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The Pop Shoppe

Over the weekend, my buddy Bernard and I were discussing a memory of growing up in pretty much anywhere in small town Canada. For people of my generation, a trip to The Pop Shoppe was a fun and regular occurrence.  Unlike traditional pop, and before the time of so many store brand pops, there was The Pop Shoppe.

The Pop Shoppe back home, was, at least the only occasion I remember, down on Memorial Drive in Clarenville, just about right across from the medical center.  There was a hair salon in the same building in later years.

They operated on an interesting business model, franchising stores to people, and selling their own product in refillable, returnable glass bottles.  You’d get your product in cases of 24 and once done you’d return your bottles and get your deposit back or put towards your new case.

What was best about it though for the kid in me, was the assortment of flavors.  There were the usual copy cat ones, Cola, Lime Rickey, Root Beer, Sparkle Up, but by far the best, and maybe the best pop ever was Black Cherry.

Stubby Beer Bottle

Atlantic Superstore here used to sell a store brand black cherry flavor, but its no longer available, and while The Pop Shoppe has been reincarnated, I don’t see it for sale in any local locations, but man was Black Cherry ever good!

Another unique feature of The Pop Shoppe were the stubby bottles, like the old stubbies we used to get beer in back in Newfoundland, except clear and with The Pop Shoppe branding painted directly onto the glass.

Once the local one closed up, I still had some bottle laying around and for a time reused them to make Hire’s Root Beer from the little bottles you could buy at the co-op and Mercer’s.  Though I think as many of those exploded as were consumed, but that too was a great pop, and Hire’s, in my mind, while it and Crush were still independent was the best root beer I ever drank.

July 29, 2013 by Uncategorized 1

Bakeapple Led

Back home, when someone went astray, or got disoriented, the old folks would say they were fairy led. As in led astray by the fairies.  Well there were no fairies involved in this story, but we were definitely astray!

Bakeapples, or as they are known in some parts, cloud berries, are a favorite back home.  They are very sweet, with a sticky consistency, that’s great for jams and to top other things with.  Mom has been known to make a bakeapple tart in the same manner as people make partridge berry tarts.

I was never a big fan of them myself, I do like them, but find them overwhelmingly sweet, and don’t want a lot of them.  But for some reason, one summer, around the same time as now, prior to me moving away to Nova Scotia, Bernard and I decided to go bakeapple picking.

On the upper end of Random Island, there is a big big barren where bakeapples grow.  One thing about bakeapples though is that they grow one berry per plant, nearly on the ground, and the plants are often 6 inches to several feet apart.  We went through the woods at the tv tower, and walked through the short bit of woods till we got in on the barren.  We then walked till we found some berries and got down to picking.

The big issue though is that once you’re in the middle of a barren, with your head down, when you look up all the directions look pretty much the same.  We picked and picked till we were both tired and later evening was coming on, and then decided to make our way out of the woods.  Well of course when we looked up, nothing looked much different than anything else.  Luckily the barren was up on a rise, and we could see water, but unluckily, Random Island is an island, and water was visible in many directions.  Also unfortunately trees blocked some of the view, so we could only see water in the distance, and not see the bar bridge.

Well there was nothing for it, but to pick a direction and start walking and so we did, for what seemed like hours till we got to the edge of the barren and found a path.  We decided to follow it, with no better plan, and it shortly intersected with a much larger path, which turned out to be the road that someone whose name now escapes me had at the upper edge of the island for their mill.

We finally made it back to the road, and started our hike back to the car which was about 2 or 3 miles back at the old tv tower.  Not much traffic on the island, so we were resigned to walking the whole way, when finally a car came by, and who did it turn out to be?  Dad and Mom!  So of course the picked us up and carried us back to the car, from where we finally made our way home after being …… bakeapple led.

July 25, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

Playing with your food

For some reason a discussion of yogurt in food reminded me of this old staple, fussel’s cream!  While I loved fresh cream, I can’t say I cared for this back in the day, but maybe I would now. Only problem is I’m not even sure it exists anymore!

