Uncategorized

When the Horses Ran Free

I guess it was a simpler time, and a simpler place.  Growing up in the 70’s in a town with a population of 65, and nearest large town about 20 minutes away, and that only having a population of a couple thousand, things were quieter.  You didn’t lock your doors, you often left your key in the car.  If you visited someone you almost always did, so that people could move them as necessary, or just take the most outside one.

A lot of people kept some sort of livestock, and a lot more kept a work horse, though for many, and my dad for sure, as much a pet as a work animal.  In those days you kept your horses and livestock on your land in winter, available for use, and often let them roam free in summer.

Seeing a group of horses walking down the road as they roamed the island over the summer was a common thing, and we often knew which to avoid as there were always a few saucy ones.  It was also not so uncommon to accidentally step in some stinky sheep manure, especially in patches of grass where you couldn’t see it.  Sheep were especially annoying as if they saw a fence, they just had to try and get behind it, and of course, when they did, not being the brightest of animals, were nearly incapable of finding the open gate when you tried to herd them out.

Horse manure wasn’t as bad, being quite a bit larger.  I can often remember in winter we’d use a frozen road apple as a hockey puck in our games of hockey.  Dad had a horse, and I guess the name he gave her, Pet, showed that he thought as much of her as pet as a work animal.  She had some Smith traits too.  Stubborn for one, she could not pass one water hole when pulling wood in winter without getting a drink, no matter how often she had passed it, and no amount of coaxing got her to go till she was ready.

Pet was large for a horse back home too, larger than most of the others.  I really have no idea if she was a Newfoundland pony or not, but was larger than most of the males.  I assume this is why she never had a foal till she was very nearly 20 years old, nearly ancient for a horses, or at least those I knew.  But this one summer, we had heard someone say she had one.  We tracked down the herd near the brickyard near Snook’s Harbour, and sure enough there was a little black foal with her.  We named him Frisky as he was a handful.  We eventually sold or gave him away, he didn’t have the best of temperaments to my memory. But still the sight of a herd of horses, roaming free for the summer, stopping traffic on times, was a memory of growing up that I’ll always cherish.

June 15, 2013 by Uncategorized 5

Magna Berries

Yesterday’s post reminded me of berries and the many different kinds we had growing up back home.  One of the lesser known, were what we, at least, called magna berries.  I’ve mentioned them to others over the years, but I don’t recall most having a different or in fact any name for them.

That’s likely because the creeping snowberry as its truly known are not harvested much.  And that’s likely because the berries are tiny, so small we often called them ant’s eggs, because they resembled, well ant’s eggs.  They also usually were underneath their vines and hard to see at all.

There was an old slide path near my house, what we called the school garden path, that joined on to the “old road” forming a fork encircling the old garden.  On the slide path, hugging the tops of the bank were many of these vines.

They have a distinct wintergreen smell and flavor, and I once tried to pick some hoping to persuade mom to make some jelly or jam from them.  But, after what felt like forever, I only had a teacup full, and I gave it up for a bad job.  Just too tiny and not abundant enough.

That said, it was always a tasty treat when walking out from trouting to try and get a few of these little mints!

June 9, 2013 by Uncategorized 8

The Great Railway Phone Call

In the summer of 94, Bernard and I, and a couple more, Junior and Craig I think, I forget who because a larger crowd met us in car later on, took a trip on the old railway bed on atv’s camping.  I know Eric missed this trip because he was out further west working with some forestry project.

We loaded up the gear, and headed out the tracks, seeing lots of unfamiliar country as the bed deviates from the highway quite a bit.  For our first night, we set up tents near Terra Nova, and of course a few beverages were consumed, and much food eaten.  That night we headed out around the “town” if it is a town, I honestly don’t know if anyone lives there or not, but it was pretty deserted while we were there.

At some point Junior decided he was going to pull the pay phone that was there off the wall with his trike.  He never actually did it, but at some point, he hit something metal and it made a gong like sound.  I will always remember Junior, a big AC/DC fan saying “Hell’s Bells”.  Later on while we were trying to sleep, he kept going around saying, “hear that? they’re coming! Phone cops!”

