Swiss Family Grass

Andy and I arrived back onto American soil to a rather bittersweet homecoming. For the two of us, closing the door on the Canadian portion of our trip came too soon. I had fallen in love with Newfoundland and Andy was drawn to the shores of Cape Breton. We took the high speed catamaran from Nova Scotia to Bar Harbor, Maine and the short travel time afforded us some prime whale watching. I saw a total of three whales off the starboard side of the vessel and couldn’t help but be drawn to the sea looking for more of the majestic whales that swim along the cape.

When we reached land…well, that’s a different story. For those that have been keeping up with my logs, it will come as no surprise that we were stopped at customs. However, this particular border crossing led to our being detained for longer than past crossings. We were first questioned by a portly old man who seemed to ooze Maine friendliness. After he told us they needed to question us further, the Department of Homeland Security brought out the ‘big guns’. The younger, slicker, and much more intimidating agent that handled us from that point on informed us that our vehicle had been ‘flagged’. We were asked many questions pertaining to our travels and were required to submit multiple forms of identification and vehicle registration paperwork. The agent questioned us three separate times and during his final round of questions said that he did not know why we were in the system. He made copies of all of our paperwork and after forty-five minutes, sent us on our way.

A quick drive through Bar Harbor was all we needed to see that the tourist destination was not for us, and we rapidly made our way to the interstate bound for Portland. By nightfall we arrived in Portland and checked into a large camping resort in Scarborough. Nicole picked us up at the campground and we went to a Portland eatery for a late dinner.

The following day Nicole took us around town to run the many errands we had to complete before we leave for Europe. One of the less glamorous parts of ‘on the go’ travel is the constant replenishing of supplies and restocking of the RV. Pit stops in larger towns makes the chores easier, but spending a whole day running around driving errands can become quite tedious.

After we circled Portland and South Portland at least twice purchasing goods for the trip (dog food, a pet carrier, and various other sundries), it seemed that the day had disappeared into night. All of the running around wore us out, and we elected to get take-out Thai for dinner. We took the food back to Nicole’s charming apartment and Andy and Nicole watched the Notre Dame game while I checked online for a pair of shoes that I had no luck finding during the days shopping. Next time I looked at the clock it was approaching midnight, Andy was dozing in a chair in front of the television, and Nicole’s eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. We left for the campground and agreed to pick Nicole up the following day for a tour of Cape Elizabeth.

The next two days brought sightseeing stops that made Maine appear the ideal place to live. The small town feel, coupled with the beautiful weather, bustling port, and good food left us feeling right at home. But a comment from Nicole brought me right back to reality. As we looked out at the Atlantic from Cape Elizabeth, Nicole expressed a feeling of impending change. It seems she is relishing these last days of summer leading to fall, for the winters of Maine are harsh. For a moment I had forgotten about the deep snow and temperatures hovering near zero. Right here, right now, Maine seems an idyllic place. A first time visitor would never expect that ‘old man winter’ is right around the corner.

Visits to the Portland Head Light (a fancy way of saying lighthouse) and the famous Lobster Shack completed the New England ‘feel’, and I felt happy for my sister that she has chosen this little piece of east coast land for her home. She seems happy and content here, and the walks around town and fresh air seem to have brought with them a contentness in Nicole I hadn’t seen in years.

For the Labor Day weekend holiday we visited Nicole’s friend Michael for a barbecue at his 18th century home on thirty two unspoiled acres of Maine farmland. He has been working tirelessly for the past ten years to restore two homes built on the property, and his dedication to the restoration process and his attention to detail is evident. He knows the history of the house, and every turn of a corner brings with it a story. We were appreciative of his hospitality and our short time with him passed as it would with a life long friend.

Two of Michael’s friends joined us for dinner. Don and his partner Mike live on a farm in Standish about ten miles from Michael and have been of great support to Michael with the learning curve associated with restoring an old house and taking care of a large piece of land. They run a true ‘small family’ farm, complete with animals, groves of fruit bearing trees, and rows of fresh vegetables. I picked their brains all night with questions about farm life. I left there more knowledgeable about living on a farm than I had been before we met, but still know nothing of the trade. On the ride home I found myself thinking of more questions to ask should our paths cross again. I can say without hesitation that meeting these three men was by far one of the most interesting experiences of the trip.

