24 hours of St John’s kindness

We all know that Newfoundland hospitality is legendary, but in the last 24 hours I have received so many acts of kindness from my neighbours, that I really wanted to write a quick post about it.

I recently took a wonderful and short trip home to Halifax to see my family and friends and when I returned late to St John’s and unpacked my suitcase I realized that I had left my lap top charger in Halifax! Instant panic!

Obviously, this is not a “real” crisis but for me, it was devastating. I have less than three weeks left to the end of my university semester and three major papers to write while I am working full time.  Also, I am a CFA and therefore a little overly attached to my computer because it is how I communicate with family and the world when I am feeling a little homesick. It also functions as my TV, social media outlet, cell phone charger and music source.

Within 30 seconds of tweeting my despair, I had several sympathetic responses and offers of extra laptop chargers to hold me over until mine arrived in the mail. Including one from a lovely woman who was willing to let me come and pick it up right away from her home at that late hour! It was a wonderful welcome back. And I went to sleep feeling thankful and a lot less panicked.

In the morning we all woke up to the first major snow storm in St John’s. We were buried in the snow for the entire day – shops, schools and businesses were for the most part closed.  I looked out my front window mid-morning to take in the beautiful snow covered streets and houses and saw that my neighbour had plowed out my drive way, sidewalk and walk way to my house. I did not hear a thing. But, it must have taken him at least an hour and a half. Did, I mention my neighbour is in his eighties!

Later that evening, a fabulous local woman who I met originally through twitter knocked on my door in the snow storm with a cup cake from Sugar Mommas (beyond decadent)  and stayed for a visit and a cup of tea. She was driving around delivering cupcakes to her friends who were storm stayed.  It was the kindest gesture and I felt like a million bucks when she left.

I was smiling to myself about how much I adored my new home, when there was another knock on the door. There stood my friend and work colleague who had driven in the storm with her own laptop in hand for me to use. I could have cried.

I have lived here for almost seven months on my own and it is this kindness and sense of community that keeps me here and my spirits high. That selfless willingness to help another can sometimes be hard to find. But I find it here all the time in St John’s Newfoundland.

I am thinking, I am going to bake some cookies and deliver them to my neighbours this weekend.

Time to Go

The story of resettlement here in Newfoundland mesmerizes me. I can, and do spend hours looking over old photographs and reading the stories of entire communities packing up their lives, floating their homes across the sea or dragging them across the ice to larger and more prosperous communities. I know that for many Newfoundlanders resettlement stories are all too familiar but sadly, I never learned a thing about this piece of our rich history in school.

Then premier Joey Smallwood in his desire to make Newfoundland more prosperous, modern and economically viable urged tiny out port communities to pack up their way of life and move to larger communities where it would be far easier to provide, education, roads, health care, postal service and the trappings of modern life.  One hundred and ten communities moved between 1954 and 1965 and for their hardships they would receive a cheque from the Newfoundland government for 600 dollars. There was a catch though, no one would receive any money unless everyone in the community agreed to go.

The no move, no cheque policy struck me as needlessly cruel. I simply cannot imagine what making that decision was like for so many.  I think about families sitting around kitchen tables with neighbours drinking tea (and Rum) agonizing over the decision. What must it have been like for the families who did not want to leave their home?  The pressure must have been unbearable.

Once again I am in awe of the courage and ingenuity of Newfoundlanders when I see these photographs.  Finding the strength of character and no-how to literally pack up your home, belongings and family and begin a new life under such harsh conditions of weather and in many cases with little or no money is staggering to me. How many of us could do this now? How many of our homes could withstand it?

It is true many were already leaving these remote fishing communities naturally in search of work when the fisheries failed, but many wanted to remain and many did not find the promised jobs and services when they reached their new communities.

Once again Memorial Universities Folklore department is a rich source of archival information on Newfoundland’s resettlement era so I urge you, to spend some time reading through their archives.

