by N. A. Dalbec
Notwithstanding the erroneously labeled tourist attractions, I must say that the many places I saw were truly beautiful. Especially the red sand beaches of Prince Edward Island. No gimmick here. Just lots of red earth on the island, and red sand on the beaches' dunes. The ocean was something to see. I hadn't realized that just because it was an ocean, and that it was summer, it didn't mean that the water would be warm. Quite the contrary, the water was bone chilling, but I was hell-bent on going swimming in the ocean, and I did.
The Cabot Trail was an extraordinary place, again quite poor looking, but set in one of the prettiest parts of the world. If you were going to be poor, you might as well gaze upon a spectacular view.
Louisbourg was in the midst of being reconstructed, and I had promised myself then, that I would go back to see the finished project. I haven't yet. Amazingly enough though, I have been back to most of these places since that trip with my parents. I toured on motorcycle and by car with friends. I never thought that I would be doing that during the first trip around. I did think about all of that when I was having a beer with a good friend and a couple of girls that we met there, just letting our feet hang over the cliffs of Meat Cove. That's got to be the most unromantic name for one of the most beautiful places in the world. I guess Walt Disney didn't get a chance to dub that one.
The Old Place and the New Place
The river that runs by the cottage is a big one, and was used by the pioneers to transport themselves and their goods for many years. It probably saved a lot of them from starving too.
My aunt and uncle had a cottage on the river. Actually, they had two of them, but not at the same time. The first one belonged to my grandparents, and it had a particular charm to it. I got to see the old cottage, and spent a good chunk of my youth in it, on weekends, and occasionally for a week during the summer. It was located in a rather crowded area, but the front faced the river, and that was as private a view as you would get. The entrance at the back doubled as a bedroom. As you walked up and down the floor, you would make your way into the dining room. It was a square room surrounded by books that people had read and left there over the years. I can only remember one title, and I don't even know why the title struck me, but it did. The book was called: The Natchez Woman. I should try to find it sometime and read a few chapters to see what it was all about. There were three bedrooms that opened onto the dining room, and I remember my aunt and uncle sometimes sneaking off for a "nap" on occasion. I had trouble understanding why adults were often tired in the middle of the afternoon. The three bedrooms had acquired the names of some of my aunts and uncles, probably because they had been adopted, or assigned sometime before I even made it to this planet. Beyond the dining room was the kitchen, a narrow area that opened onto the east side of the cottage. Beyond the kitchen was the closed-in verandah that spanned the entire front portion of the cottage. It was screened-in and contained some of the neatest furniture that you can imagine. There were two couches, one made of burly green material that was not particularly inviting to look at, but was reasonably comfortable, and the other, my favorite, that was made of a smoother material, and wrapped its arms around at the same height as the back. It was accompanied by two similar armchairs that were great to curl up in.
I understand that the old cottage played host to many people over the years. There were something like eleven or thirteen people in my mother's family alone. My grandfather liked to entertain, it seems, and so you can imagine the number of people that could have been there at once. The men would play cards and smoke cigars, and the women would chat and prepare delicious meals.
The old place got to be a little rickety in latter times so my aunt and uncle decided to build a new place, with indoor plumbing. That was quite an improvement applauded by all. The new place was built on the exact same site as the old one, but of course, it was nearly impossible to replicate the charm of the old one. It had so many ghosts that could have told so many stories about the events that took place there. Where do the ghosts go when you take away their home?
They’re out There
Whenever the river was calm enough, and the temperature was right, and the time of day was right, we would go on a short fishing expedition with my aunt. My older brother, the next one up from me loved to go fishing, and so did I. So my aunt would get us all set up with fishing rods and our part of the deal was usually to go find worms. That was usually easy enough to do. Neither of us minded looking for worms and the natural contest was to find the biggest ones.
We would then set off in the rowboat to find the magic spot where more fish gathered than any other place. This was an empirical exercise that we went through every time. There were good spots for perch, and there were good spots for bass, and there were good spots for catfish. The list went on but nobody ever seemed to scientifically map out where the good spots were. I was usually tickled pink to catch anything at all, because that was a sign of luck. And it goes without saying, that if you are lucky, good fortune should come your way. It was really amazing to see. In the same boat, using the same worms, one person would get more bites, and catch more fish. We'd sometimes trade fishing rods to see if that would make any difference. But usually the person that was lucky, was lucky with any rod. My aunt had her favorite rod, and she was usually pretty lucky, and so was my brother. I would do okay, but I rarely got the big ones. The idea was to let the sinker drop to the bottom, and then bring the line up a bit, down a bit, but not too quickly. If you felt a nibble, you had to time your upward and sideways jab very carefully. There were some pretty smart fish out there. Some of them would eat up a worm in mo time at all. And you had to make sure that the end of the hook wasn't showing. So if you weren't getting any bites after a nibble, you usually had to bring up your line to see if the worm was on right.