The next day we decided to see some more country and drove the ATV’s toward Gambo, cross I believe the road I mentioned previously in Git!  I could possibly have the days confused, but at some point during the trip, we had arranged that rod would contact us.  I had an old Motorola bag phone, and Rod had connected an old lighter socket to his quad.  He wasn’t with us, someone else was using his quad, but he was to meet us and made arrangements to call us at a specific time.

Well the time was approaching, so we pulled up the bikes and hooked up the old lighter socket to the battery and plugged in the phone to wait.  Now back in 95 cell phones weren’t nearly as common back home as now, and since they were pretty bulky, you didn’t see them much outside of cars.  Well just as Rod called, a woman walked across the tracks in front us, berry picking I believe.  The ringing phone never startled anyone so much since the world was made.  She nearly jumped out of her skin, and we were left trying not to burst with laughter.

Ahh the fun times! Even with Craig threatening to knife us all later that night!

June 8, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

The Tournament

In the summer of 95 I believe it was, there was a softball tournament at the Lion’s Park at Elliott’s Cove Pond. And a good time was had by all.  The end.

Well that’s a kinda lame story, so will add a couple events.  Hopefully I can be forgiven if I’ve mixed multiple events into one.

For some reason I was umpiring that tournament or a lot of it anyway, not because I was necessarily any good, but more because no one else wanted to do it.  Umpires of our softball games generally have to make all the calls for all the bases, and outfield as well, so sometimes the point of view can be difficult.  That said, I really from that day to this cannot be sure I made the right call, just that I made a call.  I can’t even remember specifics now, but for some reason I had called Craig Baker out at first, whether for being thrown out, or for being off the bag or whatever, I don’t recall.  What I do recall though was something was said or done, and I threw Craig out of the game.  I probably wasn’t amused at the time, but I know everyone else was laughing and I can only laugh now too as Craig took the bag and walked up the road and threw it out in the woods!

The second incident, may or may not have been during the tournament, and since I don’t know the people involved well anymore, will not mention their names, but I’m sure most will remember.  Somehow an argument happened between two people around 2nd base.  All I can remember, and to this day laugh my ass off was the exchange “Ah, go f$%k a caribou!” and the response “Well you go screw a moose!”

That tournament was also unfortunately the site of an injury when Lisa Critch got her leg broken at 2nd base.  Scary play, and so happy she recovered well.

Summer days, where would the be without softball?

June 1, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

Git!

One dark night, early in the morning, 3 hungover lads got up to hunt….

Well that’s not quite the way the old rhyme goes, but my version suits the story more.  In the fall of 1995, I had a caribou license for up in back of Terra Nova/Gambo area.  Myself and Eric had decided we were going to go hunting over the weekend, but like young gaffers do, we had been to a bonfire the night before till late. I did manage to get myself home for a few hours sleep, I can’t say if Eric did or not.  But I know the third member of our expedition did sleep, even if only for a little.  I know this because when I drove up to pick up Eric at about half past 3 or 4 o’clock, all I could see were feet laying on the edge of the pavement.  At first I thought it was Eric, but nope, it was Rod in all his glory sprawled out on the ground.  I know he did it for devilment, but if he tries to say he didn’t at least pass out for a little while he shootin something, and its not caribou!

With that the trio was formed, and off we went.  We drove my dad’s old GM Sierra pickup first up to Terra Nova area.  Not being familiar with the area, we really just drove around the back roads.  At some point Rod had to make use of a tree, and for whatever reason also changed his jeans.  This latter point will relate to the story, but you gotta stay patient!

We decided to give up on the Terra Nova area, and instead made for what we, at least, called Mint Brook road.  This is off the highway near Gambo, and goes winding all over the back country. I believe it can even take you down to the south coast if you know the way.  Anyway we drove and drove, till according to the truck odometer we weer about 65 miles up in the woods.  And of course what should happen? Well the exhaust let go on the truck.

Luckily we had some old wire in the back, and we stopped and got it wired up somehow.  I know there’s a picture somewhere of me laying under the truck doing it.  Good to go once again, at some point we pulled off for a lunch.  And what should we see, 65 miles up in the woods, but crab legs!  Yes somehow, whether by birds, or people having a meal, there were old crab leg shells in a turnaround.  Being frustrated with the lack of caribou, I know we took a picture of Rod pretending to shoot them.

I seem to remember seeing one caribou way off, but maybe that was on a different trip, because I also seem to remember us not seeing anything alive except a beaver, and then debating whether we should shoot it!  If we thought we could get it out and that it was fit to eat, we probably would have.

