NEWFOUNDLAND REFLECTIONS (2)

Subtitle: DO GO TO FOGO

Never heard of Fogo? Don't worry; not many have. Travel and Leisure Magazine refers to Fogo as a fishing community off Newfoundland's northeast coast marked by craggy shores and blissful nothingness. I would go further, defining Fogo as a shining example of how a population can retain valuable local traditions from the past while moving boldly into the future. I loved every moment spent on this northern Newfoundland island and would return in a heartbeat.

Perhaps, I should begin my island love letter with DO NOT GO TO FOGO if your preferences lean to shopping malls and designer outlets, chain hotels and motels, gitchy souvenir shops.....you get the picture, I'm sure.

DO GO if you are into 110-mile coastlines dotted with quaint, colourful little houses, weather-worn fishing sheds shakily balancing on stilts, windswept landscapes, caribou herds munching on bog grasses, small striking art studios, stunning hiking trails and welcoming people. And oh, I shouldn't forget, molasses partridgeberry tarts.

1960's efforts by the provincial government of Newfoundland to resettle Fogo Island residents to the mainland thankfully met with a resounding defeat. Fogo's tight knit outport way of life and fishing industry continued successfully until in 1992 the Canadian government shut down the commercial cod fishing industry in the North Atlantic. As with other outport communities, the economic backbone of which was their cod fishing industry, Fogo Island was devastated. Family homes were deserted for mainland living. Was Fogo finished? 

With determination, great resilience, and the ability to adapt, islanders responded by slowly switching to fishing for snow crab and shrimp. No easy feat given expensive gear requirements and an enormous learning curve.

And then Zita Cobb returned home. One of seven children of an illiterate Fogo Island fisherman, Zita made her way to university, ultimately becoming a multi millionaire as an executive with a Silicon Valley fibre optics firm. So, you say, many Newfoundlanders return home. Yah? The difference? Zita Cobb returned to Fogo Island determined to use her fortune to renewing Fogo Island's economy while conserving its past. She began the Shorefast Foundation which has supported and developed local businesses, attracted a community of artists by offering residences, and opened the cutting-edge Fogo Island Inn.

Constructed on ancient shoreline rocks, the inn's contemporary design can at first appear out of place until one recognizes that the entire structure, built of wood and partially on stilts, pays homage to the aged fishermen's huts. Every employee, whether trained in the kitchen or hotel, is a resident on Fogo Island. Menus in the dining room are based on the local land and sea - berries, cod, mushroom, etc. Guests are introduced to the local culture and traditions whether through music, watching a fishing punt being constructed or touring the island. The list of activities is endless. Profits are ploughed back into the Shorefast Foundation.

Enjoying our last night's sun set, I realize how I am suddenly not ready to leave the following day, how I have fallen in love with the unique beauty of this northeastern Newfoundland island, how the tenacity and warmth of it's people have inspired me and how I cannot wait to return.  

My advice  - DO GO TO FOGO!

 

NEWFOUNDLAND REFLECTIONS (1)

Cold, chilly ocean winds buffeted our bodies. A gray sky sombrely accented forbiddingly dark forests and ragged sinister cliffs as they cut into the sea. Before Jim and I lay the desolate buildings of a tiny cod fishing outport. I involuntarily shuddered as the stark reality of 1800's outport life and the Herculean struggle to survive struck me. 

Come spring, village men and boys would venture into the frigid, often gale-tossed sea to fish for cod. Death by drowning in the icy unforgiving Atlantic was an ever present danger. Once ashore, all village hands, women and children alike, would be required to gut and split the fish, soak the cod and then lay them on flakes to dry. Once dry, the cod would be salted again and packed in barrels for shipment to Europe and the Caribbean. Day in and day out for over five months, their backbreaking work would continue. No weekends or long weekends, no respite. A small number of cod were retained for winter use by the villagers, but the bulk was traded for goods required for survival - tools, flour, and sugar. The greater the catch, the greater the chance of surviving the dark long winters. And surviving those Newfoundland winters was not a given.

Our guide showed us the log construction of the homes and the spaces chinked with sphagnum moss which, in high winds, dried and blew away. She spoke of how the men would haul, trudging from long distances in deep snow, evergreen trees for stacking against shed walls in a desperate attempt to block out the cold, of beds in the morning covered with a thin layer of powdered snow that had drifted in between the cracks. I shuddered to imagine the existence. Small wonder, many settlers and their families, after burning even the wood floors of their cabins as a last resort, were found frozen to death in early spring.

