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We walked back down Spring Garden, to Barrington, passing the old cemetery and continued on to Morris and the HH. A half carafe of Valpolicelli, some wonderful panini bread and olive oil, set the stage for a delicious plate of frutti di mare. The evening was warm and pleasant, so we walked down to the water and along the Ocean walk. On his advice, we set off along the highway and followed signs that indeed said A’West Mabou Beach.A“ The road to the beach is sort of primitive, but we managed to find the ocean-side parking lot. We were dining at the Inn this evening, so all we had to do was walk next door to the main building. The Maitland River basin gave us our first glimpse of the tidal phenomenon that is the Bay of Fundy.
At Walton, we stopped, at this bend of the road, to admire one of the now familiar triangular white light houses, with red tops.
In the Annapolis room, we were seated by the picture window, with a fine view out over the ocean. We got a score card from the pro shop, looked around a bit and then drove over to Digby on the water.
The sun was shining brightly outside and we had an hour to wait for our plane, so we ventured outside to enjoy the day.
Soon enough, the time came for us to venture inside and board our West Jet for the two-hour flight toHamilton, Ontario. 3.The writer must avoid the two essential faults of creative writinga€”those that touch its essence and those that are accidental. 4.The plot should have a beginning, middle, and end, and thus resemble a living organism in all its unity. 5.The beginning and end of the story must be capable of being brought within a single view or theme.
6.Plot should be arranged on the complex plan, one in which change of fortune takes place through reversal of situation, recognition, or both and includes scenes of suffering. 8.Plot can consist of either a single thread or double thread in which an opposite ending occurs for the good and bad characters.
10.Plot should imitate actions that incite pity and feara€”pity as aroused by unmerited misfortune, and fear by witnessing the misfortune of a character like ourselves. 11.This character must be someone who brings misfortune on himself or herself, not through vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty.
13.The writer must focus on the action in the story and the part taken by the characters, and not drift off in several lines of action carried on at the same time. 14.The writer should put the scene before his or her eyes, as if he or she is an actual eyewitness to an event happening while writing. Hero or heroine faces jeopardy that incites in reader emotions of sympathetic fear and anxiety as to the outcome of the situation. Plant the idea or action early, then develop readera€™s understanding by returning to idea or action later in story.
Description is the attempt to represent reality by using language to present as directly as possible the qualities of a person, place, object, or event. 1)The Eye of Insight sheds new light by examining inscape, viewing the interior, the shape within the shape of a thing.
2)The All-Accepting Eye examines things that we might rather not see, discards the labels, and searches for the beauty in a flaw, beginning discovery with the thing and not its label.
3)The Gliding Eye observes things in movement through time or space or both, picks up details of the passage, recording birth and decay of sensation at the center of a spinning mind.
4)The Childa€™s Eye observes a thing with the seriousness of a child at play, in a focused, highly concentrated way, without hurrya€”like watching an ant crawl across the ground or observing a dung beetle move a mass five times its size and weight.
5)The Dream Eye fragments reality and reshapes it, perhaps using symbols to penetrate below surface appearances. The Naked Eye merges with the Imaginative Eye to create effective descriptiona€”The Big Picturea€”by making things from, not making things up.
New idea built from comparison between two unlike things; tension between two actualities creates possibility, or new meaning.
An Allusion measures a thing against a known cultural or memory tweak by referencing something the reader will know (Allegory, Conceit, direct or indirect reference to other texts (intertextuality), music, movies, etc.
Respond to each othera€™s work with respect, depth and thoughtfulness, in a manner that is civil and constructive. Over the Top a€“ material is presented in such a way that reader has a hard time believing the story. Greenfield, Tennessee, a farm and factory town of twenty-two hundred in the statea€™s rural northwest corner, has never been more than a place between places, one in a long list of towns to be passed through along kudzu-choked U.S. It was in fact the railroad, and not the nearby Mississippi River, which was the prime mover in the delta land where I grew up. On September 2, 1979, two members of the Weakley County rescue squad found the raped and murdered body of eight year-old Cary Ann Medlin in one of the communitya€™s namesake green fields, not far from the Illinois Central tracks.