Giving up on the hunting, we drove back out of the woods, and made an excursion to Glovertown.  I am not certain, but I believe it was somewhere near here we saw a “Taxidermy and Take-Out”.  I kid you not.  We decided against trying the take-out, figuring since it was also a taxidermy, we weren’t sure we’d want to eat what they were cooking.

At some point during our many wanderings, Rod thought for some reason he had left his other jeans back near Terra Nova. He kept telling me to “git” back there to pick them up.  That and him jabbing his finger in the direction of the road had me in tears laughing.  (not to be confused with the tears shed from, well lets just say the gas from too many beer the night before).

I know we were going around for weeks after saying “Git!”  It still brings a laugh to me now.

 

May 29, 2013 by Uncategorized 5

Herman Munster’s Lunch Can

Herman was a big man of course, so he had to have a big lunch can for his job at the graveyard.  Digging was hard work after all.  Somehow over the years we ended up with it at our place, or at least that’s what Eric called it.

It was, and is of course an old time sewing machine. Its a little dusty in this picture, not had it out in a while.  But old as it is, its still used fairly regularly here.  One mother’s day way back when I was still in school, we gave mom an electric one.  But it was too new to her, and getting lessons was both inconvenient and expensive, so it ended up being returned.

I’m not sure how old it is, at one time a date was visible on it, but its worn off now.  Its well over 100 years old at any rate as I remember the date being 18 something.

My mom got it as a gift from Aunt Fanny Phillips who lived up on the hill near us, where uncle Lionel Kelley lived later on.  Aunt Fanny was before my time, but from all reports she was a dear old lady.

Nan's Helper

Nan’s Helper

Its definitely stood up over the years, I remember mom sewing patterns on it, and still nowadays hems clothes and makes drapes and quilts with it.  Of course an eager little helper who doesn’t realize the machine is over 100 years older than her doesn’t hurt. 🙂

The sound of that hand crank whirring over and over was the backdrop to many a winter afternoon, and the sewing machine and its case a constant source of amusement. Not a lot of things stand the test of time like it has.

May 25, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

MMmm those Wedgies!

Seems a lot of my posts talk about food, but its really an integral part of rural Newfoundland life.  A meal was more than an opportunity to fill your belly, it was a social family event.  And no visit was complete till you had a “cup of tea” which meant, tea, cake, cookies, jam, crackers, etc, etc.

When we were younger, take out food was both rare and a treat, and there weren’t a whole lot of restaurants nearby.  We’d go to Greening’s down across the neck sometimes, but that was quite the jaunt, and of course the Irving as well, but there weren’t a lot of take out type places, and fried chicken was really a little unusual.  That was remedied somewhat by Reddi Chef.  I can’t remember if it came to town in my early childhood, or was there before, but I think the former.  I guess it was a franchise, because I remember visiting another in Burin, and they had a fish burger called the Big Eric.  But to me Reddi Chef will always be about wedgies and will always be down the road from Mercer’s, on the corner of Bourne Place (I think).

All I remember was the little hole in the wall take out selling chicken and, and this is the big AND, and wedgies.  Oh my god! Nowadays you can get wedgies and taters everywhere, but back then, well these were unusual, and while their batter was I think mainly pepper, I will never forget how good they tasted!  Reddi Chef came and went a couple times over the years I think, and other take outs in the same building made it seem like it was always Reddi Chef.  I believe Carpenters had a store there in the same building, and perhaps had the takeout too, before they moved up to the new store on Memorial Drive.

Lots of memories there for sure, and another part of growing up back home.

 

May 23, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

Waking up the camp

After a late night at the bonfire at Rickman’s Harbour Pond, with many a beverage in hand, Eric and I are usually the first to stir.  Always a morning person, no matter how late the night, I am usually awake with the dawn.  Its May 2-4 weekend, Victoria Day, probably the biggest party weekend of the year back home, and for quite a number of years, we always made our way to Elvis’ cabin for it.  We get the naphtha in the old Coleman stove and start pumping it up, while someone else heads to the pond for a kettle full of water.  Firing up the stove we get the kettle on and the frying pan too, and soon the scent of bacon is wafting around the place, causing the rest of the crew to stir.

