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

Bud Fights!

Spring is here finally (knocks on wood to not jinx it) and greenery is springing up everywhere.  I really can”t recall what time of year wild Irises grew or bloomed, but am reminded of them now as the weather gets warmer.  I kind of think it was closer to the end of the school year, but I may be wrong.

A couple spots on the old school garden in Apsey Brook, and more around Mac Bailey’s and Randall’s garden in Snook’s Harbour had some huge wild Iris plants.  Back then, the somewhat impressive blue flowers really didn’t faze us much.  What was neat was taking the flat blades and holding them between your thumbs just so, and blowing through, making it a reed in our own human wind instrument.

What was maybe less neat, and somewhat painful, but hours of fun were the thick green (well till they dried out) seed pods (buds) that formed underneath the flowers.  We’d gather up tons of these in our hands, pockets, what ever containers we could find, and chase each other throwing them at each other as hard as we could.  Those things stung like mad, but we’d throw them at each other till we either ran out, or were too exhausted to keep it up any longer.

Always curious, we’d also peel them open, and spread the seeds everywhere, throw them in the harbour, carve them out into little boats.  A somewhat wistful memory of the hours of amusement something so simple can give you.

 

May 13, 2013 by Uncategorized 1

Who you longs to?

Not sure if I mentioned this one in my sayings post, but this was a common question back home, essentially asking who your parents are.

Well the sarcastic portion of me was likely to respond, I longs to me mudder bye!

My mother, like a lot of Newfoundland mothers was and is parent to many more than her own.  The door was always open, a crowd was always welcome.  We’ve been know to have to take shifts eating to make room at the table.

We never had a lot, but it was shared, and many people called my home theirs, as I did with many others.  We don’t ask for anything when at these extended mudder’s houses, we go to the fridge and take it, cause their home was ours, and ours was theirs.

So to my mudder, my sister, all my extended mudders, and to all the wunnerful mudders I’ve never met, happy mudders day!

 

May 11, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

If you’re not gonna share…

In 1973, the “New” school on Random Island opened. Originally called Random Island Integrated, its now called Random Island Academy. In Grade 11, I was part of the drama club that put off a, in pretty much everyones opinion, great play called Riverrun, semi based on a book of the same name about the Beothuks.  I am not sure, but I think the play may have been written by our teacher, Ray Budgell, but I could be wrong, that was 1982 after all.  I have great memories of it, and while we didn’t win anything at the festival, I will always feel we won in the court of public opinion, and look back fondly on our performance.

Some of our practices broke down into some riotous laughter for sure.  There was one day I could not keep a straight face at Evan Reid’s town crier saying Hear Ye, Hear Ye.  And one other practice where Virginia Smith said “Me fell down to me knees” or something like that.

I was also proud to be a member of the Crusader Basketball team in Grade 10. I was quite good at keeping that bench warm, and got to visit quite a number of places for tournaments.

Was lucky to be a bench warmer for some great players too, we went to the provincials that year, and if memory serves, missed out on the playoffs by score differential of 2 baskets. I have no illusions about my abilities, but I am happy I got to participate, and also look back on that fondly.

Our coach, Rod Nichol, was also our gym teacher, and our Biology teacher, and this particular memory relates to the latter.

Rod had a terrific sense of humour, I remember the correct answer to a multiple choice question “An example of osmosis is…” being Mork’s finger (Mork and Mindy for all you young whippersnappers, look it up).  Another great memory relates to the title.  Like all teens, we weren’t above sneaking a snack into the classroom, which of course wasn’t allowed, a rule enforced more by some teachers than others.  Well this one Biology class in Grade 10, Jennifer Adey had a bag of candy in class, and was caught eating them by Mr. Nichol (Rod). Of course he yelled at her, and promptly confiscated the candy.

But the funny part is instead of keeping them in the desk to give back later as was normal, he took the bag around the class and shared the candy with everyone but Jen! I don’t think there was one left at the end.  Well Jen, if you’re not gonna share…. see what happens?

May 10, 2013 by Uncategorized 5

The Bus Shelter Social Center

Every rural area has their one spot where people seem to gather. It’s often a local store, and Berniece’s Variety in Elliott’s Cove was one such place, and deserving of a post of its own before long, but before that, when we were younger, and especially in summer, we had another spot.

Back in the late 70’s or early 80’s, the Random Lion’s Club made and set up bus shelters in all the communities on the island. Painted with the, ahem, lovely lions purple and gold, they became a place to stand out of snow and rain while waiting for the school bus.

But more than that, they became a congregating place for the younger people, and none more so than the one in Snook’s Harbour bottom.

While there was nothing to do there really, it became the place to meet up before doing other things. The fact that the meeting often became the other thing was just part of our lives.  We’d spend hours there, chatting, laughing, socializing, gossiping, making up lies, drawing crude graffiti, and generally having a good time.  In summer time we’d prop our bikes against it, use it as home base for kick the can, and god knows what else.

Looking across Snook's Harbour to the mead

Looking across Snook’s Harbour to the mead

It became our spot, and while the memories run together, I can hear us all, Eric, Barry, Bernard, Craig, Jim, Susan, Miss Stephanie, Renee, and many others laughing, yelling, cursing and being young.  It was the launching point for our evenings and nights, many meetups there to go elsewhere, including to have a bonfire on the mead pictured.

 

 

May 9, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

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