After Labor Day, Nicole returned to her job with the court, and Andy and I took a day trip to two of the places I had been looking forward to visiting for years. First we visited Old Orchard Beach, the summer playground of Bubbie’s family. When we crossed the Old Orchard Beach town limit I called Bubbie for the address of the house her father built in the popular beach resort town. When she answered the telephone and I told her where we were, she said, “Oh for heaven’ sake!” She gave us the name of the street and then said, “I’m so excited.” And I was excited too. We found Seabreeze and walked down the center of the street as Bubbie’s voice guided me toward and then away from house after house. Bubbie stated that her father had built two homes, identical in façade and both having screened in porches. Even with her perfect descriptions, I still couldn’t find the houses. Finally, an older couple appeared on a balcony above the street and I asked them if they knew where the houses might be. When they asked if the family homes I was looking for had belonged to a family from Auburn I said yes, and moments later I was pointed in the direction of two homes at the corner of SeaBreeze and Puffin Streets. You see, when Bubbie was a young girl Puffin Street didn’t exist and the homes didn’t have numbers. So, by today’s mapping, the summer homes of the Meltzer’s exist facing Puffin Street.

The houses are a stones throw from the beach, and I can understand why Bubbie loved this place. Andy and I walked across the street and within 10 yards we were at the beach. The path from the alleyway to the beach looked like it had always been there, beckoning adults and children alike to the sun and surf of Old Orchard. I wondered if this was the path that Bubbie took, and somehow I just knew it was.

It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and the beach extended for what seemed like miles. Few people were on the beach, as the summer crowd was now gone, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of Bubbie’s visits to Stinson Beach. All my life I have been drawn to the ocean, and I have shared many memories with my family at the beach. For the past few years Bubbie has joined my father and the rest of our family at Stinson Beach for a week or so each summer. Recalling those few days during the year when I can stroll with my father and grandmother along the white sandy shores of Stinson always bring a smile to my face. We are a beach loving family, and many special memories have been made along the coast, whether east or west.

To continue my stroll down the memory lane of my family, Andy and I drove to Auburn to see Bubbie’s favorite house. When we reached Dawes Avneue, no house number was needed. I spotted the house instantly. A gardner across the street mowing the lawn of the neighbors house noticed that I was looking at the house and asked if I needed any help. I responded that I was here to see the house where my father grew up, my grandmother’s house. He smiled and in true Maine fashion said, “That’s a lovely house.” He was right, it is a lovely house.

Another call to Bubbie to inform her of our progress brought stories of life in the house and city of Auburn from many years ago. She spoke of neighbors she remembered and where she worked. After Bubbie told me how close the high school where she worked was, I decided to stop by for a visit.

Edward Little High School is a short drive from Bubbie’s old house. Students were racing all around, and the school was alive with learning. I stopped at the office to see if the school had kept any archives from past years. The school secretary went to the school vault and emerged with arms full of yearbooks. Instantly I found a Smalley, though not the Smalley I was looking for. I found my father’s senior picture with a caption that caused an instant smile to come across my face.

After leafing through another six or seven yearbooks I found what I had come for, a picture of Bubbie.

As usual, her radiant smile filled the photo. A sense of family pride brewed within me, and I was glad we had taken this drive along memory lane.

With the afternoon nearly gone, we headed back to meet Nicole at her office. We went for an early dinner down by the wharf. J’s Oyster filled our ‘catch of the day’ needs, and we headed back to the campground to rest up for the long drive to New Jersey the next day. We will drop off our van at the shipping company on Thursday, and head to Cape Cod for a few days of rest and relaxation.

Back on Cape Breton we quickly left the ferry terminal bound for Lunenberg. Now that we were back in Nova Scotia, we planned to explore some quaint fishing villages. Now, while most of my previous journals have been rich with language of picturesque seascapes and friendly locals, the mood shifted the moment we pulled into port.