But if cod was king, it was the seal that made it possible for outport populations to remain. Cod fishing was the primary activity in summer and early fall, but near the end of a brutal winter, provisions were frequently scarce and survival tentative. Spring's seal hunt rounded out the year providing invaluable meat, fat and skins for warming outerwear.

A visit to Elliston on the Bonavista Penninsula reminded me again of the tenuous existence of Newfoundland's outport settlers. Here a monument has been raised in honour of 251 sealers who died in two separate but simultaneous disasters. So many lost, so young.

Imagine being dropped by your ship onto an ice flow with little food, no shelter and dressed in clothing ill-suited for sudden squalls. Imagine then being stranded, unable to find your ship in blinding blizzard conditions, freezing to death.

Most moving is the statue that has been erected. I am quoting from the descriptive sign located beside the monument:

At age 16, Albert John Crewe of Elliston couldn't wait to go sealing. It was the last thing his mother, Mary, wanted. Her husband, Ruben, had already survived the S.S. Greenland sealing disaster. Mary was insistent that he not go sealing again.

But Albert John was determined to go. And, to protect him, Ruben went too. Like many women in Newfoundland with sons, husbands, brothers and fathers sealing, Mary did what she could. She helped them prepare. She waited and prayed for their safe return.

On March 3, 1914, Mary woke to a vision that confirmed her worst fears. As depicted in this sculpture, Albert John had died in Ruben's arms on the ice, the father protecting his son until they both perished.

I bowed my head, overcome with emotion and attempted to imagine surviving the hardships of these early settlers to Newfoundland. I am in awe of their bravery and spirit.

A few days later, wine glass in hand, enjoying Christopher's company in the warmth of his living room and discussing these two sites, I wondered out loud, We have Victoria Day. We celebrate Labour Day. In Ontario, we even have Family Day. Why not a day to honour the settlers who forged a life in our country from Newfoundland to B.C. to the Northwest Territories? Newfoundland has poignantly reminded me that our settlers' bravery, ingenuity, struggle and ability to survive the hardships of their new world forms the base of our nation today.

Oh Canada, we need to honour our heroic predecessors and to be reminded from whence we come. Canadian Settlers' Day. How appropriate would that be?

THE ISLAND ADVENTURES OF HUFF AND PUFF

For Morgan and Zachary

Dear Morgan and Zachary,

I am Huff. And I am Puff. And we are puffins. Actually, we are now YOUR puffins. Your Grammie and Grampa have invited us to fly home with them and to live with you in Richmond Hill. We are very excited to meet you! Before we leave for Ontario, though, we should tell you a bit about ourselves and then we want to take you on a tour of our island, Newfoundland, for the next few weeks. 

Most people recognize us because of our large orange beaks. I hear, Zachary, that orange is your favourite colour. We sure like that! Some people call us the "clowns of the sea", but we don't look like clowns, do we? We prefer to call ourselves "sea parrots". What do you think?

Your Grampa and Grammie have told us, Zachary, that you love to fish. Wow! Huff and I should get along really well with you, because we love to fish, too. We fish for herring, hake, capelin and even sand eels. To catch fish, Huff and I dive deep into the ocean and catch the fish in our beaks. Num! Num! Capelin fish are my favourite dinner. Huff likes to feast on sand eels. Eeeeew! I think they are too slimy.

Here I am searching for fish in the ocean.

Morgan, we hear from your Grammie and Grampa that you are an amazing swimmer. Can we please, please visit your cottage one day and watch you swim? Puff and I swim in the Atlantic Ocean. Brrrr! The water is very, very cold, but our waterproof feathers allow us to stay warm whether swimming on the surface or diving underwater. Our feathers act like your Daddy's Iron Man wetsuit. Is your water cold, too? We can dive as deep as 60 metres. Puff and I swim by flapping our wings as if we are flying through the water and use our feet to steer. How do you swim? I can't wait to find out. Perhaps you can teach us a few tricks, Morgan.

Sometimes, after diving, I get water in my ears. It's itchy! Does that ever happen to you? What a pain!

Your Grampa and Grammie tell us that you have nice rooms, decorated in pink and blue. Will we be able to stay with you in them? Our home in Newfoundland is in a burrow between the cliff rocks, decorated in boring brown. Our room can be cold and wet sometimes, but we do have a great view of the Atlantic Ocean.

We are not very quick on our feet, but Huff and I would love to go for small walks with you........slowly, that is!! What are sidewalks, anyways?  Don't you walk on grass? It's fun; it tickles our feet.

