redundant. 

 Charmin, the lady in charge of arranging the boat, collecting money from the fishers, bringing the boat decorations and general organization of our boat arrived shortly.  Balloons, red, white, blue and yellow, the color of the Acadian flag, were laid out and several of us gathered round to blow them up, tie them in bunches and pass them to others who were tying them various parts of the rigging.  In addition a mannequin was brought aboard and dressed in a Souwester before being trussed to the radio mast.

 Next an Acadian flag was secured to the port aft rail.  All was in readiness for the festivities to begin except we had no table.  Four of the younger men quickly left the boat and soon retuned with a wooden picnic table, from the wharf area.  They reasoned no one would be using it today so it may as well be on board.  They returned it when the day was at an end.

Since this was to be a contest with four categories, most fish per boat, heaviest catch, largest fish and best decorated boat, there was a time period when fishing could take place so the boats had to wait until nine o’clock before setting out into the bay.

 Engines idled from eight thirty on to be sure they were warm and ready for the task at hand.

Our thirty four foot boat with its’ fifteen foot six inch beam was powered by a GM diesel that cranked out three hundred fifty horse power and could push our twenty five member party along at almost ten knots.  We would need that to keep up with the mosquito fleet that erupted from the harbor at nine sharp.

Off our native Texas shore one must go far off shore t find clear blue water.  Here all you have to do is get outside the harbor basin.  We didn’t go far before the fish finder indicated that we should stop and drop our hand lines. 

Everyone on our boat was fishing just as their fore bearers had, with hand lines.

  The one concession to modernity was the use of heavy monofilament as opposed to braided line.  The line was wound around a board that had been cut into the shape of an “H” and the line with its heavy weight and five hooks with red feathers attached were rolled onto shaft connecting the two uprights.  The arrangement was simple but looked like an open invitation to a hook in the hand to me.  I planned to be very careful.

The way on the boat had not stopped before lines were in the water.  Steven and Yvonne told us not to expect big fish.  We would probably catch something, Pollock, an odd Cod, a Sculpin and most likely a lot of Mackerel but none would be big.  To lure the fish to bite one should drop the lead weight to the bottom and then pick it up some one or two feet.  When it was off the bottom a sufficient way it was jigged by raising ones’ arm over the head and then dropping it to waist height before repeating the action.

  This was to continue until a fish or fishes were felt on the line when it was retrieved, the line simply being dropped on the deck as it was brought in.  We soon noticed that old experienced hands jigged by simply letting the line hang over the gunwale and then using a horizontal pulling motion with their hand traveling a foot to eighteen inches back and forth from the rail.

Good natured joshing began as soon as a few people had boarded earlier and now that the fishing began the tempo increased with no one escaping.  Onie and I came in for our share as we were kidded about things being bigger in Texas and of course that being the case we should catch the biggest fish on the boat in addition to showing them how to best catch fish. 

At the first stop we didn’t manage to boat a thing so when we were moving to the next spot the flak grew a little thicker.  We were undaunted and enjoying being a part of the group and their ready acceptance of us.  When the engine died and way on the boat slowed we dropped our line again.  Jigging again we began to boat a few small fish but before too long we came up with two Pollock, at once.  One was small, just a few ounces, but the other approached a pound a half and a general shout went up from all hands as it was boated.  Nothing would have it but we must pose for pictures for everyone.

  We did.  Spirits were high as the fish, that would be the biggest of the day on our boat, went into the lug holding our catch. 

The party that started as soon as we were underway continued all day.  The picnic table was soon covered with chips, peanuts, dried fish, pork skins and home made goodies of all varieties.  As the day wore on music from the local country western radio station played over the speaker mounted behind the wheelhouse.  The volume seemed to increase as the hands on the clock reached noon and then progressed into the early afternoon.

Quite early in the day we were close enough to a competing boat that we could see the fishers quite well.  On one boat fishers brought along rods and reels.  They were rigged with five hooks and lures just like ours but letting out line and retrieving it was much faster than with a hand line.  That speed was helping them as they lowered their lines and brought them back in, almost as soon as they were in the water.  Most retrievals saw lines come up with each hook holding a fish.  Apparently there was a large school suspended right under the boat.  Our boat and others were within fifty yards and we were catching fish but not in the quantities that were being hauled in on the competing boat. Before the day was out that boat would have filled two and a half lugs with a total weight approaching three hundred fifty pounds.  We would have almost half a lug at eighty two pounds.  It was no contest.