We found a Walmart in Sydney, about a twenty minute drive from the ferry terminal. It was late, so we got situated and hit the sack. Throughout the night, local teenagers were doing burnouts with their cars in the parking lot, taking advantage of the slick roadway the recent storm had left. To further compound the noise issue, for the entire night a barrage of elevator music was being piped out of the exterior Walmart speaker system. Needless to say, I did not sleep. On the other hand, Andy was still able to saw logs.

The following morning I took Petey for a walk along the perimeter of the parking lot and was drawn to a small gravel walkway located by the shipping dock at the rear of the Walmart. A short ten foot walk led you to a large stone statuary with an engraved plaque that had a message I was not expecting. Apparently the land behind the shopping center had been used as a burial ground for mental patients from Cape Breton’s mental institution from the years 1903 to 1956. No head stones to be found, just a single marker. Now I don’t know about you, but unknowingly walking on an unmarked graveyard first thing in the morning is not my cup of tea. To make matters worse, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and the somber mood of the moment was suddenly broken by fear. A man sat not ten feet from me, locked in an upright position, with his eyes closed. I had missed his presence when I first walked into the memorial, as his stillness had kept him hidden behind a hedge of greenery. I said, “Good Morning”, to no response and for a moment I thought he was dead. I stared and stared and he didn’t move an inch. Finally I tuned around and walked the path back to the lot.

We drove all day to get to Lunenberg, a small town settled by German and Swiss settlers fleeing religious oppression in their home countries. The drive took us through many small fishing villages and signs for a particular historic site caught my eye.

The small town of Sherbrooke has gone to great lengths to preserve the village that was first settled in 1655. Sherbrooke Village, located within a gate on the east side of the town is essentially a small village circa 1800’s. Once you pay the $9.00 fee, you walk through the gates and are taken back in time via a working village. First stop is the blacksmith, next the post office (which still delivers letters and mails packages, an operating print shop that prints logo bags and recipe books on a 100 year old printing press, and much more. As you stroll the village streets you can stop in at most of the buildings (which are on their original foundations) and a costumed guide tells you what purpose the building served and some sell the wares they are making. It’s sort of like sightseeing ‘Fantasy Island’ style. It was good for an hour stroll, and Petey was allowed to go into all the buildings. So, for us it served a dual purpose…a walk for the dog, and a tourist attraction.

Continuing on Highway 7 signs on the side of the road advertising the ‘Lobster Shack began to appear. We were anxious to try lobster rolls, as neither of us knew what they were but had seen them advertised throughout the fishing villages we were passing through. . For 50 kilometers we watched as the signs for the ‘Lobster Shack’ dotted the roadside. When we finally reached the destination, it was somewhat of a letdown. The lobster roll, a sandwich roll stuffed with lobster salad (basically a mixture of lobster, celery, and mayonnaise) lacked the namesake ingredient. The lobster was so sparse, you had to look for the pieces. And the price….well let’s just say that I don’t even want to mention it here. Only the fact that I paid in Canadian dollars gives me any relief. On the brighter side, the owner makes the signs for the restaurant that dot the roadway. He must spend more time working on the signs than he does on the food, because I counted at least 20 of them.

Just before Lunenburg we passed through the quaint village of Mahone Bay, a small town that lies right at the coast and has brightly painted buildings housing shops selling all of the keepsake type items travelers pick up to remind them of their journey. Lunenberg is an older town, from the 1700’s that has a genuine old main street and some of the most amazing Victorian style architecture anywhere along the coast.

As we pulled into the campground, which sits atop a bluff above the bay, the fog began to roll in and heavy, punching winds started to pound the bluff. At the top of the hillside next to the campground a monument has been erected to remember the original settlers of the village. Sure enough, the Swiss connection continues. The granite tablets mark the names of all who came over and first settled Lunenburg. Of course, a Grass was amongst them. I wondered if they were of any relation to Andy’s family, and that evening we talked about how his family came to the states.