If we don't say so ourselves, we are excellent fliers. We can flap our wings at 400 beats a minute. Can you do that with your arms? Try it sometime. Whew! It can be hard work. We have a difficult time taking off from the water, but once we are in the air we can fly as fast as 88 kilometres per hour. Cool, eh? Maybe we should race your grandparents Air Canada plane back to Ontario. Only joking! Your Uncle Chris laughs and laughs and laughs every time he watches us try to take off. Perhaps you can teach us that "squish your head" thing that you do to Uncle Chris. Hee! Hee!

Well, it is time for us to say goodbye for now. If you check Facebook with your Mom and Dad every day, we will send pictures of our adventures across Newfoundland. Then, we can come home to Ontario and finally meet you.

Until then, we are sending you loads of hugs!

Huff and Puff Puffin

'ATTACK AD' ANGST

My Mother's conversation rule was always, Never discuss politics or religion; Keep the peace, her entertaining mantra. If you are looking down, Mom, I am so sorry but a cancerous growing practice in Canadian politics is getting under my skin.......bigtime! I can no longer keep my big, opinionated mouth shut. To my Conservative Party-supporting friends, in an effort to maintain our friendships, I am warning that you may not wish to read any further.

Is anyone sick to death of the Just Not Ready ad running again and again and again and.......? Where is that 'mute' button? What happened to the fair play and decency once characteristic of Canadian political ads? I despair that the malicious muckraking ads of the U.S. have over past elections and now in this one, taken permanent root. Our politicians speak from one side of their mouth of taking the high road, comparing policies and track records, and then immediately resort to smear campaigns, with ads based on out-of-context words and fear mongering. 

Fully aware that their Just Not Ready crusade is based upon misleading statements and innuendo, the Conservatives have cynically opted to muddy an opponent's reputation. Since when, in a decent society, does the end justify any means?

I guess pension splitting for seniors is next. The Liberal platform does not, and never has, included cancelling income splitting for seniors. Pure unsubstantiated scare tactics!

Well, he wants to send winter jackets to Syria. Yes, Trudeau has supported the already existing Canadian Government assistance program involving support to help refugees and displaced citizens survive the winter.

Didn't he say budgets balance themselves? are words taken out of context from a Trudeau speech made in Quebec in which Trudeau discussed accepted economic tenets. Oh, and do you get the impression from this that the Conservatives have balanced our budget? You need to investigate further if you believe that smoke and mirrors act. 

Of late, the revised Just Not Ready ad has alluded to concerns that to allow anyone but the almighty Conservatives to handle our economy would lead to a Greek-like debt crisis. At this point, I must restrain myself from throwing a brick at our TV screen. The acme of cynicism has now been reached. Nothing, absolutely nothing, in our Canadian economic landscape can be compared to Greece's long history of obscenely generous pensions and national income tax evading psyche and the Conservative party knows it.

Why am I so upset? I do not presume to tell you who to vote for. Should you not wish to vote for a particular political party or its leader, that is your sacred democratic right! But please ensure that your decision is based upon the comparison of policies or track records or the handling of issues important to you. Do not allow your vote to be based upon public perceptions shaped by misleading statements or unsubstantiated and disparaging innuendo. What of the naive voter who reads little, but allows such attack ads to form their opinions? When did we Canadians give a free pass to our politicians, to mudsling, unjustly harming the reputation of opponents who feel called upon to honourably serve their country by running for office?

I dream of an election in which our politicians only advertise and promote their policies, track records and dreams for our incredible country, Canada. Let me decide based upon facts. Refrain from attack ads and you will have my vote!

 

DEAR 'RACCO THE RACCOON',

You may be an adorable bandit-masked little rascal to some, but am I done, done, done! Amusing no longer describes you. Do you hear me? In case you have failed to notice, WE, Jim and Daphne Lockett, own this property, not YOU, Racco the Raccoon. I have even verified our deed! Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah! Time to move on, buddy. You are trespassing, stealing, and have overstayed your tentative welcome. Now what will it take to make you vamoose?

I am done, done, done with waking at two in the morning to a reverberating, thumping racket on our upper deck as you attempt to dislodge bird feeders, planters, and seed bins. My husband may be able to sleep through a bomb blast, but that is not a talent to which I lay claim. I need my sleep! Capisce?

And are you dense? Did you not get the message when the hinges on the feeders were upgraded? No, I think not. It just takes longer to dislodge, thus more thumping, eh. buddy? Simply a minor, enjoyable challenge for you, hmmmm? When are you going to pay up for all of the broken feeders and devoured seed?

