Success,as far as my father was concerned didn't stop with owning a house.By the time we'd been in Moncton a year or two,he must have already been thinking ahead to a time when he would be able to afford a small lot with ocean frontage.That was still some time off,but it must have been on his mind even then.
Nova Scotia was the province my father called home and that is where he had the appearance of most belonging.in fact,by imagining a stereotypical Nova Scotian,you could be said to be imagining my father.He loved the beach and the sea,the salt air,and fish.He claimed that you would never starve if you lived by the sea,as everything therein,including seaweed could be eaten.The only thing that he ever conceded that came from the ocean and could not be eaten were jellyfish.
Fish was one of my fathers favorite foods,and from early on it was served often in our home.my mother would prepare salt cod in a casserole with potatoes and onions in some kind of a white sauce.Later,the onions would disappear as they bothered my fathers stomach.High in the cupboard there was a green and red box that contained dried,flaked salt cod.I once tasted it straight out of the box and it was the saltiest thing I'd ever had in my mouth.But,in a casserole with potatoes and onions,or formed into fishcakes it made a more than passable meal.
One of our early road trips involved a quest for fish,and my father was not easily deterred when it came to getting fish.On this particular trip we had no fishing gear of any kind,so I suppose the plan was to buy a fish from a fisherman.Or,they may have had something a bit closer to theft in mind.It was sometimes hard to tell with my grandfather along.This trip would have taken us all over the back roads around Springhill,to Five Islands and Parrsboro.
We stopped at a few different places that day,the first being at a tumble down shack out on The Lynn Road.There must have been a purpose to that visit,other than to get fish,as that stretch of road is inland,by Nova Scotia standards.I recall the place rather well,if not our purpose in being there.
The place where we stopped could only be thought of as a shack,though not a small one.It was even covered in tar paper,as were a lot of places in poor.rural New Brunswick or Nova Scotia at the time.
My father and grandfather were inside the house for what seemed like a long time, and they left me in the car no doubt thinking I might end up napping.But I didn't. And since I was alone for a long while,I got out of the car and started exploring the cabin's yard.First,this building was low to the ground and it only had one door,located in the narrow side of the house.It had a bathroom too,which was located outside,just to the right of the door.It was a small unpainted house in a bit of a ravine,overgrown with weeds and brambles,and there were some hill and thick woods behind it.
To this day I have no idea who lived there.But,while I was sitting there,on a low set of steps,playing in the dirt,which,along with some thistles seemed to be about all the yard consisted of,a man I didn't know came outside with some kind of a big,black shaggy dog.He trotted over to the little house and disappeared inside while the dog sniffed around in the bushes.When he came back,I asked,"Where Did You Go?"
"Just over to the little House",he answered.
"Can I go there too?"
"No,you Shouldn't go there"
"Why Not"
"Well,you see,the bogeyman lives in there.And there are wolves in the woods too."
That part about the wolves was most likely true,though it would have been easier to find a skunk or a porcupine.He was likely afraid that I could have gotten lost in that thicket,and I likely could have,rather easily.
But of course,since I couldn't go there,I wanted to.The man had not said that the hut was an outhouse,but what else could it have been.I needed to go,and not being allowed to was increasing the urge,so I just went over to my father's car and peed on one of the tires,which is what I always did when we stopped by the roadside.Pissing on my fathers whitewalls always made me laugh.
Maybe I didn't have a proper sense of danger when it came to the Bogeyman,but I wasn't afraid.And the big Bad Wolf was farther away,off in the woods someplace,so he barely crossed my mind at all.I don't think I had much appreciation of what either one was though,but I was familiar with the names from storybooks.So,I wondered,should I be concerned that I was sitting just a few feet away from where the Bogeyman lived? Maybe or maybe not.but I supposed he had to live someplace,and besides,I guessed if I left him alone,he would return the favor.There wasn't really much I could do,or anywhere I could go anyhow,with my father and grandfather inside the shack.nothing happened,except that I came to think of that place as being where the Bogeyman lived,even later,when I forgot where the house was and no longer believed in bogeymen.
The big dog was a bit of a different story.I was still working out exactly how I felt about dogs,wasn't really comfortable around them,but neither was I terrified of them.At that point,it could have gone either way.I wasn't sure I liked this one scenting me with a big wet nose and getting right up in my face,but the man said it would not bite.It didn't,but I was happy when he took the creature back inside.
