Sometime in that period between my fourth and fifth year,in the fall of the year it seems to me,I went along on a road trip deep into the heart of Nova Scotia. This was not the typical road trip of a day or two,or just a day trip driving around Springhill visiting.The thing is,my father had planned the trip.What he hadn't planned on was taking me along.Events changed that plan.
Out in our backyard,right alongside the steps leading to the back door,there was a small pile of firewood.It wasn't paved there then.There wasn't even a paved walkway leading up to the door.Just grass,and a lot of dirt,so it was a great place to play.So I was there playing with these new toy trucks my father had picked up earlier in the day when we'd gone downtown to Woolworths. And somehow I'd managed to crawl up onto the woodpile.I'd been crawling around in the dirt.I can remember having this little orange colored backhoe in my hand,digging in the dirt.Then,I was up on the woodpile.In my memory,I'd chased a beetle up there.And then,the woodpile shifted a bit,all on it's own.It didn't fall over or anything,which was a fortunate thing.But it was enough to pitch me off,and I fell on my head.It's possible I may even have passed out,though I really can't say for certain.
I can feel that bump on my head,in my memory,and there was even a small bit of blood,which my mother soaked up with a wet washcloth.I don't remember being overly upset about it,or howling bloody murder like most kids would do when they saw blood,and I'm certain we never went to the hospital.Well,almost certain,but,then again,it's possible that my head wasn't working quite the way it should have been.My parents though so too.I would have to be kept under close watch.My mother said to my father"if he goes to sleep,and you can't wake him,he'll have to go to a doctor" And since my mother was at work,and my father leaving on a road trip later in the day,off I went to Nova Scotia.
When we left there was this friend of my fathers along for the ride.His name was Joe,and I don't know much about him,except that for years he always sent a card at Christmas time.But as I remember it,he was a kind of big, happy guy with a big happy, laugh.The first part of the road trip involved going to New Glasgow where we were to let Joe off.This was really about the longest road trip I'd ever been on.Maybe not longer than going to visit my mothers family,but farther into Nova Scotia than I'd ever been.In fact,we didn't even bother stopping at Springhill until the trip back,which is something that we almost never did.
The weather was still good out,and we took the older road,the one that's called The Sunshine Trail for a good piece of that distance.All along the road my father and Joe were having a jolly time,driving and talking and drinking beer.I was perched between the two of them in the front seat,along with a twelve pack of Schooner,which I would open and hand to one of them whenever they asked for a beer.They even let me have a taste of beer,and it nearly made me vomit.I couldn't imagine,can't imagine to this day why anyone would want to drink that stuff.Tried it then,when I was four,and decided I did not like it.
Along the way we stopped at a place just going into the town of Tatamagouche. In those days it was a very distinctive place because of the bridge,You would approach the place from the top of a hill.Just as you got to the crest of that hill,the road bent ninety degrees and led down to the bridge,but,just before the bridge,the road took another ninety degree turn to the left.then snaked uphill into town.But,at the bottom of the first hill,there was a little place to pull over.In those days,a good many of the bridges were one way,and you would have to pull to the side to allow traffic already on the bridge to pass.Then you would take your turn.Some of the bridges that were one way had traffic lights,but this one did not.In any event,we pulled off to the side.Alongside the road there was a kind of a brick structure,kind of a big pile of stones that looked something like a stone fireplace.But it had a pipe coming out of it,and water flowed right out of it onto the ground.Since I didn't favor Schooner,I needed a drink of water,so that's where we found it.After we'd left,my father explained to me that that was called a spring,and that the water came from inside the hillside.He claimed that Nova Scotia had hundreds of springs with clear sweet water,that you would never have to go far to find a drink of water.Joe and my father talked about the bridge too,saying how it was a pain to have to wait to get across,and how it must be really dangerous in winter.I suppose that was true.There were a lot of things to hit and lots of places to go off the road.
At the spring,as I recall it was the first time I can recall learning of the vagaries of the English language.I was familiar with the word"spring",in the sense of it's meaning that part of the year when the snow leaves,the weather turns warm and flowers and leaves start to come out.But "spring" also meant water from inside a hill,or coming out of the ground.I though about that for a bit,and drifted off to sleep.When I awoke,and as far as I know,I awoke on my own,we were in New Glasgow,and it was time for Joe to leave us.