I had the opportunity late this summer to drive around Trinity Bonnavista and visit some tiny communities. You could see and feel that things were once vibrant, happy and simple, but  now seemed sad, abandoned and so very quiet. A way of life was just wiped clean in a few decades and the loss is palpable. Driving through some of these communities, I had to wonder what Newfoundland would look like today without this policy? I am not thinking that we all need to go back to this way of life, and many are benefiting by Newfoundland becoming a have province but my sense is that so much was lost, that can never be reclaimed by forced resettlement.

missing my blog

I love my blog. I love thinking about it, organizing photos and reflecting on what I want to write about next. I love your comments and sharing my experience of living in Newfoundland.  Lately I haven’t posted anything for two reasons, I have begun my masters of social work at memorial university (yeah!) and prior to that I have been on vacation traveling the province with my husband (3200k in two weeks!)

My next post I am brewing is about out port communities in NFLD. I recently traveled through Trinity and the tiny fishing villages there, some still reeling from the devastating effects of hurricane Igor and was so enchanted. I took a thousand pictures and was moved by their beauty and sadness and loss. Entire communities built on generations of stories, blood, sweat and cod reduced to 70 persons.

I look forward to sharing my thoughts on those places we were privileged enough to tour this week. A welcome and healthy break from school. I want to tell you all about Tickle Cove, helping a friend fix a cottage in Fermuese, watching a crab boat crash into a wharf and checking something off my bucket list: camping in Gros Morne National Park!

A CFA is a CFA is a CFA

There is a point when you have lived in Newfoundland for a short while when you realize that you are a CFA (come from away) and that you will always be a CFA. And, I think, that no matter how long you have lived here, this fact will never change. There is something intangible about being a Newfoundlander that is profoundly different from being Canadian – a main-lander.

And I am a main-lander, for my sins.

Here I am actually introduced as follows, “this is my friend Jenny, she is from the mainland.” I am not from Ontario, British Columbia or New Brunswick, I am from this other place – the mainland. I always sense and feel an apologetic tone or hidden sentiment in the introduction that I will never be able to truly understand. You may think this is a bad thing or that I am in some way complaining. It is not. And I am not. I find it fascinating and yet another wonderful and curious thing about Newfoundlanders.

Prior to moving to St John’s, I relocated to Halifax from Ontario and although I was a CFA in Halifax, it was not difficult for me to create a community there and over time I have come to think of it as home. I was never introduced there as anything other than by name. Where I came from was in a very short time irrelevant to who I was as a person or what I may have to offer my new found community. My last introduction here in Newfoundland went like this:

This is my friend Jenny she is a main-lander.

Oh…(quick look at me sideways)  I have never been to Toronto.

It can be an unsettling thing to feel foreign in your own county. Or to feel you represent the many tragedies reaped upon this province and it’s people by the government of Canada and the countless racist comments and sentiments placed on them by ignorant fellow countrymen who understand little of their lives and history. My last introduction got me to thinking about why I am and will always be a CFA in this beautiful province in my own country. And the answer is simple.

History.

Now, I am not even going to touch on the unique history of this province, but I cannot encourage you enough to do a little research. I think you would be amazed about what you didn’t learn in Canadian history about Newfoundland. Maybe, start here.

I have come to realize that Newfoundlanders know who each other are – and specifically where they are from – by their sir name. It is a fascinating thing to watch two Newfoundlanders introduce themselves. It always goes something  like this. Or a version of this.

Who are you and where are you from then?

Ron. My mother and father are from Fogo. My father is a coffin.

Oh yis, sure. Was there May month. My cousin married a Coffin from Fogo.

Yes! Mary! I was just talking to her on Monday after Billy’s wedding.

I kid you not. Complete strangers meeting for the first time here, will find the connection in less then four minutes.

If you are a Walsh, Drake, Mercer, Doyle, Coffin, Clarke – your people have an place in this province, they are from a very specific community and their history is known and can be traced back for generations – for many back to a specific community in Ireland. An introduction here is always 6 degrees of separation. It is finalized only when both people are clear, where they are from, who their people are and how they are connected. It’s so very lovely and inspiring to watch and sadly a social norm that I can never take part in.

Now, I come from a very small town in Ontario where everyone knows everybody and their business, but this is different. We have an expression when we want to know more about someone back home, “Who is she when she is at home?” But we cannot always connect each other to a specific community and years of history. In Newfoundland you most certainly can and everyone does. Each community has a different history, dialect, song, story and ancestral trail that has been beautifully preserved on this remote island.

