Urim and Thummim

I wasn’t sure when I would officially end this particular journey; My last farm? After exactly 6 months? Moncton? Arriving in Avonport?

Then I remembered my rocks. I collected them from the beach in Victoria, after leaving my two rocks from Newfoundland there. The idea was to bring them all the way back across Canada, and at times when I was unable to make a decision I could pull either the light or the dark one out of my pocket and act accordingly. However, just like in the Alchemist, I found that I was able to make decisions without them and for the last 4 months they have been carried in my purse instead of in my pockets.

I had thought that I would deposit them close to my former home in Grande-Digue, but today, when Melanie (my new housemate) suggested we took a walk on the beach, I realised that this was the final resting place for both myself and my rocks. Well, until the next time…

Goodbye Friends

I am now installed in my new home, overlooking the Bay of Fundy, but from the other side. Melanie has a ‘real job’ with responsibilities, staff and set hours. I am the bum who lives in her spare room and doesn’t ‘do’ anything. Hopefully that will change soon.

I went to the Wolfville Farmers’ Market today and reconnected with some farmers and inspectors that I have known for some time. This evening there is a party and then another one tomorrow night and another one the night after. Apparently it isn’t always like this…

Melanie dancing by her sparkley Christmas Branch

So ladies and gents, the fat lady has sung and all that is left to do is clear away the chairs and tables and stagger home merrily singing. Tomorrow is a brand new day.

Melanie, Zephyr and our little house to the top right

Three Fathom Harbour

I’m staying with Colleen just outside of Dartmouth in Three Fathom Harbour. It’s a beautiful, windswept place with the best surfing beaches in Nova Scotia. Last night we went over to Colleen and Sheldon’s neighbours for a meal and I was asked how Colleen and I knew each other. “Well”, I said, taking a deep breath “I was the evil woman that Colleen was supposed to apprentice with for 6 months, who then just disappeared in the middle of the night”.

Apparently I beat myself up about the events in May of this year a little too much. It all worked out for the best in the end. Carolyn and Colleen were able to stay together. I found them a new mentor in Andrea Berry of Hope Seeds and Perennials who was thrilled with her luck because she had just lost her own apprentice. They, no doubt, learned a huge amount from her and now Carolyn is working for a seed saving organisation in the States and Colleen feels like she could farm if she wanted to. They got what they needed and I did too. Though I often think about what would have happened if the three of us had stayed together for those 6 months.

Colleen works for Environment Canada so she and Sheldon went off to work this morning while I updated my blog, fired off some emails, updated my finances and then decided to take a walk along the shore. I was getting a bit peckish so I ate a piece of cheese before I went out but figured I’d wait to heat myself up some lasagna until I got back.

The landscape here is beautiful. Very rugged, wild and Scottish. I spent a good hour and a half wandering trails and photographing leaves, rocks, bark and water. I’m fascinated by textures and patterns in nature and a lot of my photos were in sepia, so that the eye doesn’t get distracted by the colours.

The Shore

I got back to the house just as my blood sugar was beginning to drop a little and I muttered to myself about taking better care. I’m hypoglycemic and can get a bit bonkers if I don’t eat at regular intervals. I’ve made that clear at each of my host farms, but I still don’t take enough care with myself.

Sheldon had left me with a key, various comupter cables and codes and clear instructions on everything, except the fact that I had the key for the deadbolt. When I had left for my walk the alarm started making funny noises, so I slipped out the door as fast as possible, locking the other lock in the process. I had a key to the right door, but to the wrong lock.

It was nobodies fault, but it didn’t alter the fact that it was -11C out with a wind chill of -20C and they weren’t going to be back for at least 2 hours. I had cleaned out my pockets of all the junk I had in them the night before so I had no money, no credit card to try to break in, no telephone numbers and no idea about what to do next. On the positive side I had a new super-warm coat, scarf, fleece and boots from Bonnie and gloves from Alison so at least I wasn’t going to get hypothermic too quickly.