I am done, done, done with my railing baskets, once filled with vibrant oranges and yellows, being used as a place of rest from your nighttime gymnastics and more recently, being used as your private toilet. Yuck!  I promise you that finding your raccoon s**t, while watering in the early, morning does not make my day. Hey, buddy, would it have killed you to show some sympathy for those poor, now dying, nasturtiums? Really? You'd die too if you were s**t on every night! 

I'm done, done, done with picking up icky, smelly, spilled garbage after you overturn the recycling bin. Raccoon resistant green bins. Hilarious concept, eh buddy? If you truly are intelligent, possessing small motor skills beyond compare, would it be too much to ask that you at least use your talents to clean up after feasting on leftovers?

I am done, done, done, so war it is Racco. If I were you, I would wave goodbye now or I'll visit you at two tonight. That's a date! Let's see how you like being disturbed during your nighttime forays. And don't think for a second that you can hide behind that stupid black mask. If I fail, Racco, I may be forced to hire the biggest, meanest guard dog you have ever met. 

I am done, done, done! Take my advice, Racco, and say, Bye, bye.

CREATE YOUR OWN BACKYARD CARNIVAL

Step right up! Come one, come all. See the world's greatest backyard carnival. In the big top there......

Whoa, Nelly! No need for that big top tent. No need for the sleazy barker. No need to hire costly acts. No need for 'out-of-sight' liability insurance or workman's comp fees. Quite simply, your only requirements are a small garden, a bird feeder and a generous bag of seed. Grab some microwave popcorn, sit back and be delightfully entertained.

Be amazed by the precarious contortions and astounding dexterity of your highwire trapeze artists as they defy gravity in death defying stunts.

Just wait until you experience the clowns. Resultant laughter and infectious hilarity will have you holding your sides and begging for more.

Prepare to be magnetized by the demonic speed with which your magician can make a bouquet of flowers evaporate into thin air. How did he do that?

Whatever you do, don't fail to attend the sideshow in which Cheeky the Chip makes his head mysteriously grow to double its size. Such incredible talent!

Before departing, enjoy the sight of young offspring training for upcoming carnival performances. Take comfort in the knowledge that your carnival will continue as long as there are future generation performers and FOOD!

Yup! Take my word for it. If I can do this, so can you. Go ahead! Enjoy the colour, 

awe and amusement of your own backyard carnival. Have fun and, oh, don't forget the popcorn!!

THE "BEST"......WHO SAYS???

The BEST Beaches in the World has just popped up on my Facebook Trending items. Grrrr! A mournful groan escapes as I peruse another such BEST list. Why do I bother? All beaches pictured are stunning, tranquil, turquoise vistas, but not a single beach with crashing surf and palm trees bowing to the force of onshore trade winds is shown. Where are those beaches, the ones I so love? Why aren't they mentioned?

Who says? I grumble as I complete the list.

The proverbial answer, I can only assume, is, They! 

Who is 'they'? I want to demand.

BEST Sunsets, BEST of Paris, BEST European Sites, BEST, BEST BEST.......enough!

Am I growing increasingly crotchety with age? Please don't answer that. I do know that as I move through life, I have learned to intensely dislike the word BEST. It brings to mind the, Well, mine is best, words of a simpering little child. Actually, get rid of all est superlatives and I would be relieved.

Spanish olive oil is the BEST, claims a friend who has recently returned from guess where.......Spain! How did you guess? I giggle and finally respond with, Well the Greeks and Italians may take issue with that claim. I personally prefer the delicious peppery flavour of a freshly made Italian olive oil. Does that make it the BEST? No! Just my favourite.

How many times have we heard that French wine is the BEST? Ad nauseum - right? Tell that to an Italian vintner and he will most likely be contacting Guido to fit you with cement boots. Last year while tasting wines at the renowned Chateauneuf-du-Pape, I wanted to jump up and hug the vintner when he stated that there is no BEST wine, only the wine, no matter what it may be or where it may be from, that your individual palette prefers. Hallelujah! And that from a French winemaker. Take that before you pen another BEST List, Mr. So-Called, Self-Professed Wine Expert.

BEST Golf Course. Would that be extremely difficult or stunningly beautiful? Each of us has their own personal preferences. BEST Hotel. Would that be a luxury Ralais or atmospheric little country inn? Who is the arbiter of BEST? And pul-ease don't answer, They or the experts!

I have a dear friend, Lynn, who is truly well travelled. Is there a continent she has not explored? I doubt it. Never, from Lynn, have I even once heard the word, BEST. She instead describes most eloquently sights, smells, and emotions. Where to next? Lynn would never assume to instruct us as to what is BEST.

So dear They, by all means describe what you loved and preferred and explain to us why, but please don't tell me what is the BEST. That, Mr. Expert, is up to me.