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

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

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