Slow bake a batch of grainola.
12/20/09
12/13/09
12/12/09
12/11/09
12/10/09
12/7/09
12/6/09
12/5/09
12/4/09
12/3/09
12/2/09
12/1/09
9/14/09
8/30/09
Bite Hard Works!
I'm starting a new job on Tuesday, so I won't be blogging much for the next little while. I won't be able to check my Gmail fifty times a day, so if you want to chat, please give me a call at home any evening or weekend!
8/29/09
8/23/09
Contest Winners
As you may know, I've been running a contest while away. I promised to award an East Coast-themed prize to the person who left the 'best' comment on any blog post relating to our vacation.
I'm actually awarding the prize to two contestants: Sarah Waterston and Jeremiah Soucie of Ottawa. Sarah left the loveliest birthday message for me yesterday. Here's some of it.
Thank you for your stories of visits to old and new haunts, new yet always familiar farmers' markets, natural wonders and various aspects of home. You may have a certain sense of belonging only where your parents make home, but your warmth creates a sense of home for the rest of us. Wherever you may be. We are looking forward to having you and Adam back home.
Jeremiah's comment, true to his nature, was wry, dry, and subtly protective. I'll leave it to readers to find it.
Since Sarah and Jeremiah share a household, they can also share the prize: a case of Stutz Hard Cider, an all-natural hard apple cider made in Nova Scotia's fertile Annapolis Valley.
Honourable Mentions go to Cathy Tuey from Ottawa for leaving a comment about her upcoming trip to the East Coast and to Lorraine Soucie who lives in Wicklow, New Brunswick, for leaving a beautiful little ditty only a few minutes after we left the Soucie ranch this morning.
P.S. I have discovered that among my other odd 'likes,' running contests ranks highly on the list! Hope to have even more comments on my next trip log!
I'm actually awarding the prize to two contestants: Sarah Waterston and Jeremiah Soucie of Ottawa. Sarah left the loveliest birthday message for me yesterday. Here's some of it.
Thank you for your stories of visits to old and new haunts, new yet always familiar farmers' markets, natural wonders and various aspects of home. You may have a certain sense of belonging only where your parents make home, but your warmth creates a sense of home for the rest of us. Wherever you may be. We are looking forward to having you and Adam back home.
Jeremiah's comment, true to his nature, was wry, dry, and subtly protective. I'll leave it to readers to find it.
Since Sarah and Jeremiah share a household, they can also share the prize: a case of Stutz Hard Cider, an all-natural hard apple cider made in Nova Scotia's fertile Annapolis Valley.
Honourable Mentions go to Cathy Tuey from Ottawa for leaving a comment about her upcoming trip to the East Coast and to Lorraine Soucie who lives in Wicklow, New Brunswick, for leaving a beautiful little ditty only a few minutes after we left the Soucie ranch this morning.
P.S. I have discovered that among my other odd 'likes,' running contests ranks highly on the list! Hope to have even more comments on my next trip log!
Final Days
Our final days on the East Coast were spent in Lunenburg, Mahone Bay, Halifax, and Florenceville. We went to yet another beach (Queensland), visited two totally cool art galleries (Argyle Art Gallery and Seeds), climbed Citadel Hill, ate dinner at The Wooden Monkey (Halifax's organic, locally-inspired restaurant), popped into the Halifax Farmer's Market, sat back for a guided tour around Florenceville, and took a break at a St. Hubert (which now serves only grain-fed Quebec chicken) just before we got to Montreal. We drank free iced tea, Nova Scotia lager, iced coffee from The Laughing Whale, and watermelon lemonade. We ate salt water taffy, caramelized parsnip soup, baked halibut, cinnamon rolls from Mary's Bread Basket, BBQ chicken thighs, organic garden vegetables, crispy bacon with scrambled eggs and toast, wild blueberries, and several runny slices of the best lemon pie on the planet. Also, yesterday I turned 29 and I'm feeling fine! (Adam hates 'catch phrases' to describe birthdays, but I think they're awesome.)
A huge thank-you to Allen and Anna for taking amazing care of our house and the kittens, to Liz and Ziad for lending us camping gear, to Chris for being a fantastic host in Moncton, to Wendy for lending us her car to take to Nova Scotia, to both Adam's parents for throwing a fun family dinner, to Karen for suggesting that we eat at The Wooden Monkey, to both my parents for hosting overnight guests not once, but twice, and for making us fabulous BBQ, to my mother for baking the famous birthday pie in 35 degree heat, and to my father for sending us home with six garden cucumbers, a huge cardboard box full of organic potatoes, and two homemade banana breads.
Riva, home.