But Sunday evening’s supper wasn’t complete for Dad without something sweet, with some cream on top.

Going off on a tangent here, another thing I only recently noticed or paid attention to, after so many years away, is that we Newfoundlanders are the only ones I’ve encountered that call “canned” products “tinned”.  I mentioned at work one day that I had a tin of Pepsi, and they looked at me like I was nuts (well they do that anyway, but this time it was for the tin).

Back on topic, and in relation to the title, there was one aspect of this cream that I did like, that was playing with it to thicken the cream.  I guess over time the cream started to separate, and my “job” was to shake it to help thicken it.  Of course my ideas of shaking may have been rolling it on the floor, using it as a puck in a game of knee floor hockey, and I may even have shaken it occasionally!

Anyway, another memory I thought I’d share, now to go find some partridge berry tart and cream!

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July 22, 2013 by Uncategorized 4

But it’s not Monday!

Sunday mornings I usually get up and do my laundry, and of course today being Sunday, I did so today.  It was a little easier than using the old wringer washer though.  I just put it in, and turned it on, and then later threw it in the dryer.

But I can remember Mom using one very similar to this, putting the powdered detergent in, not  the fancy schmancy liquid stuff like today.  Also adding bleach, and using clothes blue in those little blue cubes.  Who remembers that?!

Back then the old folks for some reason had certain days to do things, and if you didn’t follow the routine, it was a source of something to talk about.  I guess gossip helped pass the time then as much as it still does now!  I remember Monday’s were laundry days, and if you did some on another day, why, that was big news!  I can recall even now my Aunt Mary saying to me when I went down for a visit “My garr, your mothers got clothes on the line again today, how much does she wash at all!”

I guess for the older folks, in some cases routine was necessary, and useful for planning, and the more modern times of the late 60’s and 70’s were a bit much to handle :). We all know that the level of cleanliness has continually improved over the years, as we understand more about our health and disease.  Back in earlier days a bath once a week was a lot, let alone the daily or more showers of today, so likely clothes were changed less too!

But laundry then was also a big production, wheeling out the machine, hooking the hose to the sink, filling it with water.  Prescrubbing the really dirty items with the old scrubbing board in the tin wash tub, then putting it in the machine and letting it agitate for however long, then taking the clothes out and running it through the wringer, being careful not to lose an arm in there! Those things were dangerous! Once all that was done, you still had to take it out and put it on the clothesline.

We had the advanced technology of having the clothesline on a pully, so we’d just go to one spot, and pin it and wheel it out, but lots and lots did, and maybe still do (because lets face it, clothes off the line is STILL so much fresher than from the dryer), just had one strung across the garden, propped up by a board with a notch to keep it from dragging.  For those had the extra work of mucking the basket across the garden with them as the pinned it out.

And then of course after all was said and done, everything, or pretty much everything had to be ironed.  Sheets, shirts, pants, towels, face cloths, even underwear! It was all ironed, I think the only thing Mom didn’t iron was socks!

The technology for washing has changed a lot over the years, and I’m sure more than I do it on other days than Monday, wonder if anyone has their line filled today?

July 21, 2013 by Uncategorized 1

Clarenville Day

Its been too damn hot to sit in front of the computer and write anything lately.  Thankfully its cooled down a bit the last couple days.  I saw a note on The Packet twitter feed about Clarenville Days, and of course it reminded me about the old Clarenville Day from years back.

I really recall less than I should, but I do believe, like Regatta Day, it was held on a Wednesday rather than making a long weekend of it.  I’m not sure I ever understood that logic, but hey!  Of course, I may be mis-remembering….

I was never a big participator, nor had a lot of interest, I think my dislike of crowds started early, but there are some good memories for sure.  Memories of fries in the grey cardboard box from the old stadium canteen.  Custard cones at Nikki’s Nook, Fish and Brewis from somewhere! And of course moose burgers!  I could eat about a million of those.