I will always be a CFA, because if I told someone my last name is Wright here in Newfoundland, they can’t trace it to a community, a family, a story, there is no 6 degrees of separation with me. I am a main-lander.

And, I love them them for it.

Me and the Salt Box

For as long as I can remember I have wanted a salt box by the sea. I have imagined it innumerable times long before I was lucky enough to move to Newfoundland. When I drive around Newfoundland I am always searching for it, waiting for it to appear around a curve or spot it on the edge of a cliff and I know I will find it. My salt box is full of good books, music, wine and a writing desk by the window looking out over the sea where I will write a novel in peace. It will have a garden, where I can grow fresh veggies, a clothes line and a overstuffed comfy chair and my dog.

There would also be grand parties there when I want, live music, dancing and wonderful family holidays. I have planned my first Christmas in my salt box many times- big fireplace, cranberry martinis and homemade stockings and quilts. I think there will be ghosts too, generations of people who have lived, loved and endured in the house. They are happy I am there and I am pleased for their company and stories.

Salt Box at Western Bay

The Newfoundland Salt box is magical because of its simplicity. They are glorious creatures that have a long history that has evolved and adapted over time from humble beginnings. This heritage site offers a great visual of the evolution of salt box architecture for those of you who find architecture as intriguing as I do. They were quite simple homes that could be built quickly out of basic supplies with basic tools available to the early settlers who had next to nothing.

The Newfoundland Salt Box built in the Georgian style is its own architectural paradigm.  A traditional folk house type all over Newfoundland, the Salt Box style, named for its shape, which resembled the boxes used for shipping salt to Newfoundland, was one of the earliest forms of house construction. The Salt Box traditionally had a shorter steep roof line in front and a longer steep slope in back. The house, therefore, looked bigger from the front than it actually was. Newfoundland Outport retreats

I cannot remember which cove this one is from - I took it on my trip to Western Bay

I have to say, red salt boxes are my favorite. I loved this one below because it stands at the edge of a steep cliff that drops suddenly to the ocean below. There is a strength to this house and a history even though it has been updated. It took my breath away when I saw it from the road. It holds a quiet dignity. I could imagine myself living out my days there simply and very content.

Down the shore from Western Bay on a cliff over looking the ocean

I am also fascinated about stories of the early settlers moving their salt boxes and belongings across the icy ocean in the dead of winter to another port in search of better fishing or sadly because their was no one left but a few as people moved away in search of a better life elsewhere. If you have not read the book, The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx or seen the film, I highly encourage you too. The narrative is wrapped around a Newfoundland family story and Salt Box House.

Driving the Irish loop we came across this salt box below. It is abandoned now and looked so very sad to me. You can just imagine the life that filled that house for a hundred years, babies born, people dying, women standing in the window waiting for fishing boats to return. To me each one of these salt boxes tells a story and I am desperate to hear everyone of them.

I saw this one in Trepassey. It seemed to me to tell a thousand stories.

I do realize the cold reality of my dream of owning a salt box by the sea. These homes are old and rickety, many have lead paint and are impossible to heat and have been left abandoned for years in remote areas. But, reality aside they are beautiful to me. And they represent Newfoundlands history so very profoundly. These houses withstood a raw and harsh landscape, generations of families and brutal economic times where upkeep was impossible for some and entire trips being pulled by ropes across the ice.

I think we all have a place in our minds that we dream of, a place where there is peace and we are content and live an authentic life. For some it is the middle of a large noisy city, for others it is a island in the Mediterranean. For me, it is a salt box by the sea.

This picture was in the St John’s telegram. A coworker saw it who new about my obsession for salt boxes, scanned it and sent it to me. The email said: Jenny I found your perfect salt box!

So close — I am still searching. I will let you know when I find it. Invite you for tea.

Pretty close to perfect. Conception Bay North

St John’s tweet up? What the ….

Well! there seems to be a lot of buzz about the first St John’s tweetup this Wednesday!

