Ditch Digging

I’m a long-time Nova Scotia ditch lover. I grew up in the city, where everything was paved over and water ran into sewers with metal grates. They provided efficiency, but little to watch and wonder about. It was just man-made materials doing their jobs.

Childhood summers gave me Nova Scotia ditches, with mud and plants growing down there. There was drama in the ditches, and I’ve been hooked ever since.

When we arrived this summer, I was worried about what could possibly come up in our local ditches, since there was so much run-off water that the telephone poles were knee-deep in it.

But the draining process did its work and the crops of Lupine, Blue Flag Iris, Ferns and Cat Tails are spectacular.

The dogs and I have also mind-marked where the raspberries and wild strawberries beside the ditches are, and we’re keeping watch.

Louie is a fellow ditch lover, and with nose to the ground, heads down into them whenever I loosen the lead. He’s more interested in critters than plants, though.

I just continue to marvel at what chooses to blow in and make the ditch its home. Our own driveway changes every year.

A visitor of ours from the UK once said to me, “ Everything we work so hard to cultivate in England, just grows wild in the ditches in Nova Scotia. “

Ditch Digging

Fishing and Farming

I met Jason at the Murray Corner ( New Brunswick ) wharf on Father’s Day. He was pulling a medium-sized boat out of the water and finished the process before he turned off his truck’s motor to answer my questions.

The harbor was full of the typical Cape Islander boats, but they were decorated with large colorful balloon-like objects and had enormous rolls of nets loaded behind their cabins.

“Are those lobster boats?”, I asked. “I’m from Colorado”.

“They are when it’s lobster season”, he answered.

“So what are they doing now?”

“Well”, he said, “ John there ( pointing to a boat - we were the only people on the wharf ) is geared up for mackerel.”

“What’ll he do with them?”, I asked.

“He just came back from P.E.I. ( Prince Edward Island ) - sold the catch over there.

“Mark, (he continued, pointing to another boat ) - the one with the colorful balloons, he’s ready to go out for herring”.

“So what’ll he do with them?”, I asked.

“Sell them for bait for the lobster fishing. It’s lobster season on the Island - so they’ll go over there. Or up to Cap Pele where all the smoke houses are.”

“Me”, he said ( pointing to another boat ), I’m going for herring tomorrow. Those are all small nets on her. Not the big ones for mackerel” Today, though, I’m dragging for oyster - at least I was before I popped a seal on the hitch motor”.

“Oysters, that must be pretty lucrative”, I said.

Big smile from Jason, then a hearty, “Yes, I can’t fill the orders I have.”

“So, you’re a fisherman from around here?”

“Down the road a couple of kilometers”, I’m a fisherman and a farmer”

And so the dialogue continued, me the naive one from Colorado, he, seeming to enjoy supplying the answers.

I found out he farms mink and fox ( keeps him busy in the winter when the boat is out of the water ) that go to Toronto, then to China and Russia. Russian men like male fox fur for their hats and the mink goes to China to make coats.

The whole issue of animals being raised for their fur is unsettling for me, but I had to believe that Jason would at least treat them well while they were in his care. He shared a genuine concern about the local wild fox who, a few years ago, were dying in great numbers from mange. “It’s so sad”, he said. “If we could have caught them and given them just one shot to kill the parasite, they would have all lived” “ But they’re coming back....coming back and looking healthy. The ones who survived the mange are reproducing now.

“When I was out working the oysters, I saw a mother and her three pups playing on the sand bar. So they’re coming back...and they’re looking good.”

Titus, the Akita Biker

While driving east on the TransCanadaHighway the other day, I saw three obvious distance bikers ( as in pedal, not motor ) going towards the bridge to Prince Edward Island. I took a long glance at the first two, but the third one caused me to stop and talk. The man was from Toronto and said he'd travelled for three weeks to get this far. The bike was packed, front and back with camping gear and food and he pulled one of those buggies meant to carry a child.

Looking larger than life, Titus, a 90 pound Akita sat in princely fashion on a cushion in the child buggy, with a canister of dog treats beside him. He appeared to be up for the whole adventure. In fact, I'd say he was smiling. "It's not his first trip", said John. "He knows how to do this."

I had a lot of questions.

"Do you tie him in the buggy? " "No, only in suburbs where another dog might lunge out."

"Isn't the Akita a hunting dog? What about wildlife? I just saw a fox by the side of the road."

"He only responds to aggressive dogs." (Maybe it's because he's a Japanese breed, I thought. He looked very Zen-like)

"Where do you sleep?"

"Mostly under picnic tables, with a tarp on top."

"How far are you going?

"All around the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton. I'll work a bit in Halifax, then get back to Toronto by Fall."

I was talking to John by the entrance to the bridge . It's 8 miles long and is the world's longest bridge over ice-covered water ( not ice-covered now! ) Non-motorized vehicles and walkers aren't allowed to cross, so there's a shuttle. But John had a problem. The shuttle would take the bike rig and John, but not the dog.

I said I'd like to help him out, but I had my 25 pound Corgi in the car and even though Zen-like, and coming with good credentials from John, Titus looked like he could mistake Louie for lunch. I walked around the nearby nature center, looking for someone to help, but couldn't find anyone. If he'd arrived earlier, a couple of truck loads of mackerel fishermen could have taken man, rig and dog over, but they were long gone.

"Don't worry", said John , " I have three months, so I'll pick up the ferry at Pictou sometime. One way or another, I'll get to the Island. Then he sat on the picnic bench, stretched out his legs and looked to the sea.

Fiddlehead Ferns, Lobster Omelettes and Pepere

Imagine the sounds of laughter, the music of the French language and the smells of regional cooking as you're looking at these images.

That should transport you to the Dieppe Market in the heart of Acadian country in this part of the Canadian Maritimes.

It's the end of the fiddlehead fern season here, and these delicacies were having their last showing at many of the market booths. They're young, unfurled ostrich fern, found in sandy soil along the river banks in spring. You simply snip the ends off to discard, then stir fry the unfurled heads in oil or butter with a little salt. Ask a real Acadian ( I'm only half ) and I'm sure you'll get a book full of recipes.

The lobster omelette I photographed is the kind we've been enjoying at the long market tables for a number of years. I'm not sure if you can tell by the photo, but it's a heaping helping of lobster tucked in that egg.

And also in the enjoyment category, the last photo is a "pepere" enjoying his little red haired granddaughter. I couldn't resist capturing that kind of joy........in any language.

Waiting.......

I’m not much of a boater, but I do know the value of channel markers. Right now, half of them are in our river, the rest are waiting until the local harbormaster places them. Until then, it’s a potentially dangerous guess where the deepest waters are in anything other than high tide. The neighbors, and we, have docks secured and boats out of water. We’re waiting.