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My One True Love

8/25/2018

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Before we embarked on our recent road trip to Newfoundland, I had heard many wondrous things about the beauty of this land. I wondered, before we left, if I would fall in love with it the way I had with PEI years earlier.

As we disembarked from the ferry in Port-aux-Basques and made our way carefully through the early morning fog that rolled across the landscape (a remnant of an overnight thunderstorm), we caught periodic glimpses of the majestic hills that define this part of the island. The view was so visually overwhelming that I wept. And for once, my kids -- also in awe of the magnificent beauty surrounding us -- didn't ask me why I was crying!
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As we continued to work our way north along the Viking Trail (the highway that traces the island's west coast), through Gros Morne National Park, past many brooks and streams, towards St Anthony, we enjoyed a visual feast each day. There were few appetizers and little dessert. The landscape offered up mostly main courses: One strong and powerful rock formation gave way to another, always another. Water gushed and trickled and danced its way down the mountains, across the rugged landscape and out to the sea. And the sea was big and omnipresent, always to one side of us, creeping in and out to form little inlets for fishing villages, but always eventually stretching out, out, out towards eternity. 
A soundtrack of Stan Rogers and other Canadian east coast artists served as an auditory complement for many hours of most days, as we took in without boredom the feast laid out before us.

In the people we met along the way -- whether through a local theatre performance, a band accompanying our supper one night, or the tour guides on the whale boat and at L'Anse aux Meadows -- we sensed a deep appreciation for, and love of, this landscape. They were connected with the water in ways that I would say most other Canadians, even those from other east coast provinces, aren't. Every brook is marked (and many accompanied by hiking trails), and the ocean plays a key role in the history of almost every family on the island for generations back. Their pride in this land is evident in the way they speak, the way they carry themselves. 

The Newfies we met were confident and funny, without being arrogant; they were just very sure of who they were, geographically and culturally speaking.  Where many Canadians waver in terms of what one might call a national identity, Newfoundlanders stand tall and certain. It was clear: We were in Newfoundland, but Newfoundland was not in us the way it was in them!

I enjoyed our time on the road tremendously.  As a Canadian, getting to know this part of my country a little felt like an important pilgrimage.  And I was very impressed with the landscape. 
But I did not fall in love.
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As we wound our way back to the Confederation Bridge, and Nova Scotia gave way to New Brunswick, and we eventually were able to glimpse the red soil on the other side of the strait, my breath caught a little.  This beautiful place I get to call home sometimes is not nearly as impressive in its majesty as its larger sibling to the east, but it is a pretty little island, and strong in its own right.
Abegweit, the cradle in the waves, with its red soil, blue skies, endless potato farms and arguably the best beaches in Canada, is my one true love, and -- much as I was pleased with our time in Newfoundland -- when we finally crossed the bridge and found ourselves on familiar ground, I was happy to be home. And, when I flew back to Toronto about a week and a half later, I was still hungry for a few final glimpses of the red isle... as we took off into the sunset, I couldn't stop snapping picture after picture of my one true love!
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(Re)discovering Stan Rogers

8/20/2018

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Where words and photos sometimes fail, music steps into the gap! This post is a tribute to my teachers who introduced me, over a K-12 education, to some of the music that brings the the majestic landscapes and rich cultures of this magnificent country to life. In particular, it is an appreciation for the music of Stan Rogers, and East Coast music generally.

I recently returned from a road trip to NFLD.  ​With two teenagers in tow, I set out in our rental car from St Peter's Harbour, PEI, to St Anthony, on the north-western tip of the other island, primarily in hopes of seeing the whales.

​The journey there and back entailed 6 days of driving (big country we live in!!), and endless hours of music and podcasts. (On the latter, the boys and I enjoyed several episodes of Hidden Brain; I highly recommend for some thought-provoking discussion when on the road with teenagers.)

After being forced to listen to "Africa" by Toto for the 17th time in one day, I decided it was time expand our repertoire a little, and introduced the boys to Stan Rogers. They'd heard Barrett's Privateers before, but it was their first time with some of his other well-known numbers, and Northwest Passage soon became a favourite musical score to the rugged landscape that served as a backdrop while we whizzed along the Viking Trail in our rental vehicle.
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I remember my Grade 13 music teacher insisting that we listen to Stan Rogers; he informed us that as Canadians, this was an artist whose work we should know.