I remember hearing news of her murder and running to find my first grade yearbook, hoping to fix her school days photo in my mind so I wouldna€™t lose it.
It wasna€™t until twenty-one years later, long after Ia€™d left Tennessee, after Martin and Greenfield had became only places in my mind and that Lovera€™s Lane a Memory Lane that I began to consider the murdera€™s place in a childhood which I now see as violent in so many other ways.
That first grade photo of Cary appeared over and over in the news in the months leading up to the Coe execution, along with another I found printed years before in the Nashville Tennessean and now reprinted as the newspaper re-capped the story: a shot of those rescue workers bent over the soybean plants, long-haired and t-shirted, hunting the girla€™s body. Bob Cowser, Jr.'s first book, Dream Season, was a New York Times Book Review a€?Editor's Choicea€? and a€?Paperback Rowa€? selection and was listed among the Chronicle of Higher Education's best-ever college sports books. Above our heads, a banner of the eartha€™s children: an African boy with corduroy hair, a fur-muffled Eskimo, a golden girl from Holland. Six years later my first stockings were seamed and I thought of Miss Ranney while I sat on the edge of the bathtub shaving the pale brown hairs. Rebecca McClanahan has published nine books, most recently Deep Light: New and Selected Poems 1987-2007 and The Riddle Song and Other Rememberings, which won the 2005 Glasgow prize in nonfiction.
There was a woman who died while I was in Daffiama; she was young and eight months pregnant.
Jillian Schedneck taught Literature and Creative Writing at the American University in Dubai for the 2007-2008 academic year. Sitting on the edge of her bed, with legs dangling and shoulders slumped, my six-year-old stares at the wall in a trance. She moves to the beat of her own drum, but once in the car, I settle into the morning routine.
As the overburdened stretch of I-95 south of the Capitol extends before me, with cars packed in every lane as we creep toward our northbound destinations, I cannot stop the seething anger and indignation that boils within me. Our passage onto the base is slowed at the gate by the forklift placing barriers in front of the gate shack.
I look at her, and though I answer a€?yes,a€? I realize that I was late because I forgot to leave. Being a mother is not just something I do; it is who I am, who I should have been, and who I always want to be.
On the way to work, I listen to the news, but then I turn it off and just listen to the sound of my breathing.
During my first sixth months of recruiting duty, workdays lasted from 0700 to 2300 Monday thru Friday, and from 0800 to 1800 on Sunday.
Making all those a€?numbersa€? was occasionally impossible, especially the a€?three appointments for the next day.a€? The recruiter had to contact the staff non-commissioned officer in charge and report his numbers before securing. Create Scene, driving home, reflecting on the hours spent on the road as a recruiter and the nastiness of the bars carried on Na€™s clothing into the cara€”describe car: At the end of that night, I went home exhausted, sweaty, and smelling like the smoke from the bars, an odor I despise.
Create Scene: Pulling into the driveway at 0200 all I could think of was getting a shower and going to sleep. Deodorant soap replaced the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke from my body, but the taste in my mouth was getting worse. A recruiting SNCOIC doesna€™t want his recruiters getting caught with their integrity down but he is willing to risk it to make mission. This is a separate story inside this storya€”N is avoiding the real story by ending with this: Anyway, rumor had it the old man had assaulted a recruiter in Georgia and the Colonel just moved him to a new duty-station, in Daytona Beach, Florida. Like I said before, you have real talent, so dona€™t think badly of your writing when you see my comments.
One of the most important things you can do, is to take this piece and determine what is summary and what is scene. When you create your timeline, start with placing the major events in this piece on the line first. Being assigned to recruiting from my usual job as a criminal investigator was both good and bad. Getting back to those tasks based on statistics, stay with me now as I get through how the numbers worked out.
