We didn't have internet access last night at our B&B. Loved staying there though - it was a fishing family and we sat up last night listening to hair-raising fishing stories from Mr. White who has fished all his life and Mrs. White who sits at home waiting for her husband and son to return from fishing more than 200 miles offshore.
We've had two fabulous days touring, talking, and travelling from St. John's up to Bonavista and then to Grand Falls in the interior. My mind boggles at the information overload.
Some of the highlights:
Cod hanging on the clothes lines looking like dozens of dirty socks.
Cove after cove of traditional, box-shaped houses clustered on the shore. Huge tall-spired, wooden churches usually up on the hill - well attended and well looked after in this life of danger and disappointment.
Puffins flying like bats after too much gin. Only the few slow learners remain, the rest have left for the sea.
Miles of boggy forest with stunted trees and upon close inspection, ground cover of partridge berries - not quite ready for jam.
Shy and quiet but always friendly Newfoundlanders ready to talk about their changing lives, amused that we think their communities are beautiful.
Accents so thick Bill and I have developed a permanent stance: leaning in, best ear forward. The gems are worth bottling. I regret not having a tape recorder.
Three cars on three different roads today with husbands leaning against the car watching while the wives were in the bushes picking blueberries. I hear the men are more comfortable on the water.
Pictures and stories of houses put on skids and floated off to new locations - especially during the forced resettlements of the 30's and 40's. Most of them still sit on blocks - as if waiting for the next move.
I'm overwhelmed with the charm of the place but feel the quiet recognition of the disappearance of a unique culture. As one man in his garden just outside Tickle Cove said: "We're burning the candle at both ends." The old people are dying and the young are leaving before they have families. The school in his community used to house 75 students. This year there are 14 and 4 are graduating. And there won't be a kindergarten student for four more years.
There are strongly-held but quietly-spoken feelings about the betrayal of the government and the part of the big industrial fishing companies in the destruction of the Northern stock after generations of stability when only the inshore fishermen were involved. But it was interesting to hear our Mr. White wonder out loud about his quota of 30,000 pounds of crab and how long they will last.
They seem to accept that their children will be going away. They watch Americans buying up the properties (houses in Bonavista selling for $15,000 - $20,000 with view...) and change their old habits of having winter and summer homes for fishing to now living in Newfoundland for spring and summer fishing season, and going to the Alberta oil camps the rest of the year.
We're off to the west coast tomorrow - to Gros Morne Park - the geological equivalent of what the Galapagos is to biologists. We hope to spend some time hiking.
We've had two fabulous days touring, talking, and travelling from St. John's up to Bonavista and then to Grand Falls in the interior. My mind boggles at the information overload.
Some of the highlights:
Cod hanging on the clothes lines looking like dozens of dirty socks.
Cove after cove of traditional, box-shaped houses clustered on the shore. Huge tall-spired, wooden churches usually up on the hill - well attended and well looked after in this life of danger and disappointment.
Puffins flying like bats after too much gin. Only the few slow learners remain, the rest have left for the sea.
Miles of boggy forest with stunted trees and upon close inspection, ground cover of partridge berries - not quite ready for jam.
Shy and quiet but always friendly Newfoundlanders ready to talk about their changing lives, amused that we think their communities are beautiful.
Accents so thick Bill and I have developed a permanent stance: leaning in, best ear forward. The gems are worth bottling. I regret not having a tape recorder.
Three cars on three different roads today with husbands leaning against the car watching while the wives were in the bushes picking blueberries. I hear the men are more comfortable on the water.
Pictures and stories of houses put on skids and floated off to new locations - especially during the forced resettlements of the 30's and 40's. Most of them still sit on blocks - as if waiting for the next move.
I'm overwhelmed with the charm of the place but feel the quiet recognition of the disappearance of a unique culture. As one man in his garden just outside Tickle Cove said: "We're burning the candle at both ends." The old people are dying and the young are leaving before they have families. The school in his community used to house 75 students. This year there are 14 and 4 are graduating. And there won't be a kindergarten student for four more years.
There are strongly-held but quietly-spoken feelings about the betrayal of the government and the part of the big industrial fishing companies in the destruction of the Northern stock after generations of stability when only the inshore fishermen were involved. But it was interesting to hear our Mr. White wonder out loud about his quota of 30,000 pounds of crab and how long they will last.
They seem to accept that their children will be going away. They watch Americans buying up the properties (houses in Bonavista selling for $15,000 - $20,000 with view...) and change their old habits of having winter and summer homes for fishing to now living in Newfoundland for spring and summer fishing season, and going to the Alberta oil camps the rest of the year.
We're off to the west coast tomorrow - to Gros Morne Park - the geological equivalent of what the Galapagos is to biologists. We hope to spend some time hiking.
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