You could catch a fair amount of fish in an afternoon, and the ones that didn't get away were usually brought in and cleaned on the spot. My aunt was an expert at cleaning fish and she taught a lot of people how to do it, including my brother. I, on the other
hand, was not crazy about touching fish, but I did love catching fish, and I didn't mind watching fish being cleaned. I still remember the technique. Cut behind the head, but don't remove it yet, then cut a line along the dorsal, at your leisure, remove the fins, gut the belly, now pull the head and the guts out together, and barf. I'm not quite certain of the sequence, but those are most of the steps, and the final one being the removal of the outer skin. Voila! One filet.
Eating the fish was always better than anything else. Although I may find out that fish taken from the river in the sixties could probably be used to make the juice that runs up and down in thermometers.
Listen and Watch
When I was young, I used to listen to the conversations of adults, mostly because I found them fascinating, and I was curious to see what they would say next. I would want to taste what they were drinking, eat what they were eating, and do stuff that adults did. I remember the taste of a sip of beer. It looked so good yet tasted so weird. Cigarettes were out of the question, but I do seem to remember trying a puff from an unattended cigarette and nearly dying from choking. I couldn't understand how adults could enjoy all of these not so good tasting things.
I also remember adults being rather silly at times and making a big thing out of nothing, usually when they were tired. The classic instance was one that we discussed as kids about our respective parents. Whenever they would go on a road trip with their parents whoever was driving would inevitably miss a turn, and whoever was passenging would have a conniption fit. As kids we would wonder what all the fuss was about. It wasn't as if the missed intersection, exit, crossroad, was about to disappear. Yet the tempers would flare up and volcanic exchanges would continue at least till the right road was found. And as kids, we would listen and watch.
Fun with Kam Long
The house next door belonged to another country, as did many other houses in our neighborhood. Some of the houses we
re used as residences, and some were used as offices. Security was pretty tight in the area, and unmarked police cruisers were a common sight, especially near embassies whose countries were in the news for some reason or another.
One day the moving trucks arrived at the house next door. A new family was arriving from a country that lay on the other side of the world. There were a few kids in the family, and one of them was my age. Within a short time I got to meet the kid who was my age, and as it turned out we got along pretty well. He didn't speak English very well, but that didn't matter. I knew from experience that kids our age learned language skills very quickly.
My new friend was absolutely crazy about baseball. I guess it was a pretty popular sport in his home country. He would watch just about every baseball game that you could find on TV. He also had a couple of really nice mitts, some bats, hats and baseball cards. He really loved to play catch, and so did I for that matter, although I was not into playing the game with a team. So we would go down to the park a play catch.
One day he invited me over to watch a baseball game and to meet the clan. It was sort of bizarre to go into this big Victorian house that was sparsely furnished in a totally un-North American style. There was also a very distinctive aroma that pervaded the entire house. It was always the same scent, weirdly exotic, yet far from offensive. I remember mentally commenting to myself about the fragrance. and realizing that my young nasal passages had never wafted such a smell. I concluded that it came from the kitchen, and that it was a good smell, even though I never really got used to it. If I stayed in the house long enough, the odor would disappear, probably because my brain would get saturated. The other thing I noticed was that the place was absolutely spotless, and it was customary in the oriental fashion, to remove one's shoes upon entering the house.
About the only thing I remember doing there is watching baseball on TV. We watched a lot of baseball. I wasn't really crazy about the sport, but I watched it anyway. My friend was not free to run around as he pleased, for security reasons I guess, so he had found this passion to keep himself occupied. I sort of felt sorry for him, because I could run around from sunup to beyond sundown. I wouldn't have traded my life for his any day.
The family did not stay as long as a diplomatic family usually stayed, so I did not have time to develop a friendship that would otherwise have developed, but we did get my friend to learn and improve his English, and I improved my knowledge of baseball.
Anything You Want
It's a kid's dream come true. Every year, and for many years, a friend of mine's uncle would treat us to two major events. The first one was Firecracker Day, and the second was a day at the local fair. This was on top of numerous horseback riding days and Dairy Queen days.
The day at the local fair started off early, so that we could take advantage of as many activities as possible. Unc, as he was referred to would pick up the kids in his enourmously-roomy black Lincoln Continental. Six or seven of us would pile in, and he would drive off. It was sort of great in those days, because seat belts didn't exist in most passenger cars, so you could cram as many people as a car's suspension could handle.