So, I thought I would post a quick blog to answer a few questions about how this came to be. Actually this isn’t the first tweet up. @candicewalsh called the first one almost two months ago at Yellow Belly Brewery. There was six of us in total: @avalonmel, @brightwhite, @candicewaslh myself and two others who weren’t on twitter.

This time @the_owlette chirped out on twitter, “why don’t we have a tweetup and I answered the call.” I loves me a good tweetup. I moved here from Halifax where the twitter community met regularity (at least once a month) for:  #boozytweetups, Twushi, Twiskey and others around the holidays #jingletweetup etc. When I first moved to Halifax, I didn’t know a soul. I met some fabulous and engaging people at  tweetups, many of whom I have continued a wonderful friendship.

We thought because this was the first larger tweetup for St John’s that it would be great to have one that was relaxed and informal, a meet and greet in a fabulous pub. People are free to come and go as the please. There will be no name tags, games, speakers or prezzies  – simply a relaxing atmosphere to enjoy a pint with the people you tweet with daily on twitter.

There are others in the making for example #Tweetthebeach a campfire at Middle Cove beach in August that @agrothe is currently organizing.  He will keep you posted as the details get sorted.  Tweetups grow within communities organically and over time and various people will begin to share their own ideas and create their own tweetups. If coming to your first tweetup seems strange, fear not. It always does. Whatever you imagine it is – it isn’t. Instead you will meet some great people, have a laugh and put a face to the avatar.

So.. this tweetup will have the hashtag #Sjtweetup if you want to follow the news there. It is at @yellowbellybrew this Wednesday night July 13th @ 8pm. It is upstairs and there is a reservation in my name Jenny Wright or Tweet up. Just come on up the stairs and order a pint (or tea) and mingle. There are always those awkward moments when you realize that you only know a person by their twitter name, but in time you will get to know some folks and widen your network of twitter friends.

Relax it will be fine!

Everyone is welcome

Looking forward to seeing you there.

The Battery: part one

I fell in love with the Battery long before I ever came to St John’s while watching an episode of Disasters of the Century – Against the Elements – which tells the story of the 1959 avalanche that devastated this tiny and stunning community situated on the Narrows, literally built into the base of Signal Hill. This historical fishing village at the mouth of harbour holds quirky and unusual homes, winding  roads that are narrow and barely passable in parts and views that rival any spot in St Johns.

The Battery

I can get lost for hours staring at the few old photos I can find of what the Battery looked like years ago. I can only imagine the lives of the families who lived there and all that they endured and celebrated. I often go to the Battery to walk or sit and look out though the Narrows and each time I find something new that intrigues me. I actually get so enthralled in the sites and sounds, I think I can hear the heart beat of what this community would have been like in years gone by: the voices of men fixing nets and talking about the day, children running up and down the narrow streets, women hanging laundry and the smell of baking and salt fish.

The outer Battery, twinestores and wharves taken sometime between 1945 and 1957. (OBNA)

Since moving here I have been trying to research the beginnings of this historical fishing community and I am nowhere near finished and somewhat surprised how little archival information I have been able to find. So this will be a short blog, Part 1 of 3, mostly photos, while research continues. I just wanted to give you a very little taste of the uniqueness of this neighbourhood and the story that first introduced me to it.

So many Newfoundland communities  have endured so much hardship and The Battery is no exception. I am currently reading an article about how the collapse of the cod fishery changed the community forever.  It has also been victim to rock slides and avalanches throughout its history. And in 1959 an avalanche on February 16 left five people dead, houses destroyed and a community in mourning.

There are no records of further avalanches until 1959, when a storm hit St. John’s on the night of February 16, with winds reported up to 220 kph, dumping 55 cm of snow. At 1:05 a.m., residents in the Outer Battery heard a sound described as louder than a clap of thunder. An avalanche struck two houses sweeping them downslope. The houses, belonging to the families of Clarence Wells and Jim Piercey, contained 14 people. Five people were killed and several injured, including Shirley Noseworthy, rescued after being buried for 12 hours. Elsewhere in the Outer Battery, 11 members of the Garland family were buried by what was apparently an earlier avalanche, and they were trapped until dug out by rescuers. Fortunately, the house was able to withstand the weight of snow, and no injuries occurred.  (The battery- A case study)

I came across a video of Shirley Noseworthy (mentioned above) retelling the events of the day. So, very heart wrenching. I encourage you to take a few moments to listen to her story. battered battery 1959.