I talked to those people either on the telephone or in person, what we called daily activities. When I returned to my desk from the bathroom, the old sergeant was heading out the door with his Bible. This was the guy I had to call every night and get approval to secure, to leave work and go home at night. After almost five hours of talking to people on the phone and going out and talking to people at malls, stores and various other public places, I felt done for the day. Dragging ass, I continued to approach people around 7-eleven stores and such, acting like I just happened to be stopping by on my way home from work.
After ironing out the details and writing down his contact information, I finally left the musty tavern and drove home, exhausted and sweaty.
The glowing numbers on the clock said it was a short night before I had to get back up and start another recruiting day. Born and raised in a small town in the South, David Charles joined the US Marine Corps as a teenager during the Cold War period. USA Cycling is the official governing body for all disciplines of competitive cycling in the United States. We paid our $3.75 toll(CDN), passed through customs and followed the Queen Elizabeth Expressway North, to Prudehomme Bay, on the Westernmost edge of Lake Ontario.
Room # 201, on the ground floor of the second building, is large and comfortable, with a sitting area. We had noticed two Italian restaurants on South Street, two blocks over, and decided to try one for dinner. The kilted, scots guardsmen were just emerging from their barracks, for the dayA•s tour, as we walked along the ramparts and enjoyed the view far out over HalifaxA•s harbor. We sat for a time, at the front of the gardens, and watched the various streams of people walk by. The choices of food here are many, but we settled in on very large bowls of seafood chowder. We enjoyed a glass of Merlot, listening to the rhythmic lilt, of a guitar and fiddle player, performing.
It is a wonderful collage of pastels, of the sea front Inns and restaurants all looking out to sea. Last, we saw even larger A’scallop draggers.A“ These behemoths dragged the seabed for scallops. One anomaly was a curious old codger, wearing a foot ball helmet and riding a A’dartA“ that was equipped with mirrors, a horn and a windscreen. It is a huge salt-water lake,on Cape Breton Island, that is popular with fishermen and boaters. Later, we sat on the porch, overlooking the ocean, and sipped a glass of cabernet in the late afternoon.
We checked out and then walked one last time around the grounds of the Keltic Lodge, admiring the sea views all around us.
The sea-views, from Pleasant Valley to Chetticamp, are beautiful and much worthy of the ride down the trail. We continued on to Dunvegan and stopped at the A’Glenora Distillery.A“ It is reputedly the only single-malt, scotch distillery in North America.


Mary dropped off some post cards in the Canada Post building and then we stopped for sandwiches and tasty fries at PinnochioA•s.
We drove back to the Duncreigan Inn and settled in, with a glass of Mondavi Cabernet, to write up our notes, chill out and recover from the days journey.
A small sitting room, with six tables upon a patio over looking the inlet, sufficed for the dining area. There are absolutely no gas stations, cafes or even rest rooms in this area for a two and one half hour stretch.
The town had originally been settled by Americans who were dissatisfied with the results of the American Revolution, after the 1784 Treaty of Paris. The Pines, like the Keltic Lodge, is an A’end destination,A“ a place that we would love to spend several days, playing golf and enjoying the amenities.
We walked the grounds again, enjoying the ocean air and the crisp smell of approaching Fall. We walked through the town, admiring the quaint architecture and enjoying another day of sunshine. For $8.50 each, we entered the small botanical sanctuary and walked through the quiet 10 acre grounds.
They timed each flight between commercial take offs and landings at the Halifax air terminal. The emerald green of Nova Scotia, and the deep blue, of the Bay of Fundy, passed beneath us as we gradually climbed to 40,000 feet.
Determine the point at which protagonist must make a decision in order to achieve goal (crisis). Coherent: Distilled image remains True to Life by reproducing the distinctive features of original. Consistent: Distilled image links the intended meaning from beginning to middle to end creating Unity of Meaning, as in an extended metaphor or exemplification. Allusion requires an understood knowledge base between writer and reader and recognition of a Cultural Memory Tweak by the reader in most cases. Elusion is complex and mysterious and requires not just recognition, but discovery of what is absent.