Fishing with five sharp hooks six to eight inches apart can be tricky at best and dangerous at worst.  When the line is retrieved with a flopping fish on it the open hooks are likely to catch some flesh.  When the empty hooks are being put into the water there is more peril.  Several times during the day an empty hook nicked skin, sometimes embedding the point and causing a little winch from the unintended “catch”.  Onie and I were both poked a few times but with no great injury.

Fishing near us, on the fantail, was Donna Beatty.  She and Yvonne used to work together in a casket factory building boxes for mortal remains.  Also on the broad fantail Raymond and Margery Boudreau fished.

Raymond Boudreau holding his catch

 He is a distant relative of Steven’s but the bloodline is too dim to trace.  He was actually helping others unhook fish and get their lines back in the water more than he was fishing but he did get in some fishing from time to time.

Around noon Onie brought in her line,

 with a fish on it, and while Donna was handling it a hook became imbedded in the index finger on her right hand.  When I say embedded I mean embedded.  The barb was buried well beneath the skin.  She calmly turned to me and asked if I would take it out for her as she couldn’t do it.  Without even touching it I told her I could push it the rest of the way through her finger, cut off the hook and barb and then back it out.  The idea didn’t appeal to her.   Raymond was at my elbow and said he would take it out.  She agreed, he grabbed the hook in his bare hand and gave quick wrenching motion.  I heard the sound of rending flesh but nothing else.  When I looked at Donna she was looking closely at the hole in her finger.  I shuddered.  A little pale but well in control she walked to the wheelhouse where a band aid was applied then she came back and started fishing and helping Onie, again.  Onie and I agreed she is one tough lady.

No one seemed to make a big deal of this event and the fishing and party continued unabated.  I took note of the cultural difference between here and home.

Daniel LeBlanc had been dragging for mussels while we were fishing.  He made the rounds of the competing boats and gave each a five gallon bucket of the morsels.  When he came alongside the Mr. T Steven’s strong nimble hands reached out to grab the bucket as it passed from boat to boat.  It was emptied and handed back before our benefactor went on his way.  A fire was quickly lit in the galley and some of the mussels were boiled in sea water before being added to eatables on the table.  This was repeated three times until the last mussel was eaten.  Shells were returned from whence they came, the bay floor. 

We moved from place to place looking for the mother lode of fish but never struck it rich so we moved on.  Our last stop was but minutes from the mouth of the harbor and at five minutes ‘til two we sped toward the mouth and glided into the calm waters at straight up two o’clock.  Just as everyone had to wait until nine to leave each boat had to be back in the harbor by two to be eligible to compete for the trophies.  Everyone rested easy

while we waited for our turn at the scales although no one was optimistic about our chances of winning the most fish, the most weight or the largest fish contest but we all felt confident we would win the best decorated boat and we did.

Everything that had been hauled aboard early in the day had to be lugged off the boat and up the walkway to the parking lot that included the picnic table.  More strong young hands carried it back up and put it in its resting place.

Two ladies from the boat needed a ride to the Blue Rock where the trophies would be awarded.  Steven, Yvonne and I rode in the front of the toad and Onie and our two guests rode in the back.  Fortunately it wasn’t far and everyone was a good sport about the crowding.

Fishing crews from various boats occupied different tables in the Blue Rock when we got there.  We found some empty tables and made a space for our crew.

Soon the band stopped playing and an announcer took the microphone to announce the winning boats.  The noise was undiminished as he made his announcements and I was unable to determine who had won anything until I heard “Mr. T” and I knew it was official.  We had won best decorated boat.

Tarry was not in our vocabulary once Yvonne had her hands on the trophy.  Miko had disappeared a few days ago and had been given up as MIA but this morning he had been on the doorstep when Steven went home to check on him.  He had come back with a broken leg.  The Boudreaus did not want to miss the fishing trip, a once a year outing/party, celebrating Acadian history so they called Yvonne’s dad, Louie Comeau, and asked him to take Miko to the vet in Plympton.  He agreed to do so.  During the day Steven had been in touch with the vet’s office during the diagnosis and treatment process.  The vet had tried to save the hind leg but apparently it had been crushed when Miko was hit by a car.  It had to be amputated.  Now it was late in the afternoon and the vet said Miko could be picked up.  Yvonne was anxious to have him back home and Onie agreed to drive her as soon as Steven and I were dropped off at Belle Baie.

Steven and I kept the home fires burning while Miko was retrieved.  When Onie and Yvonne got him home he was fidgety but mobile.  He made a short trip to the deck in front of the camper before retiring inside for the rest of the day.