And so, my fascination with this historic village continues.  I am in awe of the people who lived their lives (and still do) under the constant threat of the raw and harsh landscape of Signal Hill and the weather literally coming down on them. The stories of people who have managed to carve out a life in places where the habitat does not want them and makes their very existence so brutal to me is endlessly fascinating.

If you come to St Johns do not miss walking through this neighbourhood. To me it is magical, overflowing with history and beauty. If I could live anywhere in St Johns it would be there. I look forward to learning more about its history and place in the St Johns.

This is my favourite home in the Battery.

This tiny neighbourhood has some of the most fascinating architecture.

One of the tiniest homes in the Battery. I love how the front door is right at street level. Very welcoming.

By far, the most unusual home in The Battery

Damage done by a storm surge in February 2010

Think I could happily live here looking out through the narrows every day, maybe write a novel

The Battery is literally a Mecca for photographers and artists alike. I came across a blog post of an artist who drew a sketch of The battery I completely fell in love with  – here

Memorial University has a folklore department with wonderful historical information about the Battery -> Here

A final note: Sadly, The city of St Johns has ordered that many of the Battery sheds and wharves be demolished and with them goes so much history. There is a local association in St Johns that is working hard to preserve the neighbourhood. If you are interested in learning more they have a Face Book page! The Outer Battery Neighbourhood Association

St. John’s likes it when you have a good time.

One night as I was jumping into a cab at 11pm on a Wednesday night (scandalous, a Wednesday!) feeling sheepish about telling the driver that I was heading out drinking at the Yellow Belly Brewery at this time of  night, he said, “Might as well m’ dear, better than sitting around watching the TV and worrying about what’s going on over on the mainland.”

On another night, I stumbled out of the Martini Bar on George Street after a few and almost knocked over two ladies in their sixties walking past. They smiled at each other, “looks at that, bless her heart. Having a time, wha?”

If you tell someone from St John’s that you love their city and are having a great time here, the smile on their faces is wide and automatic. The love of and pride in their city is infectious. On numerous occasions I have had people go out of their way to let me know what’s happening in the city that I shouldn’t miss, a great band, the best hiking trails, fish ‘n chips, haircuts, places to have brunch and pints.

It struck me that what I admire most about Newfoundland hospitality is that so many of the people I have had the pleasure to get to know have experienced unbelievable hardship.  I am not sure, I could be so resilient in the face of all that adversity. And, I am not so sure, I could be so friendly to people “from away” who have often been unkind and judgemental of a way of life that they have neither seen nor experienced.

Life has not always been easy here on the rock and the stories of endurance here in St John’s and in the isolated out port communities is legendary.  This is the land of the story-teller. The oral tradition here is rich and the province has produced some of the best Canadian writers. I encourage you to read  Galore by Michael Crummey and Custodian of Paradise by Wayne Johnston to begin your love affair with Newfoundland literature.

This post was going to be about my obsessive love affair with the Battery a unique out-port community within St John’s (I will finish that one next week) but a conversation with my new neighbour Mary and a lovely gesture that followed, has stayed with me these past two weeks and I felt I had to write about it. It is an example of how people here who have been through so much still find the time and energy to be good to each other and truly happy to see others enjoying themselves – something I fear many of us egocentric whiners “from away”  have lost.

I live in a house that is converted into two flats. I have the upstairs flat and Mary who is widowed and from around the Bay lives downstairs. She invited me in one day to show me pictures of every single child, grandchild, great niece/nephew and cousin in her extended family. Then offering me a cup of tea began to tell me stories about growing up in an out port community and a family tragedy that drastically shaped her life.

Mary’s mother had three children before she was born and lived with her mother (Marys grandmother) alone (both their men worked away) in a small coastal community. One night in May they awoke to a fire that had begun in their kitchen. In the panic Mary’s grandmother pushed Mary’s mother out the window to save her from the fire and then went looking for the children sleeping in their beds. Hours later, poor Mary’s mother woke up on the front lawn in a daze to hear the news that her mother and two of her children had perished in the fire. The third child, Marys brother somehow (no one knows how) got out of the house and ran to a neighbour.

