Our maritime adventure to the provinces of Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick has been very much a road trip. I say this to emphasize the excursion as involving an automobile (a first year electric model) and to differentiate the journey from a vacation or sojourn in any particular place though naturally we did of necessity stop along the way. Those stops were predominantly intermediary; that is, a go-between our pending travel excursion. In short we drove each day then rested in the evening. There were only two exceptions. One was our luncheon at the Rodd Crowbush golf club overlooking the fareways and North Atlantic Ocean. The other was one which bravely distinguished itself from all the others; namely, our planned meeting with friends (a couple with whom we briefly ventured about the south shore then afterwards dined in the metropolis). Otherwise our sortie was safely confined to an unqualified road trip (not including the ferry from Digby, Nova Scotia to Saint John, New Brunswick).
It is not normal for us to orbit away from home then return so quickly. By the time we get home tomorrow, the entire trip will have consumed ten days. This does however speak to important limitations aside from the temporal. The blunt reality is that I for one am no longer capable of normal walking. I struggle to commute from the car to the restaurant or hotel. Viewing is confined to what is readily at had. Walking about as a typical sightseer is out of the question – not to mention any other schemes such as cycling or paddle boarding for example (at least that is in the customary ambitious manner). What has replaced the erstwhile spirited outing is a sedentary posture. Frankly the limitation is for me both inviting and relaxing; anything else is by comparison irksome and painful. I have willingly – and I flatter myself to say reasonably – submitted to old age and its impending perils. Mine is not an evasive decision but rather a resolute resolve.
So where you may ask, dear Reader, is this sorrowful monologue leading? First, i have no ambition to leave home again. Quite simply, it’s too much work. I know that sounds preposterous and quite unimaginable; but it is no more a confession than the need to downsize. Things change; and accommodation is required. This isn’t to say that visits within the local environment are beyond possibility. Already for example we are booked to see a celebrated theatre production in nearby McDonald’s Corners which for me is a superlative undertaking especially as it involves an original, modern interpretation of traditional drama.
“My Own Private Shakespeare” is an acclaimed one-man play written and performed by the actor Justin Hay, blending his personal struggles with powerful passages from Shakespeare to explore mental health, suicide, and trauma. The play, directed by Mona Zaidi, has been performed in Toronto, New York, and at the 2022 Edinburgh Fringe, and was a winner at the 2022 BroadwayWorld Awards for Best Play and Best Director.
Having such enviable talent so close to home – and being accessible in every sense of the word – is indeed no small compliment to the indisputable value of home territory. There are other advantages too, among them our neighbouring historic golf club, splendid local pubs and restaurants, nearby waterfalls and village parks, endless winding country roads, concert hall, art galleries and automatic car washes. I mean to say, What’s not to like!
One other point I have overlooked mentioning until now: it is an unusual event that transpired during the affable dining experience with our friends at the Muir Marriott Hotel in the Queen’s Marque district of the Halifax harbour waterfront. Our clever and exceedingly handsome server Nathan – who attended us with uncommon courtesy, knowledge and professionalism – authorized me to appropriate from the cluster of ornamentation surrounding my salmon tartar a curious rock in the middle of the plate. The rock was strategically embedded in a vast mixture of dry seeds, affording an unquestionably unique but otherwise minimalistic artistic rendition. The rock caught my attention because it featured mica or some similar sort of glitter. It also appeared to me to be more of a hardened clay mixture than a purely hardened sand mixture from the ice age. It was unequivocally of ancient construction; and I formulated in my mind that it would capture the strength and shine of my collective maritime memories and hereditary connections (all of which constituted a truly varied mixture of enduring appeal). After dinner that evening – and upon removing my geographic (or was it, according to Google, my meteoric) find from my pants pocket – I speedily secreted my explorative find in the corner of my valise. Since then I have seriously contemplated where I shall display this maritime treasure, whether on the oak bookshelf in the study or on the console in our tiny drawing room. Or perhaps atop the cellarette adjacent the crystal decanters of porto, sherry and cognac. I have as well imagined a suitable command or stand within or upon which to display it, perhaps manufactured by local metallurgists. This represents what I envision to be the last of the travel accessories which I have accumulated over the years – the most recent being an original oil painting of a seashore marsh on Hilton Head Island; the oldest being a simulated bone Buck penknife from Cape Cod almost 50 years ago (superseding from the identical seaside resort an antique mine cut diamond ring which has since followed the path of so many other of my critical jewelry exploits).