The fair was in town, and quite a short drive away. Late August days could be either really hot, or somewhat cooler and cloudy, but we never had a rainy day when at the fair. Once there, instructions were simple and easy to adhere to. If you got lost there was a pre-set meeting point and time, and, you could go on any ride as many times as your stomach could handle, and you could eat and drink anything you wanted, and as much as you wanted. It was like having carte blanche, and the bank could not be broken. I'm sure Unc went through enormous amounts of cash, but his unfailing smile encouraged us to spend, spend, spend. Never once did I ever hear him complain or point out what all of this was costing. It was a kid's dream come true.
We would almost feel guilty from time to time, but Unc would erase any of those thoughts by asking us if we were having fun. If we answered yes, he would just say that that was what we were there for. So as long as the fun continued, the cash would flow. I never in all my youthful years found out what Unc did for a living, and I don't think anyone asked. It all seemed to be irrelevant. I think it was an effort on our part to not spoil the magic of it all.
The day went by just too awfully fast for our taste, and we would have a great time. We tried a lot of rides, played a lot of games, both in the arcades, and under the open tents. We also ate everything in sight: lots of candy apples, caramel corn, hot dogs, and candy floss. What hedonism!
At the end of the day, once everyone was totally satiated, Unc would pile us back into that big old Lincoln, and drive us back home. The only thing he would ask in return, was that we ensure him that we'd had a really good time.
The best part was that we were too young to get zits from all the junk we had eaten.
Rules and Rituals
Growing up in the early sixties was a bit strange at times. The Big One had influenced people's minds considerably, and many hold-overs still existed.
A perfect example was the brush-cut. This was some new phenomenon, when you think about it. I can't remember another period in western humanity's development did something like this occur. Yes, I'm sure that in the past they would shave your head if you had fleas, or ticks, or something, but otherwise you would wear your hair like you had some. Unthinkingly, we would go, my father my brothers and I, to the barber shop for a haircut. I don't even think you had to learn to be a barber in those days, because the ritual haircut was a brush-cut. I remember a friend of mine who was from South America. He had what was considered long hair in those days, and when he would get a haircut, it would be to trim some shape into his hair. I would look at him after his haircut. and he'd look the same, whereas you could prick your finger touching my hair after a haircut. What were people thinking in those days?
Another ritual came every Friday. You couldn't eat meat on Friday. It was a religious thing. It kept the fish market alive. It was a silly rule to follow, but we did. I even remember my father making a beautiful home-made hamburger one day and as he was placing it on the table for me to eat, realized that it was Friday. Guess what? The burger went into the fridge, and I had to eat something else, probably fish sticks or something like that.
Something else that we had to do was go to church every Sunday. Short of being on your deathbed, you had to go to church, otherwise you would, not could, go to hell in the event that you died before confessing this sin of omission. Sounds a bit like a board game, doesn't it? Not only that, you inevitably had friends who adhered to different religions, and didn't ever have to go to church, although some of them couldn't eat pork, including hot dogs, and that sort of evened the score.
During Lent, it was highly recommended that you go to church each and every of the forty days to Easter, including Easter Sunday. This meant that in one year, you would go to mass a minimum of something like just under a hundred times. Heaven have mercy on those who are born into a demanding religion.
Eventually, hair grew longer, and the brush-cut went the way of the history books, along with the big one, WW two., and religion became a little more realistic. Those who sold fish lamented the day when the Friday ruling was overturned. Our population became more and more cosmopolitan, and going to hell for not going to mass didn't make much sense to a thinking person any more. And they invented beef and chicken hot dogs for my friends who couldn't eat hot dogs previously made with pork.
Technicalities
This was my third school, and I was only going into grade two. No, I wasn't a problem student, we just happened to be moving, or the schools were closing. The unusual thing about this school was that they allowed boys up to and including grade three. After that it was strictly an all girls' school.
A good friend of mine got great marks in grade two. So much so that the school officials decided that he should skip a grade. But there was a problem with that. There were no boys admitted to grade four. If you were going into grade
four, you were shipped off to the all boys' school. Unfortunately, the all boys’ school would not admit my friend into grade four, thereby skipping grade three. My marks were good, but not as good as my friend's. The school authorities decided to put the two of us in an all girls' grade four class. That way, my brilliant friend could enjoy the benefit of skipping a grade, and not be alone with a bunch of girls at a time when boys were not necessarily interested in girls. This also meant that I too would skip grade three, even though I was not as brilliant as my friend.
The whole thing worked out, mostly because the friends we had made were in grade three, so if we wanted to see them in the morning or during recess, we could do so. It was however strange to be surrounded by a bunch of girls, all the while being taught by a woman. That's a lot of female input.
In retrospect, I sort of wish this sort of thing would have happened at the end of high school, when my friend and I could have made better use of the situation.