After the fire, Mary’s mother went on to have five more children – Mary was the first. She felt more children would help fill the gap of the ones she lost that night.  Mary told me that she grew up remembering her mother crying for the entire month of May for the rest of her days. She lived well into her eighties.  I sat there thinking about her story, speechless. Finally, I told Mary, how very much I would have loved to have met her mother.  “Well,” she sighed, “she was a good woman and she worked hard and she was kind. Mother and me, we almost had the same life, we both lost our husbands young, mine at 31, Daddy at 32.” The grief to me was beyond comprehension. Marys mother lost her mother and two children, and then lost her young husband just a few years later. And then Mary, my lovely neighbour who had been through so much too, lost her own husband when he was just a young man.

I could barely walk up the stairs to my own flat I felt so heavy from hearing her story.

A few nights had passed, Mary’s story had moved to the recesses of my mind. I had my mate Paula over for a girls night. We drank too much wine, laughed out loud and starting singing the traditional Newfoundland songs at the top of our lungs until the wee hours of the morning. At two in the morning Mary finally knocked on her ceiling with a broom to get us to shut up.

WELL! I thought I would die of embarrassment for being such a horrible neighbour. I was mortified at being such a shit to a women who had been through so much. The next morning I sat on the couch, head in my hands hoping my new neighbour wouldn’t hate me and trying to figure out how to best apologise for keeping her awake. Then, just when I was getting my coat on to go and buy her some flowers, she knocked on my door with a bowl of hot home-made soup and fresh bread.

“Hows your head m’dear? This might help,” she smiled. I couldn’t believe it. I apologised profusely for keeping her up. She smiled and said, “oh, not to worry m’dear, I used to have a time in my day too. We all needs to blow off some steam. Get some of that soup into ya.”

Was the best soup I have ever had.

People Sick

I have always loved Sundays. The laziness of the day. It has always been about too much food, family and friends mingling around, bad movies and a break from our usual crazy schedule. The day begins with a huge breakfast, where the conversation consists of what we were going to have for supper.  A tradition in our family is Sunday Suppers: a long and relaxed preparation of  a huge meal, usually with a theme – jiggs dinner, a curry, BBQ, raw food, etc. We always invite too many people and sit around talking and sharing a meal together. When we are living away from home we often invite other orphans who add flavour to this wonderful community meal which over the years has become a cornerstone of our week.

Inevitably Sunday is the day that homesickness hits me the hardest when I am working away. The quietness of my flat. The knowledge that I don’t really know anyone (yet) well enough to invite for dinner or impose my homesick self on. Even, if I did, I would still miss my family and close friends. On homesick days like this I think, what am I  doing? Can this possibly be worth it? What meaning is there in an adventure, a life changing experience or profound moment, if you don’t have anyone to share it with. Often I get very mean with myself. Are you happy now? You wanted this adventurous life. Now you have it. But what about your kids? What do they need? Are they better off? What about your marriage? What kind of  partner risks their marriage so they can follow some pipe dream of an authentic life?

Many of my close female friends have often told me that they envy this “gypsy” lifestyle, that they too dream of getting a break from their traditional mommy/wife roles, that they crave something new and most of all, they desire some glorious time just to themselves in a far away land. On days like this, when I am really mopey I wish they could spend some time with me. It is wonderful but, it comes with a price. For me at least.

Then I snap out of it. I chose to work and travel to avoid the mind numbing boredom of living in one place, doing the same job day after day, year after year. I decided I did not want to spend my life mortgaged to the hilt, burdened down with stuff, becoming bored and angry with my life and those close to me. It is an exciting and privileged way to live, but it isn’t always adventurous, or always stimulating or always fun. Sometimes, it is lonely and frightening and it is always challenging. Over time you learn that this is OK. Life and this blog is about the good, the bad and the ugly bits of living your life as fully as you can.

Last Sunday when I was feeling very blue and unsure of myself I came to an a sudden and important realization. I am not homesick.