Then I had a brain wave. I would go over to Colleen’s neighbours place. Debbie would be at work but Ian might be home. Or at the very least, their house might be easier to break into than Colleen’s (which is like Fort Knox). I started off down the drive then stood there at the end of it with no clue whether I needed to turn left or right. I had a feeling that it was left, but it was pitch black when we’d walked over there so I had no landmarks for guidance and was relying totally on my sense of direction. I tried looking at the house from different angles; I’d seen the number of the house illuminated by a torch at some point, but was that when we got in back from the neighbors or when we’d arrived from the bus station? The more I played scenarios through my head the more they got confused with my memories and in the end I decided to just try walking in one direction until I saw something that made sense.

For some reason I chose to go right instead of left, ignoring my gut feeling. After 15 minutes of wandering I was still totally lost. I considered doing the same in the opposite direction but unless someone turned out the sun, it was never going to look like it did last night. I could have walked right past Debbie and Ian’s house and I would have no idea.

Also, my blood sugar was plummeting and I knew that I needed to reduce my activity levels if I was going to make it until they got home. I tried to get into their workshop but that was locked up solid. Then I tried the greenhouse. It wa a bit warmer there, under the glass and out of the wind, but after 30 mins of reading Canadian Gardener Magazine and jiggling around to keep my legs warm, I realised that I couldn’t keep it up any longer. It was time to start banging on doors.

The first house I tried was empty. I had the feeling that this was a bedroom community for Dartmouth and that everyone might be at work. I was beginning to shake a little and my concentration was going. I dug through my pocket again just in case there were a few crumbs or bits of chocolate or an old wrapper I could lick just to keep myself going for a bit longer.

In the left pocket of my new coat I found some cat treats. I’m still not sure what they were doing there, but let’s just say, they aren’t there any more. If anyone ever asks me what the weirdest thing I’ve ever eaten is, I’m going to be able to respond ‘chicken feathers and ground up carcasses’.

Over the brow of the hill I spotted smoke rising from a chimney so I headed in that direction.

The trail to Steve's house

By 5:30 when Sheldon and Colleen got back from work, Steve and I had discussed everything from climate change, to intentional community to favourite places in Canada. They have been neighbours for a number of years now, but neither Colleen nor Sheldon have ever needed to bang on Steve’s door to ask if he wouldn’t mind if they warmed themselves up by his fire. When Colleen arrived to pick me up I very sincerely told Steve that I was actually quite glad that I’d gotten locked out.

During the course of our conversation, he had offered the use of his land for Colleen to use for vegetable production and it was really evident that they would get along extremely well. It’s so ironic that two neighbouring households, who both relish the thought of intentional community, had not managed to connect until the day I got myself locked out of the house.

It seems that everything really does happen for a reason.

I don’t have a type. I thought I did, but over the last couple of weeks I’ve realised that I swing from one extreme to another. A year ago ‘my type’ had hazel eyes, the kind of skin that tans easily in the summer, thick black hair with hints of red and auburn, a muscular physique and a kind of Clark Kentish nerdy-but-hot look. More recently I have had crushes on men of every kind, from tattooed with a shaved head and earrings, to blond haired, blue eyed and adorable, to a Jim Carey look-a-like.

Yesterday, when I was boarding the bus down to Dartmouth, I locked eyes with a taller, thinner, younger version of Ian Handsome-man-thing and nearly melted when he smiled warmly back at me. I was feeling happy and confident so I quietly thanked the Universe then decided that I would give him my phone number. Minutes later the bus driver asked him to switch to another bus – he was going to the Moncton Airport, flying to God knows where.

The real Ian Hanomansing

I didn’t even have time to react. “Seriously? What the heck was that about?” I muttered under my breath. Was he too young? Too cute? Too married? Was this an exercise in religion? – You may think that you want something, but you can’t have it – hah! You have to die before you can be happy, and you have to suffer a lot in the mean time. God had changed from a loving, voluptuous woman into a crushing, smiting dinosaur.

