We’re back. With a tale of two cities: Halifax, Nova Scotia and Kingston, Ontario. Whew! Busy. So different from the life we live here in Cape Breton. On the Middle River, which, believe it or not, holds our mortgage. Because if the river decided to pump itself up and become like the mighty Nile or Fraser Rivers then we’d be carried away. High rubber boots, trailer, mortgage and all.
As we were crossing the Canso Causeway, heading toward the ‘Welcome to Cape Breton’ sign, I told Sue that it felt like we were emerging from some kind of tunnel of love. Only we would call the tunnel we’d been living in, ‘The Tunnel of Noise, Chaos and Stimulation’. Mental and physical.
The city must have had a considerable effect on my partner. Because on the way home, she mentioned that she wondered where she’d stored her gun cleaning kit. Said she had this hankering to take her rifle to the shooting range to brush up on her skills. First time I’d heard her mention this.
As we were crossing the Canso Causeway, heading toward the ‘Welcome to Cape Breton’ sign, I told Sue that it felt like we were emerging from some kind of tunnel of love. Only we would call the tunnel we’d been living in, ‘The Tunnel of Noise, Chaos and Stimulation’. Mental and physical.
The city must have had a considerable effect on my partner. Because on the way home, she mentioned that she wondered where she’d stored her gun cleaning kit. Said she had this hankering to take her rifle to the shooting range to brush up on her skills. First time I’d heard her mention this.
Halloween Aftermath in Halifax
However, only after we had arrived back at our little Cape Breton trailer did we realize just how different our life is from normal city life. I’ll tell you one of the reasons I knew. It was the story titles I was hearing from either Sue or myself.
Speaking of titles, I’ve noticed that many of the best titles that have occurred to me have come from brief statements spoken during a conversation. I think I have even recorded some of them. I just don’t know where I put the folder. Do you have that problem?
Anyway, after we got home and I’d had time to unpack and pop a cold one, I heard myself saying, “I’m not going to caw anymore.” I certainly never thought such a thing while I was watching my hat get run over and destroyed on a windy Halifax street, or when I discovered a twenty-five dollar parking ticket on my windshield. But here, back in Cape Breton, this phrase made perfect sense.
Speaking of titles, I’ve noticed that many of the best titles that have occurred to me have come from brief statements spoken during a conversation. I think I have even recorded some of them. I just don’t know where I put the folder. Do you have that problem?
Anyway, after we got home and I’d had time to unpack and pop a cold one, I heard myself saying, “I’m not going to caw anymore.” I certainly never thought such a thing while I was watching my hat get run over and destroyed on a windy Halifax street, or when I discovered a twenty-five dollar parking ticket on my windshield. But here, back in Cape Breton, this phrase made perfect sense.
You see, I don’t think I understand crow talk. Every time a murder of crows gets cawing from trees above my head and I try to answer with my crow call, they usually flee. Cawing and croaking all the way across the land. Except for one, who remains to make sure all the crows have completely evacuated. Then he or she takes off in a flurry of caws. I have an authentic sounding caw. It’s not that, it’s just that I don’t know whether I’m cawing, “Bugger off”, “Good morning”, or “I have a hankering for roast crow”.
moose jaw And it wasn’t long after I’d made this profound statement that my partner shouted through the screen door, “Would you pick up my deer teeth, please?”
Pick up a quart of milk, a loaf of bread or a case of beer, but I’d never heard anybody ask to have their deer teeth picked up. Not in the city. But out here, resting on our porch railing are a moose skull, a deer jaw, some antlers, a couple of old bottles and several rocks. So it makes perfect sense when you live here and there’s been a high wind all morning.
Pick up a quart of milk, a loaf of bread or a case of beer, but I’d never heard anybody ask to have their deer teeth picked up. Not in the city. But out here, resting on our porch railing are a moose skull, a deer jaw, some antlers, a couple of old bottles and several rocks. So it makes perfect sense when you live here and there’s been a high wind all morning.
Why we need the snow blower! However, yesterday I didn’t come up with any smart titles for what I found in the tool shed. I’d wanted to get the snow blower going. Move it closer to the trailer. Unfortunately, I’d left some insulation in the tool shed. There are a lot of mice out in the world that think pink. I pulled the cover off said snow blower. A mouse leapt out. Ran for his or her life. A ball of insulation fell to the wooden floor along with mouse doo-doo, pee-pee and some other kind of pinkish coloured liquid. Which took me a minute or two to figure out. Gasoline. The little bugger had chewed the gas line and now it has to be repaired. The title for that story: “Pass me the &%##@#&& traps, dear.”
As I stepped through the trailer door, mumbling some distinctive old English words, I smelled something shitty. The aroma seemed to be coming from my boots. I took a look. It was doggy doo. Apparently, when I’d walked to the mailbox, I’d stepped in a deposit that our neighbour’s dog likes to mail to our residence. And believe you me, we’re both pretty sure that there is a message in that soft brown envelope.
Anyway, I took the boot off, scraped most of the poop off with a stick and then ran water onto the boot from our outdoor tap.
Have to run. Sue is shouting that an animal is banging around inside our wood stove.
CAW! CAW! CAW!
Anyway, I took the boot off, scraped most of the poop off with a stick and then ran water onto the boot from our outdoor tap.
Have to run. Sue is shouting that an animal is banging around inside our wood stove.
CAW! CAW! CAW!
Deer in Frontenac Provincial Park, Ontario