Out in our backyard,right alongside the steps leading to the back door,there was a small pile of firewood.It wasn't paved there then.There wasn't even a paved walkway leading up to the door.Just grass,and a lot of dirt,so it was a great place to play.So I was there playing with these new toy trucks my father had picked up earlier in the day when we'd gone downtown to Woolworths. And somehow I'd managed to crawl up onto the woodpile.I'd been crawling around in the dirt.I can remember having this little orange colored backhoe in my hand,digging in the dirt.Then,I was up on the woodpile.In my memory,I'd chased a beetle up there.And then,the woodpile shifted a bit,all on it's own.It didn't fall over or anything,which was a fortunate thing.But it was enough to pitch me off,and I fell on my head.It's possible I may even have passed out,though I really can't say for certain.
I can feel that bump on my head,in my memory,and there was even a small bit of blood,which my mother soaked up with a wet washcloth.I don't remember being overly upset about it,or howling bloody murder like most kids would do when they saw blood,and I'm certain we never went to the hospital.Well,almost certain,but,then again,it's possible that my head wasn't working quite the way it should have been.My parents though so too.I would have to be kept under close watch.My mother said to my father"if he goes to sleep,and you can't wake him,he'll have to go to a doctor" And since my mother was at work,and my father leaving on a road trip later in the day,off I went to Nova Scotia.
When we left there was this friend of my fathers along for the ride.His name was Joe,and I don't know much about him,except that for years he always sent a card at Christmas time.But as I remember it,he was a kind of big, happy guy with a big happy, laugh.The first part of the road trip involved going to New Glasgow where we were to let Joe off.This was really about the longest road trip I'd ever been on.Maybe not longer than going to visit my mothers family,but farther into Nova Scotia than I'd ever been.In fact,we didn't even bother stopping at Springhill until the trip back,which is something that we almost never did.
The weather was still good out,and we took the older road,the one that's called The Sunshine Trail for a good piece of that distance.All along the road my father and Joe were having a jolly time,driving and talking and drinking beer.I was perched between the two of them in the front seat,along with a twelve pack of Schooner,which I would open and hand to one of them whenever they asked for a beer.They even let me have a taste of beer,and it nearly made me vomit.I couldn't imagine,can't imagine to this day why anyone would want to drink that stuff.Tried it then,when I was four,and decided I did not like it.
Along the way we stopped at a place just going into the town of Tatamagouche. In those days it was a very distinctive place because of the bridge,You would approach the place from the top of a hill.Just as you got to the crest of that hill,the road bent ninety degrees and led down to the bridge,but,just before the bridge,the road took another ninety degree turn to the left.then snaked uphill into town.But,at the bottom of the first hill,there was a little place to pull over.In those days,a good many of the bridges were one way,and you would have to pull to the side to allow traffic already on the bridge to pass.Then you would take your turn.Some of the bridges that were one way had traffic lights,but this one did not.In any event,we pulled off to the side.Alongside the road there was a kind of a brick structure,kind of a big pile of stones that looked something like a stone fireplace.But it had a pipe coming out of it,and water flowed right out of it onto the ground.Since I didn't favor Schooner,I needed a drink of water,so that's where we found it.After we'd left,my father explained to me that that was called a spring,and that the water came from inside the hillside.He claimed that Nova Scotia had hundreds of springs with clear sweet water,that you would never have to go far to find a drink of water.Joe and my father talked about the bridge too,saying how it was a pain to have to wait to get across,and how it must be really dangerous in winter.I suppose that was true.There were a lot of things to hit and lots of places to go off the road.
At the spring,as I recall it was the first time I can recall learning of the vagaries of the English language.I was familiar with the word"spring",in the sense of it's meaning that part of the year when the snow leaves,the weather turns warm and flowers and leaves start to come out.But "spring" also meant water from inside a hill,or coming out of the ground.I though about that for a bit,and drifted off to sleep.When I awoke,and as far as I know,I awoke on my own,we were in New Glasgow,and it was time for Joe to leave us.
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