Honestly, I don’t miss Ontario, Halifax, New Zealand, England – any of the places I have been blessed to live and work in. I know they will be there when I am finished this latest project. My partner is different, he misses his home – a gorgeous chunk of land his family owns on the stunning Bruce Peninsula in Ontario where both us were born. He feels grounded, safe and at purposeful when he is there. Me, I desperately miss people. I don’t do well in social isolation. As cliché as it sounds, I am happiest when I am surrounded with close family and friends.

I get people sick

I am grateful that I had my children very young and they are now fun, interesting and engaging adults. They have traveled/moved with me on many on my journeys. Some for all of my stay,  sometimes just for part of it. But, it has been their participation that has made it meaningful. They are getting older now, more entrenched in their own lives and less able to join me as time goes on. Sadly, over the next year none of them will be joining me in St John’s. And some days, I miss them so much it hurts.

And there in lies the lesson.

Understanding that I am people sick and not homesick means that my choice to lead an unconventional life is not a mistake. It does mean however that there may be many months every year where I am living away from my family and friends.  Blue days don’t mean pack it all in and go home, they are simply part of the process for everyone who travels. What you need to do, is know they are coming, find ways to cope with them and stay in touch with those closest to you. Over the years I have realized that I have learned a few tips.

1. Call home. Talk to your people. We are funny beings because we tend to isolate ourselves when we feel sad. We don’t want to burden folks with our dark mood. Call them!  They want to hear from you! They will cheer you up and you will feel happier and more connected by the end of the conversation.
2. Embrace social media even if it is a new and scary. My children are extremely cool people and they help keep me in touch and informed about new and exciting things in tech, music and fashion, TV etc.  My son is a web designer, blogger and all around social media guru and patiently introduced the reluctant me to twitter, Skype,  my IPhone and the creation of this blog. Social media is a fabulous way to get connected to your new community, the people and to find out what fun things are happening around you.  I resisted twitter for the longest time because I didn’t really understand it. However, if has been a fabulously supportive community for me. And wherever I go now there is a mini, instant community that is more than willing to help with any questions I might have and offer tips of what restaurants, events, music you shouldn’t miss out on. I have met many of the people I speak to on twitter, some have become great friends, some I meet for a pint, others I have never met but have shared a kind word or a great tip when I needed it.
3. Do something that reminds you of home. For me its cooking. I will prepare a meal for myself that is comfort food.  Usually simple meals, macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese well, anything with cheese really. Music that reminds you of home is a favourite fall back too. I usually have a running playlist for blue days which cheers me up.
4. Turn people sick days into self-care days. What ever that means for you. Walking, manicure, long baths, sleeping in, reading anything at all. Plan some time to do whatever nurtures your spirit.
5. Ironically, I am a homebody. So selling our home base was a bit of a shock to the system initially. Now, when I move to a new city, I tend to stay in furnished flats so I need to do a few things to make it feel more like home to me. I always bring a few pictures of my family and friends and put them up right away. There are a few  books that travel with me, a laptop and the beautiful, red peugeot pepper grinder my husband bought me for Christmas. Then I go out and I buy all white towels and sheets for my one luxury. That is usually all it takes to make me feel settled now.
6. Take an excitement break. Experiencing new sights, people and events is the best part of traveling, but it can be a little overstimulating all the time when everything you are doing is brand new. Give yourself a break on blue days. Let your mind and senses relax instead of forcing yourself into an experience or situation that may or may not be fun. Stay home, work through tips 1-6.
7. Time on your own with nothing to do is a gift. Our current lifestyles are so busy, we are constantly bombarded with time lines, news, events, tending to our jobs, family and friends, that when we do get some down time we don’t know what to do with it.  We feel guilty, lost or afraid. We all need some time to reflect, if you are privileged enough to get it, use it to the best of your abilities. This time on my own has brought me back to writing, to my yoga practice and reminded how very lucky I am to have this year in St John’s.

Now, I have to go and call my people.

On seeing Ron Hynes

Not long after I started my new job, I went out with some colleagues from work to celebrate one of their birthdays. I am blessed to work with kind and passionate and hilariously funny people so I was excited to enjoy a night out with new friends in my new city. We started off at The Duke of Dukeworth a famous local pub and one my favourites. Made even more famous I think by its appearance in the television show, the Republic of Doyle which is filmed here. If you are in St John’s you have to stop in at The Duke. It has a fabulous atmosphere, colourful regulars, their own brew and some of the best fish and chips in the city.