When I think back,that was likely a very early experience with some of those people who would have required a perhaps uncomfortable explanation,had anyone been in the habit of giving those sorts of explanations.What's clear in my mind is that the people who lived there had a very different value system than what my parents were trying to encourage at home.They'd spent a good deal of effort getting free of things like bogeymen and outhouses and falling apart shacks with wolves living nearby,and perhaps even dogs.It might have been alright to read about The Bogeyman in a book,but my mother would have taken a dim view of someone trying to scare one of her children,by pointing out where he lived.
There is also the question of who those people were and why were visiting there.I only saw the one man,but I'm sure there were more people inside the shack.Most likely they were just people my grandfather and my father knew and who they had not seen in some time.It could even have been some variety of cousin or some such thing.But my father knew a lot of people,and it was not unusual to stop for a visit someplace,then never see those people again,or ever find out who they were.
It also could have been that they were visiting a bootlegger.I didn't know it at the time but my grandfather had a fondness for the bottle,especially rum.He knew a lot of people too,most likely everyone in Cumberland County.He'd once been a bootlegger himself,and would have known just about anyplace where he could stop for a nip.
Whoever those people were,I believe my father did not want me to be too aware of their living conditions.He wasn't really embarrassed about such places or people,but I think he may have been a bit concerned about what I may say later,at the dinner table or some such place.He'd said that he knew people who kept chicken and even small animals like calves inside,but I'm not sure if this was the same place.Still,the people here were very poor,and a single glance at the outside of their house could evoke all those standard and stereotypical images of Appalachia.
Leaving a small child is likely to have concerned my mother too.Today,of course ,you don't do that,but it was rather common back then.In the city,in a store parking lot or some such place,and for a few minutes at a time.The times were such that there was no real worry.But an hour or more,especially at a place like this,with The Bogeyman as a next door neighbor,would have caused my mother some concern.But really,these road trips were about what we might today call male bonding.For my father,it was about taking his son and escaping the female world for a short time.So I'm sure he didn't mention a lot of the particulars about such places to my mother.It's not likely,though that she would have thought such adventures might involve pissing off The Bogeyman.No doubt she would not have approved.
Nova Scotia was the province my father called home and that is where he had the appearance of most belonging.in fact,by imagining a stereotypical Nova Scotian,you could be said to be imagining my father.He loved the beach and the sea,the salt air,and fish.He claimed that you would never starve if you lived by the sea,as everything therein,including seaweed could be eaten.The only thing that he ever conceded that came from the ocean and could not be eaten were jellyfish.
Fish was one of my fathers favorite foods,and from early on it was served often in our home.my mother would prepare salt cod in a casserole with potatoes and onions in some kind of a white sauce.Later,the onions would disappear as they bothered my fathers stomach.High in the cupboard there was a green and red box that contained dried,flaked salt cod.I once tasted it straight out of the box and it was the saltiest thing I'd ever had in my mouth.But,in a casserole with potatoes and onions,or formed into fishcakes it made a more than passable meal.
One of our early road trips involved a quest for fish,and my father was not easily deterred when it came to getting fish.On this particular trip we had no fishing gear of any kind,so I suppose the plan was to buy a fish from a fisherman.Or,they may have had something a bit closer to theft in mind.It was sometimes hard to tell with my grandfather along.This trip would have taken us all over the back roads around Springhill,to Five Islands and Parrsboro.
We stopped at a few different places that day,the first being at a tumble down shack out on The Lynn Road.There must have been a purpose to that visit,other than to get fish,as that stretch of road is inland,by Nova Scotia standards.I recall the place rather well,if not our purpose in being there.
The place where we stopped could only be thought of as a shack,though not a small one.It was even covered in tar paper,as were a lot of places in poor.rural New Brunswick or Nova Scotia at the time.
My father and grandfather were inside the house for what seemed like a long time, and they left me in the car no doubt thinking I might end up napping.But I didn't. And since I was alone for a long while,I got out of the car and started exploring the cabin's yard.First,this building was low to the ground and it only had one door,located in the narrow side of the house.It had a bathroom too,which was located outside,just to the right of the door.It was a small unpainted house in a bit of a ravine,overgrown with weeds and brambles,and there were some hill and thick woods behind it.