In depicting the motions of the a€?human hearta€™ the durability of the writing depends on the exactitude.
Submit line-edit suggestions, marginal comments, and an end comment (summary of your thoughts on the piece) addressed to the writer. Offer an end comment that notes what you believe the work to be about, how you see the work achieving this, and what opportunities you can see for further exploration in this work. My slightly larger hometown of Martin, ten miles north up Highway 45, took its name from tobacco plantation owner Colonel William Martin who donated land for the railroad bed.
Cary had gone on a bike ride with her little brother twenty hours earlier, gotten into a strangera€™s Grand Torino and disappeared. Her stepfather worked in those days on the assembly line at the Goodyear tire plant in Union City, her mother as a nurse at a Jackson hospital, and before moving to Greenfield in the summer of a€?79 the family had lived for a time in Martin. As the state of Tennessee prepared to execute Coe for the Medlin murder (its first execution in forty years), I began to understand Bean Switch Road as a rutted track in memory which might run between me and many people I loved and respected, separating me from them.
Both Medlin and Coe are as dead as they could bea€”Coe for almost five years at this writing, Cary Ann for nearly a quarter century.
He is also the author of Scorekeeping, a collection of coming-of-age essays, and his essays and reviews have appeared widely in American literary magazines, including Missouri Review, Prairie Schooner, American Literary Review, Sycamore Review, Brevity, Sonora Review, Fourth Genre, and Creative Nonfiction. I checked the seams each morning as we stood facing the chalkboard, my hand across a place I called a pocket but she called your heart, and I pledged allegiance to a flag no bigger than my brother's diaper flapping on the line. I fingered my Brownie badge and renewed my oath to help other people at all times, especially those at home.
She has also authored four previous books of poetry and two books of writing instruction, including Word Painting: A Guide to Writing More Descriptively. I didna€™t go to the funeral, but those who did said you could see the baby circling around inside of her, like a hand moving under a sheet. The first one fell with the Twin Towers, and as the clots of blood dripped into the toilet, I said goodbye almost thankfully, glad not to bring a child into such a world.
Something is different, something has changed, and I search my body for signs that my baby is still therea€”check my breasts, my belly, the fluid in the toilet, and back again to the breasts, wondering if the life inside me has died.
Not just any brown, but the kind you make with paint or too many layers of crayon when youa€™re a little kid.
I would have gone to the funeral and made them cut the baby out while it was still alive, instead of after it had died.
Her essay a€?Circling,a€? which first appeared in Brevity, will be anthologized in Online Writing: The Best of the First Ten Years (Snowvigate Press, 2009). As she rifled through the box of pencils, Alejandra must have also been watching my backside as I bent over Todda€™s desk, pondering the thin line of flower-print elastic that clings to my waistline.
He has dutifully added the e, but his compositiona€”five sentences describing his homea€”is riddled with errors. Calculating the hours, I am certain the Virginia state legislature steals an hour and a half from me five days a week.
Amandaa€™s before and after school care is local to our neighborhood, and my year old baby attends the day care on base.
Calculating the hours, I am certain the Virginia state legislature steals an hour and a half from me every workday. We are working with the Marine Corps program manager to set the timeline and milestones for the new Department of Defense messaging software. She joined the Marine Corps in 1990 and is currently a Master Sergeant servingA with III Marine Expeditionary Force, Okinawa Japan. Those activities included about 200 telephone calls and, getting back to this day at a little after 5 p.m.
Having joined for law enforcement training, his first Marine job after a€?recruita€? and a€?studenta€? was as a military policeman. Some are obvious, but others might have you flipping through the pages of your owner’s manual.