A huge thank-you to Allen and Anna for taking amazing care of our house and the kittens, to Liz and Ziad for lending us camping gear, to Chris for being a fantastic host in Moncton, to Wendy for lending us her car to take to Nova Scotia, to both Adam's parents for throwing a fun family dinner, to Karen for suggesting that we eat at The Wooden Monkey, to both my parents for hosting overnight guests not once, but twice, and for making us fabulous BBQ, to my mother for baking the famous birthday pie in 35 degree heat, and to my father for sending us home with six garden cucumbers, a huge cardboard box full of organic potatoes, and two homemade banana breads.
Riva, home.
8/21/09
South Shore
Cute, cute, cute.
We spent the last day or two driving around Nova Scotia's winding south shore where tiny towns -- some prosperous, others not as much -- dot a sandy coastal highway. We spent the night in Lunenburg, an old ship-building town with well-preserved architecture, a work-a-day wharf, grandly decorated guest houses, seafood grills, a lot of overpriced art galleries showcasing Maritime-themed prints, beaches, steeply-graded streets, and a handful of amazing restaurants.
To my extreme delight, we happened upon the Lunenburg Farmer's Market when we drove into town, and discovered cold rhubarb punch, Stutz Hard Cider, hot crepes, balsamic and green onion hummus, fat chocolate chip muffins, and wild blackberries picked just that morning. After stocking our little cooler, we asked around town for directions to the closest beach (turned out to be Hirtles) and spent the afternoon trying to warm up to waves that were cold enough to make our feet ache. But the sun was hot and the sand very fine. Very fine, indeed.
We spent the night at the cute and tchotchked Pelham House Bed and Breakfast, where Bill and Ben (two ginger tabbies) and Drum the Dog kept us company. Our room was on the first floor of an up-and-down classic Lunenburg family home with a private patio and squeaky wooden gate just for us. After a night of camping, I was ready for a soft, king-sized bed and free Wi Fi and we both really enjoyed our breakfast of fruit salad and thick slabs of potato and Swiss frittata.
We took our time on the drive to Halifax, stopping in Mahone Bay for a long lunch and dipping our toes into the water at the much warmer Queensland Beach. We tried our best to keep from making plans of any kind and the reward was a slow, meandering afternoon during which we laughed at each others' jokes and remembered to hold hands from time to time.
Oven Caves
Before leaving Moncton, we decided to cut our driving time in half by heading to Oven Caves Natural Park on Nova Scotia's South Shore instead of going to Kejimkujik National Park. The quick change in plans was a bit of a gamble, as we were going only on Oven Caves' website, but the payoff was huge.
Oven Caves is a massive, privately-owned campground that's a bit rundown these days, but still quite phenomenal. It extends out from a long, craggy shoreline, which is dotted at the northern end with dark, dripping caves. On the short hike out to the last cave, you can see, before you hear, the waves crashing magnificently through the small opening in the rock and hitting the far wall of the cave, producing a sound not unlike a sea monster, we imagined.
Later on, we created our own natural wonder: fire. Adam put his Scouting skills to good use at our campsite, building a bobbing little campfire, hammering tent pegs into the ground, and teaching me how to light our tiny stove. Meanwhile, I made myself busy gathering kindling and roasting pork sausages with baked apples in the fire.
There has never been a lot of love lost between the great outdoors and I, but Oven Caves is exactly how I want to camp if I ever do it again.
8/20/09
Comment Contest
The Comment Contest on! The person who leaves the best comment on any post related to this trip will win a Maritime-themed prize.
So far, Jeremiah is in the lead.
I picked up the prize today in LUNENBURG, NOVA SCOTIA and it's a good one.
Maritimer
"I guess I'm a Maritimer after all."
This was Adam's conclusion earlier today.
For him, there are few places on earth where he feels more at home than near the ocean. We just spent three days at Emery Legere Beach, a smallish quiet beach near Shediac that's just behind a long bank of grassy dunes. There are no provincially-owned amenities and there's no entrance fee. You just park along a long road lined with cottages and trailers and tents and walk towards the water, which is just past a few empty properties, grown-over with blue-green sea grass and white clusters of Queen Anne's Lace.
Exactly the kind of beach we needed. Calm water and beautiful, soft sand. And our visits were made all the more special because Adam's best friend -- one of those rare people who is funny and thoughtful and quiet and complicated and easy to be with -- was with us the entire time.
It was also the weekend of New Brunswick's annual celebration of Acadian culture. Such a fête exists? I had no idea. But there were Acadian flags flying everywhere, and again, I was reminded that these are supposed to be my people. Yet, again I was reminded that I can't speak what should have been my native language, and so, I remain mostly on the outside.