My 18-year-old self had never been east of Quebec, and I was not particularly impressed, especially since my musical tastes at the time centred more around 80s rock genre and bands like Rush and Van Halen. My 45-year-old self, however, driving along the west coast of Newfoundland with the ocean on one side and mountainous terrain on the other, was considerably more appreciative.

After several hours of Stan Rogers on repeat, I downloaded some additional east coast favourites, and the boys soon replaced Africa and Northwest Passage with The Islander, which we had to listen to at full volume and sing along to at the top of our lungs ("Come on, Mom, sing!") multiple times a day.
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While in NFLD, we went for supper one night at a restaurant with a live band and mummers. "I'se the Bye" was played and danced to, and I was taken back to my elementary school days, where Mr. Mec did his best to instill some Canadiana into us lowlifes through his commitment to a robust music program each year.  We sang this drinking song and others, too, and I quickly downloaded it for the next leg of our journey.
On that same album was What Shall we do with a Drunken Sailor, which I recalled from my junior Kindergarten days, where Ms. Burnell (sp?) played it for us on her autoharp, and we sang along with vigour, a bunch of 3- and 4-year-olds, blissfully ignorant that this east coast favourite was perhaps not super appropriate in its vocabulary or concepts for such young, impressionable minds.  The rhythm was catchy, Ms. B's enthusiasm was infectious, and our singing was loud and passionate (and probably a little off-key)!

Thus was crafted the foundation for my later appreciation of east coast drinking songs like The Night Pat Murphy Died and the afore-mentioned Islander, among others.

​As we neared the end of our 6-day odyssey around a mere smidgeon of the east coast, and were on route back to PEI so that one of my kids could catch his plane from Charlottetown back to Toronto, we played a few of the original playlist favourites again... but not without periodic interspersals -- at my boys' insistence -- of their new favourites, too! 
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I'll be forever grateful for the memories we made together on this trip, the three of us, and for the magnificent eastern Canadian landscapes that photos cannot really do justice, and which brought tears to my eyes on many occasions as we drove.  But most especially, I'm grateful for the music teachers I had, from Kindergarten to high school, who -- by their exposure of us to this music -- made this adventure so much more pleasurable for all three of us.
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Thank you, Ms. Burnell, Mr. Mec and Mr. Van Zuylen!
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The Property Across the Road

8/4/2018

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So, I’ve been spending a lot of time across the road, so to speak.

Our friend and neighbour in Toronto bought the most incredible property very close to ours on PEI. It’s nearly three acres, and this summer, I helped him plant over forty trees on it, including several emerald cedars, a few little fruit trees, some lilac bushes, a magnificent, tall willow, some blue spruces, and several other soft and hardwood trees.
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He’s been Airbnb-ing it out to campers (as well as letting people stay in the small, rustic star gazing cabin) at a very low cost to cyclists and other shoestring travelers, and more recently, he also hosted a little couch surfing.

When I’m not in Ch’town or at our place across the road, I’ve been sleeping in a little tent behind the larger of his two cabins.
It’s such a delight to wake up to birds chirping in the small forest just outside my “door”, and to watch our dog romping through his fields...
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In consultation with him, our friend has allowed me to develop a pastoral wonderland near the ocean.

Although his main building with a proper kitchen, bathroom and second floor deck overlooking the dunes won’t be ready until sometime this fall or early next spring, there are already a few very cool things happening here: In addition to the cabin where he is currently sleeping and which will eventually become my music cabin (further away from my original cabin across the road, so I don’t won’t bother the neighbours when I’m drumming, LOL!), our friend has also got a little 8 x 8 bunkie with a skylight built in, for stargazing.
And, because his main building wasn’t ready this summer, I arranged for the erection of a small shed and a large mosquito tent for him on the front of the property, so that he could sit out at night or in the early morning without being eaten alive by the mosquitoes which are unfortunately ubiquitous in this neck of the woods.
One of my favourite parts of the property is the solar shelter. It’s a small structure with a counter which serves as an outdoor kitchen of sorts. A camping shower hangs from a hook, and an old oil barrel turned upside down serves as stand up table. A solar panel on the roof allows one to charge one’s phone and/or (sometimes “or”, if it’s been an overcast day!) boil a kettle of water for tea.
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We’ve met such interesting people on this journey, from the Kijiji guy who built the fire pit (and did about a million other odd jobs over the course of two days before our friend arrived this summer), to the polite and oh-so-accommodating father and his sons who cut the grass, to the fellow who built a creative cooler bench to keep milk, water and beer cold in the temporary absence of a proper fridge, to the environmentalist who enlisted his friend to help him build the aforementioned solar shelter.... islanders and CFAs alike, who have made PEI their home.