We flew along the North Shore of Lake Ontario, and then across New England, before we saw the deep blue waters of the Bay of Fundy and began our approach to Halifax airport. We found the restaurant that we were looking for, A’il Mercato,A“ but it was closed for the holiday. Large groups of students were chanting something or other as they walked by in funny costumes.
It houses small exhibit on the Titanic and a much larger one on the Halifax Harbor Explosion.
The RumrunnerA•s Inn, The Admiral Benbow Inn and others vied for the many tourists who come here. Tee shirt shops and art galleries competed with the A’Spinnaker InnA“ and many other small restaurants for tourist dollars. The bright green of dampened algae, newly exposed by the lowering tide, sparkled in the sunlight. A Wolf Blas Cabernet led us into two dozen mussels and some Ingonish Chowder, then some wonderful halibut covered in poppyseeds. It starts out high in the headland of Cape Smokey, and meanders downward over hill and dale, through scenery that makes your eyes glad. Some times we would be headed up some steep ascent, with stunning views of a treed vale behind us. We did rescue some decent coffee from a Tim HortonA•s, before setting onwards towards the Canso Causeway. The end of that road also took us to a wild and wooly cape, with a few upscale vacation homes perched on a steep and grassy hillside that looked out onto the ocean. Two well-constructed, two-story and wooden-shingled buildings sit in a leafy defile, just off the highway and looking out onto the small watery neck of Mabou Inlet. I managed to trade some pleasantries with her in German, but it had been some time since I had used the language and was verbally rusty. A small blockhouse, similar to the French Castle at Fort Niagara, sits in a levelled depression. As if from nowhere, a supersonic F-18 fighter plane screamed over the airport terminal above us, roaring skyward in a vertical spiral that was awe inspiring to watch.
We missed the turn off for the A’Queen EA“ and got a tour of the industrial areas of HamiltonA•s waterfront, before finding our way back South.
Scatter descriptive details by breaking large clumps of information into smaller bits and sprinkle throughout the story. More than a century ago now a conductor on a southbound Illinois Central Gulf train offered the town its name, noting the fields of winter wheat still green late in the year. Engineer Casey Jones lived 50 miles south in Jackson, Tennessee at the time of his legendary 1903 wreck, his modest house there now a museum. By the time they found her tiny body atop a trampled swath of soybean plants just off Bean Switch Road, a notorious Lovera€™s Lane, the corpse had begun to turn in the late summer heat.
I was as sad as a nine year-old boy could be about the business I suppose, but Cary had violated that cardinal rule of childhood about talking to strangers, and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation had Robert Glen Coe in custody just three days later.
I sensed with a kind of strange excitement how the photo was an emblem of my childhooda€”the unmistakable heat, those men, something awful hidden just out of sight.
We sang of mountains and amber grain, our voices always a beat or two behind the warped '45 spinning on the phonograph beside the globe on Miss Ranney's desk. Later that year, I was in Home Ec tracing my face shape with soap onto a mirror when the intercom crackled the news.
McClanahana€™s work has appeared in The Best American Poetry, The Best American Essays, Kenyon Review, Georgia Review, Gettysburg Review, and numerous other publications. Later I felt bad that I hadna€™t gone to the funeral, but I was never sure if my motivation was guilt or disappointment over missing such a spectacle. This one is taking its time, and I have nothing more than my intuition to tell me that ita€™s gone. Ia€™m still not completely sure, so I survey again, trying to find the feeling that was once there, that still comes back in little wisps, but seems mostly gone.
You mix all the colors togethera€”the good colors and the bad colors too, just to see what will happen, and you come up with a muddy, greenish, sickly version of the color brown, a sort of chaos and confusion of life and lifelessness all blended into one, never to be separated into sky blue, tangerine, and sea foam again. I would have taken the dead womana€™s baby for my own, as a guard against the possibility that either of us would ever be alone, as a stone thrown in the face of death, as protection against this circling, this looking for something we both need desperately that is no longer there. I consider asking him what the correct spelling might be, imagine him looking up at me with big, brown eyes, searching the details of my face for the correct letter, but decide to just tell him what he needs instead. I nod solemnly, mentally adding another dress code violation to my long list of teaching errors.