The big attraction of course for many were the dory races.  I remember being down by Jack Duffett’s bar  (does Jacks still exist?), or up on his patio watching them.  I don’t have any recollection of knowing who rowed in any of these races, but I can clearly remember the dories, painted bright colors, with the old names on them like Handy Andy and Chain Store.

While I never got overly involved, I think the biggest fun for me was to spend a day with Dad, a non working day for him while I was a boy home from school for the summer.

July 18, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

If you can’t clean it…

Was reminded today of cleaning the old wood range, if cleaning is even the right word.  Unlike stoves of today, these old ranges had iron tops, not glass and plastic.

Of course that made them heavy as hell too, but a benefit was that you didn’t have to be gentle in the cleaning.

Rather than soft lotions and creams, we used to whack on the comet cleanser, and get a drop of water mixed with it and scrub it with the old waterproof sand paper, better known to us as waterpaper.  In the old store we ran in Apsey Brook, we used to sell this by the sheet for just this purpose.  Everyone had a wood range and everyone used this to clean it. I guess we weren’t really cleaning it as much as we were sanding it out, but it did the trick.  Just took some elbow grease.

Anyway, short post tonight, but while it was fresh in my mind, wanted to get my memories of water paper down.

July 9, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

If the lightning doesn’t get them!

The oldfolks would say, there’ll be lots of bakeapples if the lightning don’t get em!  July, whether there’s any truth to it or not, or just superstition or coincidence, is an important month in determining the yield of some berries.  Obviously a late frost is likely to kill the young forming berries, but we also used to say a lightning storm would kill the bakeapples (a topic for another post) before they could ripen.  Whether there’s any scientific basis for this, or why it seems to be true I don’t know.

One thing that did seem to be true though was that the yield of dewberries, also known as plumboys, seemed to be an indicator of how many bakeapples you’d get.

That was kind of irrelevant to the kid me, and possibly still would be to the adult me if I were anywhere to get some of these!  These wonderful little berries used to grow around our fence, and on the side of the old school garden path. While we never picked them to make a jam or jelly, I’ve spent many an hour hunting them out and staining my hands with their delicious red juice.  Looking similar to a raspberry, with a little seed in each nodule, they were more translucent in coloring, and would darken to a deep wine color with a ton of juice for their size.

Rubus arciicus - Dewberry

Rubus arciicus – Dewberry

They too seemed to have some sort of reverse affinity with lightning though.  If there happened to be a local lightning storm when they were ripening, the yield always seemed lower.  Again for whatever reason, even if it was just the power of suggestion in out minds, I can’t say.

In any event, I hope the lightning doesn’t get them, and someone mails me up a few hundred thousand!

July 8, 2013 by Uncategorized 2

They’d be Savage!

Its pissing down here now, has been all day, but earlier in the week, Keith mowed the lawn and got it in nice shape again, a never ending job.  But whenever I see the neat and well kept lawns nowadays, and even more so back home, I can’t help but hear Uncle Luther grumbling with me and all kids to keep out of the grass.  Not because it was neat and well tended, but because he didn’t want it trampled, and wanted it to grow to make hay for the horses.

I wasn’t all that old when he passed away, nor did people tend to keep horses much beyond my early teens as ski-doos and atv’s became more practical, but back then it was a summer chore of mine to turn the hay, and rake it in the evenings. Many days of back breaking labor were involved in cutting it down with a scythe.  Those things were a chore in and of themselves as dad always had to keep a stone in his back pocket to keep it sharp.  Dad may have been a bit of a perfectionist with it anyway, as he kept his sharp enough to shave the hair on his arm.  Was always a worry when in the barn to not accidentally touch it.

Old Hay Prong (Eric Cooper Picture)

Joe Baker with an old Hay Prong (Eric Cooper Picture)

On sunny days we’d spread the hay on the field to dry, and then turn it with the old prong  (still seems funny to me how something with two large tines so far spread was used on something so slight as hay)about half way through the afternoon.  Then rake it again into a stack in the evening and cover it with a bren (essentially bren bags taken apart and sewed into a larger tarp) weighted at the corners by rocks.  Once it was dry, I can see dad in my minds eye now loading up a huge bren with hay and walking across the garden, and up the ramp to the loft over the stable.  I can’t even begin to tell you how big it was, but it dwarfed him.  I know hay didn’t weigh a lot, but holy god so much had to.

