Nova Scotia 2007
Day 1: Saturday June 16
Copyright(c) 2007, Jim Beachy
Normally I telecommute on Friday. This past Thursday I told my boss I had planned to come to the office yesterday but changed my mind on the basis that I wanted to be prepared in case I was tempted to slip out early to begin our trip to Nova Scotia. She laughed and said she thought it would be a good idea.
So yesterday we packed up the Escapade trailer and eased out of our driveway for the three-hour ride to Dad’s for a family get-together, and from there a winding two-lane route to Bar Harbor, Maine and a ferry ride that will deposit us in Nova Scotia. Normally we ride to San Antonio for the Alamo Run in May, but couldn’t do that this year because of work commitments. A couple months ago, I asked Kitty where she’d like to go instead. She answered without hesitation: “Nova Scotia.” And just like that, in two seconds, a destination emerged and a plan was born.
So today we sit as a family on Dad’s gazebo, a day that, for Kitty and me, is a hiatus in our journey, a zero-mile day. It’s a Pennsylvania-cool lazy day made for a family gazebo party, a day without rules where we eat breakfast at 9:30, lunch at 4:30, and abandon dinner plans in favor of homemade banana splits.
My folks make their home in a little valley surrounded by Amish farms redolent with the scents that accompany dairy farming, where farms are carved painstakingly from the wooded areas that dominate the hillsides. It used to be a coal mining town named Niverton until it burned to the ground one winter, and now, 80 years later, patches of winter snow still melt amidst wisps of steam and sulfur that make their way from underground coal fires that have never gone out, and there are still occasional stories of injuries to horses that fall into new sinkholes still appearing in the “coal hills.”
I’ve forgotten how many birds populate Dad’s valley. A killdeer nests in the garden, dragging her signature “broken” wing pitifully when anyone approaches. Baltimore orioles in gorgeous orange and black tuxedos squabble for the sweet nectar in the bird feeder. A red-headed woodpecker, then a hairy woodpecker and a nuthatch all seek the suet fastened to the wash line post. Two pairs of house wrens fight for possession of a bird house, never giving thought to the fact that there are two such homes for the taking. Goldfinches pursue each other in their loping, flutter-and-glide flight patterns, while a pair of impossibly-blue bluebirds nesting in the second fence post spend the entire day bringing who knows what for the hungry mouths inside. Starlings dance in and out of the holes in the half-dead tree just across the property line, while a belted kingfisher guarding the creek down the valley announces his presence with his typical harsh chattering call. An ornithological cornucopia.
And so a lazy family day draws to a close. Tomorrow we start our trek in earnest.
Day 1: Saturday June 16
Copyright(c) 2007, Jim Beachy
Normally I telecommute on Friday. This past Thursday I told my boss I had planned to come to the office yesterday but changed my mind on the basis that I wanted to be prepared in case I was tempted to slip out early to begin our trip to Nova Scotia. She laughed and said she thought it would be a good idea.
So yesterday we packed up the Escapade trailer and eased out of our driveway for the three-hour ride to Dad’s for a family get-together, and from there a winding two-lane route to Bar Harbor, Maine and a ferry ride that will deposit us in Nova Scotia. Normally we ride to San Antonio for the Alamo Run in May, but couldn’t do that this year because of work commitments. A couple months ago, I asked Kitty where she’d like to go instead. She answered without hesitation: “Nova Scotia.” And just like that, in two seconds, a destination emerged and a plan was born.
So today we sit as a family on Dad’s gazebo, a day that, for Kitty and me, is a hiatus in our journey, a zero-mile day. It’s a Pennsylvania-cool lazy day made for a family gazebo party, a day without rules where we eat breakfast at 9:30, lunch at 4:30, and abandon dinner plans in favor of homemade banana splits.My folks make their home in a little valley surrounded by Amish farms redolent with the scents that accompany dairy farming, where farms are carved painstakingly from the wooded areas that dominate the hillsides. It used to be a coal mining town named Niverton until it burned to the ground one winter, and now, 80 years later, patches of winter snow still melt amidst wisps of steam and sulfur that make their way from underground coal fires that have never gone out, and there are still occasional stories of injuries to horses that fall into new sinkholes still appearing in the “coal hills.”
I’ve forgotten how many birds populate Dad’s valley. A killdeer nests in the garden, dragging her signature “broken” wing pitifully when anyone approaches. Baltimore orioles in gorgeous orange and black tuxedos squabble for the sweet nectar in the bird feeder. A red-headed woodpecker, then a hairy woodpecker and a nuthatch all seek the suet fastened to the wash line post. Two pairs of house wrens fight for possession of a bird house, never giving thought to the fact that there are two such homes for the taking. Goldfinches pursue each other in their loping, flutter-and-glide flight patterns, while a pair of impossibly-blue bluebirds nesting in the second fence post spend the entire day bringing who knows what for the hungry mouths inside. Starlings dance in and out of the holes in the half-dead tree just across the property line, while a belted kingfisher guarding the creek down the valley announces his presence with his typical harsh chattering call. An ornithological cornucopia.
And so a lazy family day draws to a close. Tomorrow we start our trek in earnest.