Traffic is finally moving, and this idiot thinks the left lane is for pacing instead of passing.
On the way to work, I listened to the news, but sometimes I turned it off and just listened to the sound of my breathing. Looking at my watch, I realize that the few minutes that I have been delayed will cost me many more.
With my simple math skills, I conclude that including weekends, they rob me of at least ten hours a week. My thoughts are focused on security, contingency operations, alternate network operations, and the myriad of requirements to overcome the obstacles presented by this occurrence. She knows something terrible has happened today and I dona€™t know how to explain it to her. Being a Marine is not something I do; it is who I am, who I have been, and who I will always be. The hands of time are moving again, but now I hear the slow, steady tick tock of each moment. She is also married to a Marine and has two daughters, ages 13 and 8.A She has served in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, and her husband has served in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. Once he cut his teeth guarding gates and on patrol, David became a Marine criminal investigator.
We would see tomorrow that the beautiful Halifax Public Gardens and the pricey Hotel Lord Nelson sat nearby, at the top end of this street. We could see several Canadian Coast Guard cutters and a submarine in dry dock, just beyond the walk. It was still sunny and gorgeous out, so we decided to walk down to the Alexander Keith Brewery on Lower Water Street.
Just across the road, sits the A’Old Fish Company and Nautical Museum.A“ It had formerly been a fish processing plant.
We stopped for coffee and sat in the sun,on a small seaside patio, admiring the harbor area and the sparkling turquoise sea.


It features winding seacoast roads that are fun to drive and a visual feast on a sunny day. Finally, we turned into one of the more famous resorts on the Atlantic seashore, The Keltic Lodge. We stopped first in the sitting room and listened to a lone folk singer play mournful ballads. We prepped for the day, packed our bags and had coffee in the room, while watching the morning news shows. We could see steep red bluffs across the bays, then far sea-scapes sparkling in the morning sun. At other times, we would be careening around a very steep bend and come upon the blue flash of the ocean in one of those A’wowA“ moments you get when touring, when you come upon fabulous scenery.
The wind-swept sea grass and rural character of the area has the appeal of a Wyeth painting.
We encountered only four other people, on the mile long beach, as we walked its length and back, enjoying the wind, the waves and the sun. We were glad that we had chosen to explore to day and see the area beyond the borders of the highway. We waved goodbye to a slice of beautiful earth that we might never see again and will always want to return to. Gentle rolling farm land sprouted clumps of sparse population, amidst the greenery and furrowed fields of farm country. It was fascinating to think of the titanic surges of ocean water that ran back and forth through here every day.
Two rest rooms were also located conveniently for tourists and maintained by a volunteer lighthouse preservation society. We were tiring from the day, so we headed back to the room, to write up our notes, relax and chill out before dinner.
We returned to the room and read our books, before being carried far away but the sand man.
The commercial harbor area, where the shrimpers and other fisher men berth their craft, extends out into the small neck of water that leads out to the Bay of Fundy.
Blueberries, honey,maple syrup and home made crafts drew in the locals and tourist in droves. It is surrounded by earthen breast works and a series of cannon emplacements that look out on and dominate the entrance to the bay.
A wild marsh area sits near the riverside end of the property, for enjoying the avian life that sheltered here. The U.S Navy A’Blue Angels aerobatic teamA“ were joining a Canadian military air show at the airport.
I can only imagine the feeling of soaring through space and time, at supersonic speeds, high above the earth where only the wind and dreams venture. We passed over New England, then followed the South Coast of lake Ontario across all of the cities so familiar to us. The A’Queen EA“ was loaded with traffic hurrying Southward, to Niagara Falls or Niagara on the Lake, for Saturday night revels.