Big heads require a beer to start the morning, a hair of the dog, to help cure the hangovers, that and a nice greasy plate of bacon, toast and coffee get us started for the day.  The sun is shining, unusual for May 2-4 to be honest, but its about 2 degrees Celsius outside, and we got about an inch of snow over night.  Doesn’t matter, the few of us who actually want to trout pack up or rods, tackle and baskets and make our way to catch lunch before the partying starts again.

We laugh about Junior and the beer box on his head, him swearing the whole time it was me.  We make fun of Kendall and Jamie singing the wrong lyrics to Lightning Crashes at the top of their lungs the night before.  We laugh at me lighting the barrel on fire with white gas and singing my eyebrows when I thought it was barbecue starter.  Its a ritual, a rite of passage, and all good natured.  We drive that back road, stopping at ponds we can reach easily, and catch a few trout.  Of course Eric catches more than anyone else as usual.

Back for lunch, pork fat in the pan, trout coated in flour we make our lunch, while the barbecue goes outside stacked full of hot dogs, hamburgers, steak, and everything you can imagine. Lunch over, beer in hand, we start visiting everyone else’s camp sites.  Its like Christmas visits, and part of the event. Moonshine and drinks are shared.  Everyone has a slight glow for the day.

Its friendships, events, memories created that last a lifetime. Its the 24th of May and we likes to get away.

May 18, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

A Perfect Moment – A Poem

I’m no poet I know, but something I wrote a while back has been brewing this, and while I’m not sure it captures the feeling, not sure I have words that can, its my best attempt.  This is me, 10 years old.  This is Apsey Brook, this is Random Island.  This is why, to me, my little piece of the rock is perfect, and this was a perfect moment in time.

It is the summer of my childhood
rod in hand, I stroll to the wharf
an osprey circles overhead
the world breathes in time with his wings

The waves slap the wharf pilings lightly
an unbaited hook drifts to bottom
jiggling, luring a flatfish
snapping sharply, missing

flatfish abandoned, following the shore
flat rocks skipping, skipping
round ones thrown high
attempting a dead mans bubble

driftwood boats ply their trade
seagulls cry, sterrins chirrup
stranded jelly fish decorate the beach
twillicks chase the tide

up the brook, dark pools beckon
beams of sunlight through sun dappled leaves
catch trout swirling, dancing
ignoring the unbaited hook

rocks make a dam, circling the pool
smaller, smaller,  trout contained
hands grab, miss, grab again, fish squirts free,
youth splashes, suddenly soaked

The drops fall in slow motion
sunbeams dry me
walking back, boots slosh
the world breathes with me

 

May 16, 2013 by Uncategorized 2

Cocks and Hens

Growing up, one of my favorite things to do was to go cod fishing.  Its funny, but we never called it that, a trip to the fishing grounds was usually just called going out in boat.  I guess the two just naturally went together, I mean why else go out in boat?

Usually cod fishing was done by the old standard hit and miss method of using a cod jigger.  You’d lower the jigger to bottom, and then pull it up a fathom or so and stroke the line back and forth, hoping to hook into a cod.

But other times we’d use a feathered hook, or a baited hook with some orange cloth on it.  Well I’m not sure the orange mattered as much as something to attract the fishes curiosity.  For bait we’d use squid, caplin, herring, or often, cocks and hens.

They are properly a soft shelled clam, but we always knew them by the name cocks and hens, I really have no idea why, maybe someone can enlighten me.  These clam live in the soft muddy tidal flats around the shore line.  For us. we’d usually go to Southwest Brook, near Snook’s Harbour at low tide and walk out on the mud.

The clams themselves live 6-8 inches deep in the mud, you could see where by the little round tube they left in the mud to let water and food in and waste out.  Finding these, we’d dig down with a shovel, generally a little ways away from the hole so as not to smash them.  The shells on these are very soft and easily broken.  Generally we’d dig up a 5 gallon bucket full of them along with some sand and ocean water to keep them moist, and leave them in the cool fishing stage.

On our next trip out in boat, we’d take the bucket, and open a cocks and hen, and put it on our hook as bait to try and catch a nice growler (Dad’s term for a big one that would make the old corded jigging line growl)!

Nothing I loved more than an early morning trip out in boat, spending a few hours on the water.

May 15, 2013 by Uncategorized 1

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