To this day I have no idea who lived there.But,while I was sitting there,on a low set of steps,playing in the dirt,which,along with some thistles seemed to be about all the yard consisted of,a man I didn't know came outside with some kind of a big,black shaggy dog.He trotted over to the little house and disappeared inside while the dog sniffed around in the bushes.When he came back,I asked,"Where Did You Go?"
"Just over to the little House",he answered.
"Can I go there too?"
"No,you Shouldn't go there"
"Why Not"
"Well,you see,the bogeyman lives in there.And there are wolves in the woods too."
That part about the wolves was most likely true,though it would have been easier to find a skunk or a porcupine.He was likely afraid that I could have gotten lost in that thicket,and I likely could have,rather easily.
But of course,since I couldn't go there,I wanted to.The man had not said that the hut was an outhouse,but what else could it have been.I needed to go,and not being allowed to was increasing the urge,so I just went over to my father's car and peed on one of the tires,which is what I always did when we stopped by the roadside.Pissing on my fathers whitewalls always made me laugh.
Maybe I didn't have a proper sense of danger when it came to the Bogeyman,but I wasn't afraid.And the big Bad Wolf was farther away,off in the woods someplace,so he barely crossed my mind at all.I don't think I had much appreciation of what either one was though,but I was familiar with the names from storybooks.So,I wondered,should I be concerned that I was sitting just a few feet away from where the Bogeyman lived? Maybe or maybe not.but I supposed he had to live someplace,and besides,I guessed if I left him alone,he would return the favor.There wasn't really much I could do,or anywhere I could go anyhow,with my father and grandfather inside the shack.nothing happened,except that I came to think of that place as being where the Bogeyman lived,even later,when I forgot where the house was and no longer believed in bogeymen.
The big dog was a bit of a different story.I was still working out exactly how I felt about dogs,wasn't really comfortable around them,but neither was I terrified of them.At that point,it could have gone either way.I wasn't sure I liked this one scenting me with a big wet nose and getting right up in my face,but the man said it would not bite.It didn't,but I was happy when he took the creature back inside.
When I think back,that was likely a very early experience with some of those people who would have required a perhaps uncomfortable explanation,had anyone been in the habit of giving those sorts of explanations.What's clear in my mind is that the people who lived there had a very different value system than what my parents were trying to encourage at home.They'd spent a good deal of effort getting free of things like bogeymen and outhouses and falling apart shacks with wolves living nearby,and perhaps even dogs.It might have been alright to read about The Bogeyman in a book,but my mother would have taken a dim view of someone trying to scare one of her children,by pointing out where he lived.
There is also the question of who those people were and why were visiting there.I only saw the one man,but I'm sure there were more people inside the shack.Most likely they were just people my grandfather and my father knew and who they had not seen in some time.It could even have been some variety of cousin or some such thing.But my father knew a lot of people,and it was not unusual to stop for a visit someplace,then never see those people again,or ever find out who they were.
It also could have been that they were visiting a bootlegger.I didn't know it at the time but my grandfather had a fondness for the bottle,especially rum.He knew a lot of people too,most likely everyone in Cumberland County.He'd once been a bootlegger himself,and would have known just about anyplace where he could stop for a nip.
Whoever those people were,I believe my father did not want me to be too aware of their living conditions.He wasn't really embarrassed about such places or people,but I think he may have been a bit concerned about what I may say later,at the dinner table or some such place.He'd said that he knew people who kept chicken and even small animals like calves inside,but I'm not sure if this was the same place.Still,the people here were very poor,and a single glance at the outside of their house could evoke all those standard and stereotypical images of Appalachia.
Leaving a small child is likely to have concerned my mother too.Today,of course ,you don't do that,but it was rather common back then.In the city,in a store parking lot or some such place,and for a few minutes at a time.The times were such that there was no real worry.But an hour or more,especially at a place like this,with The Bogeyman as a next door neighbor,would have caused my mother some concern.But really,these road trips were about what we might today call male bonding.For my father,it was about taking his son and escaping the female world for a short time.So I'm sure he didn't mention a lot of the particulars about such places to my mother.It's not likely,though that she would have thought such adventures might involve pissing off The Bogeyman.No doubt she would not have approved.
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