After all, something has drawn you here, readera€”you want to know what it is the searchers seek among the soybean plants. Lawrence University, where he teaches courses in nonfiction writing and later American literature, and an adjunct member of the faculty of Ashland Universitya€™s Low-Residency MFA program.
Our world was the Weekly Reader, hopscotch and jump rope, the only war the Cold One which America of course was winning. They lived only for my welfare, wrote notes about my progress and pinned them to my shirt, exchanged report card signatures. McClanahan, who lives in New York, has received the Wood Prize from POETRY, a Pushcart Prize in fiction, and (twice) the Carter prize for the essay from Shenendoah. There is something about the way the breasts suddenly deflate, the way the body stops gurgling and humming, that lets me know I will continue to chase after the symptoms of another life in my body without ever finding what I am looking for. This brown, this color I am, it sucks in the colors of crocuses, bananas, my husbanda€™s eyes, and it holds them tight, keeping them for its own but never changing, never brightening to a rich mahogany or surrendering to black. As my bitten fingernail zigzags over his sentences, I realize that even my fingers dona€™t match my image of a fourth grade teacher, who should be neat and composed, with a rosy complexion and trimmed, polished nails. He grins back at me, but there is something about his expression, the penetrating, hooded brown eyes, that tells me he knows Ia€™m overlooking his other mistakes. She is currently working on a travel memoir about her experiences in the United Arab Emirates titled a€?Abu Dhabi Days, Dubai Nights.a€? Her creative work has been published in literary journals such as The Common Review, Brevity, and Fourth River. Adding lanes in both directions just wouldna€™t have been right a€“ all that grass dividing the highway looks so much better! Most of his career was in military law enforcement minus some out of specialty assignments, including three years on recruiting duty.
A road runs around the perimeter of the citadel and afford beautiful vistas of Halifax harbor.
It is a two-mile stretch, of wooden board walk, that runs from the Casino to the cruise ships docks, just past Morris St. We walked back along the ocean walk, enjoying the bright warm sun and the deep blue beauty of the ocean beside us. The Canadian Government had ordered three of its Coast Guard Vessels, with divers and supplies, to the Gulf of Mexico to help out the Hurricane Katrina Victims. Then, we side tracked onto Rte # 333, into one of the more storied sights on the coast, PeggyA•s Cove.
At the Cape Breton end of the causeway, a narrow, dredged channel allowes ships of all sizes access to both coasts. We decided that any number of delays were possible on a ferry and took the longer land route around the Bay. It was as pleasing a ride as Big Sur in California, a new and grander vista around every bend.
It features gentle rolling hills, dotted with conical silos and prosperous farms, along the ocean. A tasty spinach salad, then a salmon filet, in dill sauce, was followed by a blueberry glace and great coffee. We could see 35 foot red bluffs out across the river and marveled at such an ebb and flow of water every six hours. We were nearing the head of the Minas Basin of the Bay, where the tidal drop can swing as much as 53A• in a single day. She is not someone who must ask repeatedly for attention and good behavior, whose voice gets muffled in the chatter of children, who anxiously picks at her nails and tears at her cuticles until tiny red bumps appear.
I finally allow myself to smile as I imagine the opportunity to place a full handed slap across the face of the Neanderthal that came up with that brilliant idea. Students, bums and transients abounded as we walked up Morris and over Queen Streets, to the central shopping district on Spring Garden.
We walked back, along Lower Water to Morris, and then to the Halliburton House, to settle in and read. The fortification had been constructed in the mid 1800A•s to protect Haligonians from the A’cantankerous AmericansA“ to the South.
It is lined with shops, sailing ships at berth, restaurants, markets and all manner of things that attract tourists.