And then, there are the guests. Tonight, we have three groups of campers who have found their way to this little heaven on earth: Two French girls (both of them teachers, and one of whom immediately set up her mosquito-net-enclosed hammock and decided to sleep there for the night), an adventurous family from New Brunswick with a very cute four-year-old and a baby, and a couple from Halifax who, shortly after setting up their tent, took off to enjoy the sunset up a nearby at lighthouse Beach!)
After two weeks almost non-stop running around helping to get things set up, I find myself on the property with a few hours of downtime before bed, gazing into the embers of a fire on which I cooked dinner earlier, on a beautiful PEI evening.
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While one couple was out enjoying the sunset and the others were off buying ice, I delivered goodie baskets to their tents (granola bars, fruit and tea), and put some solar light stakes near the entrance of their tent to provide a pleasant (and hopefully useful) surprise when they returned home in the dark.

Earlier, I had welcomed them with fresh strawberries and a giant mason jar of ice cold lemon water.

I tremendously enjoy engaging in this sort of hospitality, especially for people who are not paying much (or, in the case of couch surfing, anything at all), and I wish I had the means to be able to do this sort of thing full-time. It reminds me of the summer before my mother died, after I came back from working at a hotel in southern Bavaria — I had learned the art of hospitality, which I applied, as a 20-year-old, to my mother’s many visitors in the garden behind our house where she lay on a lawn chair that August, discovering new parts of her soul while waiting for the inevitable autumn and winter of her now cancer-sentenced life.

Perhaps at the time just a tactic to distract myself and keep busy, I look back on those acts of service now with a new appreciation. The ice coffees I whipped up and served for my mother and her sick-guests while wearing the traditional dirndl I had bought while in Bavaria brought a little sunshine and pride into our somewhat “heavy” garden that summer, and that light and sense of competence spilled over into my soul. Similarly, the flitting around this summer looking after details that delight and surprise those who visit this place fills my heart with joy.

I feel very lucky that I get to participate in these acts of service this summer, at least, in this tremendously tranquil space.
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Earlier this evening, I spied a little frog by the woodpile. And just now as I sat by the fire, a big fat owl flew overhead and perched in a tree at the edge of the property.

These magical sightings only add to the wonder of this special place.

​I wish I could stay here forever!
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    About Vera...

    Vera & her Sons, April 2021
    After writing for several teacher and multiple birth publications, including ETFO's Voice Magazine, Multiple Moments, and the Bulletwin, Vera turned her written attention to prolific blogging for some years, including BiB,  "Learn to Fly with Vera!"  and SMARTbansho .  Homeschooling 4 was her travel blog in Argentina.  She now spends more time on her Instagram (@schalgzeug_usw)  than her blog (pictures are worth a thousand words?!) 
    DISCLAIMER
    The views expressed on this blog are the views of the author, and do not necessarily represent the perspectives of her family members or the position of her employer on the the issues she blogs about.  These posts are intended to share resources, document family life, and encourage critical thought on a variety of subjects.  They are not intended to cause harm to any individual or member of any group. By reading this blog and viewing this site, you agree to not hold Vera liable for any harm done by views expressed in this blog.
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Vera C. Teschow, OCT, M.Ed., MOT
Toronto, ON & St Peter's Harbour, PE
www.verateschow.ca 2021
Photos used under Creative Commons from Sean MacEntee, Studio Paars, Bengt Nyman, zeevveez, GoodNCrazy, CJS*64, Accretion Disc, CharlesLam, Courtney Dirks, CJS*64 "Man with a camera", Accretion Disc, Bobolink, Ian Muttoo, BioDivLibrary, Alaskan Dude, IsabelleAcatauassu, runran, Transformer18, jglsongs, Create For Animal Rights, david_shankbone, Paul J Coles, foilman, Newport Geographic, Photo Everywhere, kevin dooley, Claudio , Alex Guibord, Tscherno, f_mafra, Terry Madeley, musee de l'horlogerie, BobMacInnes, wwarby, jonathangarcia, amboo who?, chimothy27, Elin B, cliff1066™, Grzegorz Łobiński, Rennett Stowe, Farhill, Phil Manker, Guitarfool5931, airguy1988, dierk schaefer, Rob Stemple, katerha, StockMonkeys.com, Ramotionblog, andrewk3715, charlywkarl, AJC1, rachel_titiriga