Ann and Dan had a new octagonal black camp stove.  The sides were an open grate so that the flames could be viewed from every side.  Today was the inaugural lighting and Steve and I went there to help in the celebration.  Louie and Audrey whose camper is just across the road from Dan’s were also there.  The open sides were great for radiating the heat and as the fire grew chairs were pulled back a little farther. 

Onie soon joined us and Danny brought out an eight pound lobster he got earlier in the day.  While Dan is allergic to shellfish Ann is not nor are we.  Danny had gotten the lobster for the three of us.  It was soon immersed in a pot of boiling water and then the waiting began.  Onie and I had snacked on the boat but much of what was there was high carb so we partook sparingly.  We had taken our own low carb viands but really didn’t get that hungry so most of it remained uneaten.  Perhaps the hook in the finger episode, around noon, had put a damper on our hunger, if so the damper had now been removed.

When the lobster had reached a bright red it was extracted from the pot and placed on a table outside to cool. 

The three diners sat and watched it with great anticipation as steam rose from it in the cooling evening air.  After a while Ann picked up a leg and pronounced it cool enough to eat.  She took it in the camper and we followed.  Normally eating lobster means cracking shell and digging out meat.  That was not the case this evening for me and Onie.  Ann did all the work and placed the sweet white meat on a platter in the middle of the table.  When all was ready we dug in.  Later when the platter was clean I observed that had someone told me before we started to eat that we would eat the whole thing I would have voiced some serious reservations but the truth of the matter was that we did.  We were full.

No one likes to eat and run so we visited a bit before saying our goodnights.  It had been a long day for us and Danny had worked that morning so we thought it okay to make an early evening of it.

At eight thirty we climbed the steps into the Marlin.  Half an hour later we were tucked in bed and within minutes, fast asleep.   

July 10, 2004

A TRIP TO THE WOODS

Twelve hours of sleep revived us and we rose to coffee and tea.

Onie set of to the gym.  I cleaned a bit in the coach, straightening up, picking up, putting away things and throwing away the trash we brought home from the fishing trip.  When I had finished that I sat down to make a few notes.

 Ann came by to tell me that Danny had gone to the woods.  When we woke at nine their camper still had the shades drawn but sometime after that they had risen and he had dressed and left.  She offered to take me.  I was still in my robe but quickly dressed, left Onie a note telling her where I was going, grabbed a piece of cold sausage, my tea cup and left with Ann.  The ride to the wood lot was short and I enjoyed having a chaufferette.

The sun was shining brightly in the woods and the mosquitoes had fled to the dark dank environs of the swamps and creek bottoms.  Dan and I worked to load his cart with logs that would be cut into short lengths at his house and then split.  The wood that heated us today would heat him and Ann in the coming winter.  Some logs were only a few inches in diameter and some were over a foot but all were trimmed of all branches and then lifted with the front end loader, on the tractor, onto the cart.  Dan ran the tractor and I ran the chain saw.  When the number of tops or trimmed limbs became too numerous for me to move and stay up with his need for logs to load he would stop and help move the trimmings.  These we placed in piles and then he would shove them out of the way, into clearings.  Work progressed nicely for a couple of hours and then the cart was full.

With the cart hooked to the tractor we began the short trip out of the woods and home.  How nice it would be if everyone who finds themselves in the woods could get out so easily. The road home was hilly and Dan shifted continually as the tractor made the pull on the long grades.  I stood in a corner of the cab enjoying the cool breeze that whipped through my sweat soaked shirt and pants.

 At the house Harlan was applying a second coat of paint to the siding.  Harlan manages a fish plant during the week and enjoys working with his hands on the weekends.  I can certainly relate to that.

Danny has a new smoker which we loaded into the back of his van for the trip to Belle Baie.  In the near future we will smoke a brisket.

Back in the coach I enjoyed a shower before we sat down to lunch and then to peck.  Onie adjourned to the out of doors to read and enjoy the warmth of the filtered sunlight.  Temps hovered in the high sixties and it was a delightful afternoon, a good day to be alive.  The sun lingered on until it finally slipped below the Neck.

After a light dinner we went to the campfire and Steven and Yvonne’s.  Music came from the radio and small groups stood about exchanging news of the day.  Steven told me that Raymond Boudreau had gone diving for scallops that morning.  When he failed to return to the surface another diver went down to search for him.  Apparently his SCUBA gear malfunctioned dumping the air in his tank.  He lay at the bottom, dead.  Less than twenty four hours earlier he had stood on the deck of the Mr. T helping others and fishing.  Now his life was over at just fifty years.  Once again we were reminded that no one is promised tomorrow or even the evening of the day.

Give us our flowers while we are living.