With bellies hurting from laughing, full of  pints and fish and chips we decided to all march off to Shamrock City to enjoy some live music and dance. I have to tell you that the local music was one of the great pulls for me to come to St John’s. The amount of talent in this province is staggering. I have already had the privilege of hearing some great talent, including a memorable night at Barry Cannings launch of his new CD, Light of the setting sun, at the Rockhouse. There is a long list of musicians I want to see while I am here and one of them is Ron Hynes.

Thankfully, my parents are music lovers and lefties. We grew up hearing all the great folks singers  – Bob Dylan, David Bromberg, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee, Pete Seeger, John Prine and many, many more. I remember great discussions about music, politics, stories of miner strikes, grave injustices and the common man overcoming great odds at our kitchen table. I inherited their belief in social justice and their all consuming love of music. And, like my parents I have a soft spot for the great ballads that tell the story of the everyday struggles of ordinary people – John Prine is a master of this. And so too is Ron Hynes.

I was always disappointed when I  lived in Halifax that the only song that bands played of his was Sonny’s dream. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the song but it is sung to death there with the exclusion of almost all other songs he has written. Ron Hynes has written a plethora of brilliantly evocative songs about St John’s and the rich lives of Newfoundlanders. I used to listen to his music and wonder if I would ever get to Newfoundland to see for myself the stories he told so well. If you haven’t heard of him I cannot encourage you enough to get to know his work.

Now at this point I  am well into a few pints when I decide to yell over the music how desperately I want to see Ron Hynes while I am living here (I may have had my free hand on my chest and eyes welling up).

Them: Blank stare.

Me: No seriously, I love him. I really love him.

Them: (staring at me now in unison) He is just up the street, wha? (pointing to the window) Yis, my dear I am just after seeing him Thursday.

ME: Wha?

Them: Yis, of course, he plays here all the time, every week. Now, there’s lots of time for that we are dancing now! You aren’t going anywhere for a year, are you now?

ME: (stunned) What? Wait…uh…You mean he is playing near me right now?

Them: (looking concerned) Yis sure, he’s best kind.

Me: (all wavy hands and spilling my pint): Wait…. what…. why are we here?  Let’s go see RON HYNES!

THEM: Ohh, lots of time for that my dear, lots a time. What are you drinkin’? You looks like you needs a pint.

Me: (all poetic and hands waving)  No. you need to listen to me (pointing at my chest now, talking slower)  I love him, he is on my bucket list (might have said lisp)  I have to hear him play The. St. Johns. Waltz. and No. change. in. me. before I die.

Them (looking puzzled) : Well go on with ya’ then.

And, I did. Dragging one of them, Cheryl in tow. We sauntered (maybe, stumbling a bit) off to Fat Cats paid our cover charge and walked in. And there he was. I stared at him like it he was the oracle. Cheryl stared at me like I was insane. It was such a great moment in my life.

Cheryl: Well, go on up there and say, what are ya at?  ask him to play your song, sure, he loves a chat.
Me: what? I cant. No.

One of the blessings of traveling and working in different places is that you are a perpetual tourist. You are reminded of how easy we take so much of what is around us for granted. We walk past stunning architecture, breathtaking landscapes, oceans and yes,  the people in our lives without really turning our heads to look. St John’s loves Ron Hynes. He is apart of the heartbeat, the many flavours that makes this a remarkable city. But, when you are tourist, you get to see everything and everyone with new, fresh eyes.  It is an exciting way to live, and one of the reasons why I keep doing this.

It was a wonderful set and he was in great form. Cheryl had to leave and I decided to stay for just one more song. As we said goodnight, and I watched her leave I heard the first few opening notes of the St John’s Waltz and the biggest smile came over my face. And there I was all by myself in a bar on George Street in St John’s listening to one of the greatest songwriters this province, and this country has ever produced, drinking in every chord, every line. Living the dream.

Ron Hynes at Fat Cats