For as long as I can recall, the spectacle of a misty day has forever contented me.  It is admittedly a curious – or at least unusual – recognition of favour to announce so emphatically that one enjoys a misty day. Nonetheless I do.  The first time I recall looking out a window upon a rainy, foggy day was appropriately enough in Halifax, Nova Scotia, an ocean coastal territory known for its North Atlantic gales, driving rains and floating mists which come and go in an instant propelled by the strong winds. A brilliantly sunny day afterwards was always assured following the sweep of the clouds. Significantly too in the context of this discussion is that my absent and somewhat mournful regard of the foggy atmosphere that day long ago through the water-dripped blurry window was from the kitchen on the third floor of Domus Legis where I resided in my first year of law school at Dalhousie University.

I mention these details in particular because the reminiscence captures several elements of distinction relative this monologue. First, as I glance over the top of my computer screen out the enormous drawing room windows onto the wavering fields and streaky river surface beyond, it’s a rainy misty day with much diminished temperatures as of late and light rain forecasted. This murky appearance, I am convinced, promotes my inveterate sense of longing. I do however magnify the melancholic ingredient to embrace eagerness and dream. Second, the critical component of Nova Scotia. The relevance of that eastern seaboard location is not only the start of my legal training but more specifically the shift of residency from Upper Canada (where until then I had lived all my adult life) to an entirely new environment estranged from anyone I knew other than distant ancestors and descendants in New Brunswick.

This afternoon we intend to rally at table with two friends who have lately embarked upon an extraordinary expedition.  The congregation will, I suspect, be conducted beneath a grey sky so the foggy atmosphere is likely to persist.  Our dining is planned at Pelican Seafood Market & Grill in Ottawa, a central location for us each as we both live in the country surrounding the city. Pelican is itself meaningful because it reflects not only our conjoined affection for seafood; but more importantly because it echoes the maritime occasion on which we first met over ten years ago on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina on the beach adjacent the North Atlantic Ocean. Surprisingly it was a year later following that chance introduction (wherein I had stopped bicycling to ask to pat their French bulldog Max) that, once again by entire coincidence whilst cycling on the pathway in Sea Pines we encountered them both (with Max) leaving their rental accommodation to go to the beach for a walk.  Struck as we all were by the astonishing serendipity of having run into one another a second time, they invited us for an afternoon visit. The following year they joined us in a separate rental at Beachside Tennis on Calibogue Sound across the street from South Beach Marina. We have since punctuated our acquaintance and burgeoning friendship by dining at Pelican every year.

This year’s congregation at Pelican is a milestone. In short, our friends (who are to my knowledge longstanding residents of Ontario) have for whatever personal reasons or pure fortuity chosen to relocate to Nova Scotia where they haven’t a particle of pre-existing association. They have already purchased acreage directly upon the ocean.  They have engaged an architect who has produced a preliminary outline of their new residence.  And as recently as several days ago they have purchased a new home across the bay to accommodate them whilst their new place is constructed.

I think by now you might now perceive why I so gleefully attest to the substance of a misty day! Because our friends are professionals of indisputable order (we’ve previously seen other work they’ve both accomplished in their individual arena of private avocation), I shall therefore not venture beyond the shores of familiarity except to share with them the one very meaningful lesson I learned over half-century ago when I landed upon the magnificent coastal waters of Nova Scotia. Shamefully now upon reflection, I initially had difficulty insinuating society in Nova Scotia.  It was not that people were not pleasant or inviting; rather it was that I refused to abandon my erstwhile alliances in Ontario.  I suppose it could merely be dismissed as homesickness.  At the time however I imagined it were to have been more profitable to have accepted the invitation (which I declined) I had also received from Osgoode Hall law school. So, convinced of my precision, I re-applied to Osgoode Hall and was once again accepted.  At this point, thankfully, Dr. Murray Fraser, Dean of Dalhousie Law School, approached me and asked that I reconsider my continuance in Nova Scotia. Naturally it was a trump of my intentions. What however is even more important in this account is not that I completed my studies and graduated with a Doctor of Jurisprudence; rather that I learned to quell my emotional anxiety, to set aside my yearning ambition to return to Ontario and all whom I knew, to enable a chance to blend into the fabric of the local community and to discover the strength of all that is new and exciting in life.  I distinctly recall having received a letter from a former friend in Ontario.  He summarily replied to my plea to return “home” by saying, “There ain’t no ship to take you away from yourself; you travel the suburbs of your own mind.”  It wasn’t at the time what I recall having been particularly heartening (in fact it estranged us forever) but I was taken by the point. As it turns out I hadn’t the imposition of philosophic compensation to elevate me from my despair. Within a year I had connected with people whom I shall never forget, people who to this day are important to me; and I shall never overcome my highly favourable regard of Nova Scotia and all matters maritime.