The hay was used to feed the horses in the winter of course, and I can still remember the smell of hay all over me as we played in the stable loft, heedless of the millions of sneezes that it caused to erupt from me.

With all the need we had for hay back in those days, I can hear them grumbling about lawn mowing now… they’d be savage!

June 29, 2013 by Uncategorized 2

Rolling on the beach

Caplin-1280Its not the Adele song, its the caplin spawn! About this time of year we start to see caplin coming ashore on the beaches to spawn.  Back when I was younger they’d come further up the sound than now, and we’d see tons of them up in Apsey Brook.  Didn’t see that as often at least up until I moved away.

I think that’s mainly because when I was a lad, there was really no commercial use for them.  People caught them for food and that was about it, but later on, their roe became popular with the Japanese market, and a large commercial fishery took off.

These small smelt like fish would teem near shore and we’d go down and pick them up in dip nets, five gallon buckets, and cast nets, getting tons and tons.

Cast Net

 

Some we’d eat fresh, though I was never fond of them this way, but the majority we’d salt and sun dry or smoke.  A common site was to see caplin racks like those pictured all over the island, caplin hung on them, pierced through the eye, to dry. For me, one of my favorite things to eat is a dried smoked caplin, its almost like fish jerky!  Or dare I say it, fish bacon! So delicious!

Commercially, they were also a good way for us younger folks to make a few extra dollars, as the plants would pay us to pick the males from the females. Males were used for fish meal, food, or what have you, while the females were milked for the roe.

Not sure the caplin racks are very common anymore now, or how many we see rolling on the beach, but I’m sure people still call the damp foggy days in late June caplin weather.

I think now I’m going to have to head out and find some caplin, still see some smoked ones from Golden Shell fisheries in the stores here sometimes!

June 22, 2013 by Uncategorized 6

Happy Father’s Day

This was tough to write…

Dad was a bear of a man, him, Uncle Hay and Uncle Lindo all were. Possibly uncle Herven and Lawrence too, but they lived away for most of my memory. (Well St. John’s is not so far away in Uncle Lawrence’s case, but what I mean was I never saw them in their Random Island living days). By bear I mean they were strong as bears, I remember stories told to me by third parties of feats of strength by both Uncle Hay and Dad. I’m sure they probably got exaggerated over the years, but I know from my own memory they were strong as hell.

But they grew up in a time of manual labour, working in the lumber woods, cutting cords of wood a day with a bucksaw.  Living away for months in rough camps to earn a living.  And then coming back to work the land and sea for their own food, as well as maintain their own houses.  Everyone was a plumber, a carpenter, an electrician.

But as strong as Dad was, he was a gentle soul, with a huge soft spot.  I remember when squirrels were new to Newfoundland, Dad had found one injured and brought it home to care for it.  He was also the devil incarnate at times, mischievous as all get out, and quick with a quip.  He taught us pride and humility, respect, and most of all love and joy.

Dad was taken in 1998, and while I can’t claim to be very religious, I do feel him, hear him, and most of all see him in the eyes and love of my little niece.  He would have doted on her just like he doted on my sister.  She’d be Poppy’s girl for sure.  Of course I can’t say I’m immune to that doting either.  And there is no jealousy in what I say of my sister, I doted on her too, and still do.

Dad was loved by many, known by more than seems possible, and missed terribly by us.  The memories are great ones, and will cherish them.  Miss you Dad, I see you now in my minds eye in by Fox Pond when I towed you in there on the ATV. We spoke then that it was likely your last time, and last trip, gout having made getting around difficult. We had many good times before and after that, but that was a special day to me, we shared a quiet time, words weren’t necessary.

Happy Father’s Day everyone.

June 16, 2013 by Uncategorized 1

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