Seconds later I figured out what was going on. I was being distracted. The universe was testing me. I do have some wonderful men in my life, but I am blessed with an inordinate number of awesome women whom I absolutely adore. When I look back over my life, the people who have been consistently there for me, who have loved and supported me, fought for me, said and done little (and big) things that have made my day, driven me around and provided me with the things that I need, have mostly been women. And yet, when I day dream, it is always about men.

One day I may once again find myself in a loving relationship with a man (though it will take a strong man, and a very patient one) but I must never, ever, get so distracted by them that I forget about my Ladies. God still is a loving, voluptuous woman. But she does need to teach me a lesson once in a while.

Joanne LeBlanc, one of my many Angels

I expected that lunch time would be fairly quiet while supper time would be busier. Of course I was wrong. Moncton isn’t like other towns. People are very willing to take time out of their work days to hang out and chat, but once they get home in the evening, the door closes behind them and that’s it.

The gathering at lunch time was busy but short, because people were on their lunch breaks, so it was really hard to give people my attention. I almost wished that I had booked people in for individual 1 hour sessions! Beth, I felt particularly bad about because she’d come all the way from Sackville on a horrid snowy day, complete with Maeg, her baby.

Still it was nice to reconnect, to hug and to see people that I have thought about often but been a long way away from for a long time. At least now I will only be 4 hours from Moncton. It seems like nothing at all.

In the evening there were just the 5 of us and Joanne and Cyan turned in early leaving Lisa, Fanny and I to talk until late. In a way I was happy that it was just a small group of us and that it was Lisa and Fanny who made it. Both of these lovely ladies gave me a lot of strength and guidance before I left so I wanted to know how their lives had changed and what their plans were for the future.

It felt good to intentionally close the loop and bring myself back to the place I was 6 months ago and I felt happy that I had had the forethought to do this. However, there were two other instances of cyclicity that night that I didn’t plan for and which I had very different reactions to.

A man who was at one time very important to me and who was the last person I saw before leaving Moncton, walked through the door as I was sitting down to a huge plate of pie and mashed potatoes. I did a double take, nodded ‘Hello’ and went from being absolutely starving to completely lacking in appetite in the space of a heartbeat. I explained to Joanne what had just happened, apologized for my change in mood and asked her if she wouldn’t mind distracting me so that I might have a hope of finishing my meal. She did an pretty amazing job, but the gnawing in my gut was still there. I apologized again for my lack of maturity and offered them my meal. There was no way I was going to be able to digest it.

Joanne and Cyan agreed to help me out and I ordered a green salad instead – I needed to eat something. Then Joanne asked me to describe where the feeling was. It was right in the base of my stomach and I recognized it for what it was, fear. But I couldn’t understand why I would be feeling that way. Joanne patiently explained that this man had been wrapped up in one of the most stressful and painful periods of my life and while being away for 6 month had helped me find balance and calm once again, there were still things here, in Moncton, that needed to be dealt with. She recommended that I just went over and said ‘Hi’.

Then I received the kind of insight that can only come from a very perceptive teen. “It’s just like being at school” Cyan announced. “I’m eating my lunch and ‘x’ and ‘y’ just sit there talking about boys”. Joanne and I burst out laughing and told Cyan, very sincerely, that we love her.

Gorgeous, perceptive Cyan

Shortly after, Joanne told me that he was leaving and it was now or never. I would have gone over sooner but he was having a meal with a woman that I half recognized and I didn’t want to spoil what might be a romantic moment. So we said our ‘Hellos’ and ‘Goodbyes’. Attempted to summarize our life situations in 30 seconds, hugged and then he left. And, just like that, the feeling in my gut magically disappeared.

Fear is a funny thing. It is so all consuming that you feel like you might die, that your world will just fall apart but in a very non-specific way. When you try to rationalize it it seems ridiculous, but when you experience it, it is completely real. And the only, only way to deal with it is to stare it down, see it for what it is and then walk all over it.