She was a late 19th century fishing fleet vessel and could hold up to 300,000 lbs of cod in her holds. With all of the guide book hype that we had read, we figured this area for a real disappointment. The metal bridge over the channel is one of those swivel bridges that are engineering marvels. It is two lanes, with wild twists and turns, in a Monte Carlo -style, 30 km run through the pine forests. An 18 hole golf course, a condo complex and The Atlantic Restaurant lead into the two-story wooden splendor of the Main lodge. We retrieved our books and sat out on the lawn, in wooden Adirondack chairs, reading and gazing far out to sea. We packed up, checked out of this beautiful hotel and drove over to the 18 hole, 6,000 yard, golf course, just down the road. An American, from Texas, was speaking with a drawl so heavy we could hardly understand him. Two hundred years of weather had wiped clean the names on the slate gravestones, another lesson of history.
We stopped to fill the thirsty metal monster with gas,($45) and then drove the last few miles to the airport and the Alamo rental center. And now these paragraphs lie before you like stands of trees, a deep forest of wonder and darkness whose mystery beckons. Each morning Mother locked my thermos and only Miss Ranney could loosen it, leaning over me in her ivory crepe blouse until the cap sighed once, then was free.
The rest of the orbit swirls out from there: King murdered the week of my senior prom, then Bobby in a hotel just miles from my school while I marched to Pomp and Circumstance, not knowing that within a year on a July night in the back seat of a Volkswagen, I would pledge what was left of my heart to a boy leaving for Vietnam while above us the tired moon finally gave in to a tiny man in gravity boots, planting an American flag. Shea€™s probably doodling on the desk, her long, dark lashes cast down as she tries to escape the demands of the classroom and enter into the world of her drawing. She is no longer a manipulative ten year old who pouts when she wants permission to draw hearts on the chalkboard or be excused to the lavatory for the third time in an hour. We enjoyed glasses of Cabernet as we munched on Caesar salads and a delightful A’seafood medleyA“ of halibut, salmon, scallops and shrimp.A“ Coffee and a sinful blueberry and ice cream dessert were wonderful ($134). We read for a time and then surrendered to the sandman, pleased with a full day in Halifax. The changing times of the day, the different shades of light and shadow would keep him busy forever. We sailed through Eastern NS and arrived at the small town of Antigonish, some two hours later. Then, we were driving along the coast and the views were spectacular, like the big Sur area in California.
How they ever got this talented a chef, in a small hamlet like this, is a mystery, but this woman could cook!! We ambled along, at a much slower pace, enjoying the palliative of the gentle surroundings. Ia€™m trying to ignore her insubordinationa€”she should be writing a paragraph like the rest of the six students in my after school reading classa€”but clearly another one of my tactics has failed. In a moment, Alejandra has become a young woman learning how to manage the intimate details of our gender. The noisy and ungainly craft took us up the hill, around the Citadel and past the Public Gardens , feeding us a steady stream of information, laced with tongue in cheek humor. The two fish processing plants had closed and much of the remainder of the fleet was headed for the scrap yard. A narrow road leads into a rocky point, with a large and picturesque, angular,white light house, with a bright red top, standing upon a rather large pile of huge boulders. We enjoyed some wonderful Ingonish seafood chowder and crab cakes for lunch, on the patio over looking the Bay.
We unpacked our gear, checked the mail and messages and then crashed, tired with the dayA•s travel.
I turn around, ready to demand she sit back in her seat, prepared to be heard and heeded this time, but she is looking at me, wide eyed. A series of ascending, switch-back roads made for a nerve tingling ascent of 800 feet, in a short space of road, to the top lookout area of Cape Smokey. We came upon a whole squadron of cyclists tooling along the back roads, in all of their colorful new-era biking gear.
It had been an interesting trip, to a land of sea, sky and beauty that we will long remember.
We read some of the interpretive sign-boards, explaining the ebb and flow of the tides, and enjoyed the seascape. We had to shift our seating, to trim the boatA•s balance, before setting off on our harbor tour.
The A’ollies (oldsters) had finally left, so we stopped by Tim HortonA•s for coffee and muffins. We chilled out for a bit and even caught a brief afternoon nap, like Ozzie Nelson, my hero.




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