Later that evening I spoke with my sister in Maine and learned that the remnants of the storms associated with the hurricane that hit New Orleans were expected along the eastern seaboard. I figured we were next. Sure enough, by the next morning a storm came into the town dumping buckets and buckets of water. We spent most of the day in our van surfing the web looking for alternative accommodations for the next month. Originally we planned to stay with my sister Nicole in Maine during the month of September and take several small sightseeing ventures with Portland as our home base. Our van ships from the east coast in about a week, so the stopover at her place would have allowed us to both explore New England and take care of any final preparations that needed to be made for the journey to Europe. Yesterday we found out that her landlord won’t allow a dog in the unit, so now our plans have changed. The timing of the unfortunate weather system left us plenty of time to decide what we want to do for the month.

We also spent some time looking at the hurricane disaster as reported on various websites. As I viewed photo journals on the NY Times website my heart sank. I was overcome with a feeling of total disbelief and sorrow. The fact that our nation can be in another country under the auspices of ‘protecting’ democracy while our own citizens fight for their lives with little or no assistance sickens me. I cannot put into words how unsettling it is to know that Americans cannot count on the ‘powers that be’ to provide them assistance when they really need it. For a brief moment I entertained the idea of shifting our trip plans to include a volunteer ‘aid worker’ layover in New Orleans. But, it seems that lawlessness has made the area unsafe, and for now trying to get people ‘out’, instead of ‘in’ seems advisable.

For us, the only impact of the hurricane we have felt is a huge increase in fuel costs. That may not seem like a big deal, but for two jobless folks on a fixed income, an increase of 30 cents a litre puts a real crimp in our wallet. At one point, we were in a gas station as the price was being changed. Today, the prices that we saw as we passed from town to town went from 1.09 a litre to 1.50 a litre. Huge difference. The radio reports that the prices will only go higher as the week progresses.

So, for me things were starting to look bleak. So far, I had seen a weird guy at an unmarked graveyard, found out our accommodations for the month of September are a ‘no go’, got caught in a storm to end all storms, felt the penny pinch at the pump, and saw the power of mother nature level one of the most intriguing cities in the states. But, that wasn’t the worst of it. We left Lunenberg by late afternoon to drive to Yarmouth in preparation for our Cat ferry ride to Bar Harbor on Saturday. At the campground we decided to launder the bag of overflowing clothes we’d been towing since Quebec. The campground laundry room was quite old and loaded with every kind of spider and flying insect you can imagine. Now I’m no arachnaphobe, but it looked like someone was starting an insect museum in this place. Literally the biggest spiders I’ve ever seen were crawling all over the place. I was careful to check the machines for bugs before I put the clothes in (one contained a moth), and was horrified when the water that filled the basin was a rusty brown. All of the loads, five of them in total, came out dirtier than when they went it. Brown spots littered our shirts and pants, and everything smelled of potatoes. We rewashed some of the clothing (to no avail) and headed for the dryer. After sinking about two dollars into the machine we realized that a few of the dryers weren’t working either. That was pretty much it for me…my upper lip started trembling, and I began bawling like a baby. I guess the stress of not knowing how we’re going to get by for the next month (where we’ll be, how much it will cost, etc.) and the possibility of all of our clothes being ruined, combined with growing gas prices and the absolute disgust at the lack of response to the hurricane affected areas was all it took to bring me to my breaking point. Andy offered a good strong shoulder to cry on and words of encouragement, and by the next morning all was right with the world. Now the clothes on the other hand, well that’s a different story. We’ll be visiting a department store as soon as we’re stateside.

By the way…a wrong turn off the highway led us to the small town of Shag Harbour. The diversion was worth it, if for only to have seen this sign…

I guess the folks of Shag Harbour, Nova Scotia thought a UFO skated along the waters of their bay back in the 60’s. If you ask us, a little moonshine and a school of glowing jellyfish could have just the same effect.

We’ll be in Maine by late this afternoon, and I’m looking forward to seeing all of the places that my Dad has spoken about all of these years. Nicole will be our guide, and for that I am grateful.