When he walked into the restaurant my first reaction was ‘Oh, come on! What are the odds?’ but now I see that it needed to happen in order for me to move on with the next part of my life.

Fanny very kindly drove me home because the streets were really slippery and I was sliding all over the place. She dropped me off at Joanne’s place and I tried to let myself in with the spare key. The first door wouldn’t budge so I went round to the other one. Again, no cigar. I giggled a little, took a deep breath and counted to ten. The evening before I’d left in June, I had stayed out late talking to Lisa and then gotten myself locked out of Joanne’s house. I’d knocked quietly and then louder. Thrown gravel at her window and finally yelled from the back deck ‘Joanne, I love you! Please take me back!’. Her sister had heard me from her house next door and had telephoned Joanne to tell her to please let the crazy lady in. I really didn’t want to have to go through the same process again.

At the next attempt the key turned and I was back in the warmth of Joanne’s wonderful home.

Some things change, some things stay the same.

I decided to walk up to Calactus to see if Lisa was having lunch there but it was packed to the rafters with people I didn’t recognize. On the way there I ran into Nick and Carol who were having lunch at a cute new restaurant on St George, but something told me that this wasn’t a good time so I kept going. By that time my bloody sugar was plummeting so I headed back to Main St to try to find a restaurant where I wouldn’t have to wait as long to eat.

I ended up at Grafitti where I’d enjoyed a really nice meal in the past and instantly regretted it. There was a table free but the waitress was not inclined to give it to a single diner who did not fit into the charcoal grey pant-suit dress code that seemed to be enforced there. I sat down anyway, and just about managed to hold her attention long enough to order some food. When it arrived it wasn’t what I ordered. I flagged her down and politely explained that, while it looked very nice, I had in fact ordered the chicken. “Oh, I thought you’d asked for that” came the reply (such confidence from someone who had not made eye contact with me or even smiled when I ordered). “Well, as long as it doesn’t belong to anyone else I’ll happily take it, I just didn’t want to be stealing someone’s lunch”.

After that she was a whole lot nicer to me, but I still felt like my money was not worth as much as anyone else’s there. The irony being that I understand what a tough job waitressing is, so under normal circumstances I’m a darned good tipper.

It amazes me what visual animals we are and what judgments we make based on so little evidence. I read Blink by Malcolm Gladwell while I was in the States and in it he talks about the kind of subconscious decision making that has value, and the kind that gets us into trouble. Apparently the most successful car salesman in the US is so very successful because he treats each and every one of his customers with equal respect, instead of doing what most car salespeople do – quoting a much higher price to women and people of colour figuring that they are suckers. The other salesmen make the occasional killing that way, but most people they alienate. People actively seek out this particular car dealership because they know that they will be quoted the same price and given the same level of service, irrespective of whether they are wearing a pinstripe suit or coveralls.

After lunch I realised that I couldn’t even buy my bus ticket because I didn’t know whether I was going to Dartmouth or Halifax (I needed to check my email to find out) so I walked back to Joanne’s place through the rapidly melting slush. I’d been in Moncton for 3 hours and all I’d managed to do was eat a fairly unremarkable lunch.

I wasn’t sure what lesson I was supposed to be learning. Maybe that I needed to be patient; I was going to be seeing people tomorrow anyway. Maybe that I’m not supposed to be in Moncton right now. Maybe that I needed some fresh air and exercise. Maybe that, before I reconnected with the people here, I needed to reconnect, one on one, with the place.

In the end, I decided that the lesson I needed to learn was that the world keeps turning whether I am there or not. I had, very arrogantly I know, felt that by leaving I would be leaving a gaping hole in Moncton society. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh! But there I was back in Moncton feeling like I was back in my old High School a year after graduating; it’s the same place, but it isn’t. The pattern is there, but the energy has changed.