But by the end of our time in Moncton, I'd thrown myself headlong into the Franco-Maritime culture, pausing with my book at Cafe Clementine, gaily sifting through vintage clothing and antiques on St. George Street, and eating croissants and cheese for breakfast, instead of my usual straight-laced bowl of oatmeal. Gone, for those days, was the clutching sense of anxiety that has moved into my life since migrating to Ontario. Gradually, I watched Adam become more at ease too, aided no doubt by his joy at eating a big old lobster when we went to dinner with his parents in the seriously outdated, but charming, Le Chateau a Pape.
I still don't think I'd ever 'move home,' but there's something to be said for coming back for a visit. The ease of being near my roots feels, at least for this summer, unmistakably comfortable.
Home and Not Home
Our long drive from Ontario to New Brunswick was cleverly broken up with a stop in Quebec City on Friday night. QC is a friendly, easy place to visit with the iconic cobblestone streets winding up and down the old city. The outdoor fireplace at our hotel, friendly Francophone tour guides, beautiful corner creperies, the saxophone player wailing away on the terrace beside Chateau Frontenac, strangely added up to a sense of feeling right at home. "These are my people in a way," I remember thinking, but knowing, at the same time, that I would always be on the outside.
Never mind because we made quick time to New Brunswick where the two people who will always be my people -- my parents -- awaited our arrival with great anticipation, preparing a literal feast for dinner: fat grilled pork chops, potatoes and beets from my father's garden, sliced cucumber, and cornbread with wild blueberries. My parents live in a one and a half bedroom 1970s trailer at the edge of a six-acre property. There is no air conditioning, doors that don't shut quite right, and dark clouds of black flies that swarm you when you step outside. But there is also a warmth and easiness that comes from my parents' interminable hospitality and a sense of belonging that exists for me only where my parents make home.
Of course, we didn't stop for long. The next morning, we headed off to meet Luke and Mary in Fredericton, leaving behind the rolling hills of the Saint John river valley and parking our car right downtown under the shade of one of Fredericton's century-old trees. The Boyce Farmer's Market was as amazing as I remembered, but the foods Adam and I used to love -- chicken souvlaki, barbecued buffalo burgers, and sugar-glazed Delfter sticks -- seemed like paler versions of their former selves. I know the food hasn't changed, but our tastes have, apparently. This was disappointing, but I found a new addiction among the market stalls: the salty sweet popcorn made outside in a giant cauldron by, as Adam pointed out, a man with enough girth to wield the over-sized stirring spoon and 20 pound bags of sugar.
On our way out of town, we drove through the UNB campus. Both of us looking at it through a lens that is six years older and a heck of a lot more appreciative. UNB is one of Canada's oldest university campuses and the period stone buildings show its age off in good form. My favorite among them is a former one-room ice house, tucked behind the Old Arts Building in a little dip beside the infamously steep knoll. Now, the ice house is used only for poetry workshops, taught by the amiable Dr. Ross Leckie. Looking at it again, I realized just how far I -- if not my poetry -- have come in the last ten years.
Never mind because we made quick time to New Brunswick where the two people who will always be my people -- my parents -- awaited our arrival with great anticipation, preparing a literal feast for dinner: fat grilled pork chops, potatoes and beets from my father's garden, sliced cucumber, and cornbread with wild blueberries. My parents live in a one and a half bedroom 1970s trailer at the edge of a six-acre property. There is no air conditioning, doors that don't shut quite right, and dark clouds of black flies that swarm you when you step outside. But there is also a warmth and easiness that comes from my parents' interminable hospitality and a sense of belonging that exists for me only where my parents make home.
Of course, we didn't stop for long. The next morning, we headed off to meet Luke and Mary in Fredericton, leaving behind the rolling hills of the Saint John river valley and parking our car right downtown under the shade of one of Fredericton's century-old trees. The Boyce Farmer's Market was as amazing as I remembered, but the foods Adam and I used to love -- chicken souvlaki, barbecued buffalo burgers, and sugar-glazed Delfter sticks -- seemed like paler versions of their former selves. I know the food hasn't changed, but our tastes have, apparently. This was disappointing, but I found a new addiction among the market stalls: the salty sweet popcorn made outside in a giant cauldron by, as Adam pointed out, a man with enough girth to wield the over-sized stirring spoon and 20 pound bags of sugar.
On our way out of town, we drove through the UNB campus. Both of us looking at it through a lens that is six years older and a heck of a lot more appreciative. UNB is one of Canada's oldest university campuses and the period stone buildings show its age off in good form. My favorite among them is a former one-room ice house, tucked behind the Old Arts Building in a little dip beside the infamously steep knoll. Now, the ice house is used only for poetry workshops, taught by the amiable Dr. Ross Leckie. Looking at it again, I realized just how far I -- if not my poetry -- have come in the last ten years.