When the day to begin summer vacation began we all piled into the car and headed out onto the highway.It was a sunny and very hot day.At least I recall being very hot inside the car.My father never was inclined to roll down windows,so it was both hot and smokey inside the car,as it always seemed to be whenever we went anywhere.
It took about an hour to get to Springhill. The trip as far as Amherst went quickly,as it was highway all of the way.But there was no by-pass back then,so you had to go nearly all the way into downtown to get onto the road into Springhill. And that road was not in nearly as good condition.There were a lot of hill and turns,and it was quite narrow,so passing wasn't easy to do.It took almost as long to get to Springhill as it had taken to get to Amherst,though it was less than half as far.When we got there,we didn't go visiting at all.My father was anxious to get settled into the cottage we had rented,and it was still a ways off.All he wanted to do was get the key,and the person who owned the cottage lived in Springhill. We went into town,to a part of town I didn't know well at all.I think it must have been near the hospital.There were trees all about and it was on a bit of a hill.When we got to the house and parked in the driveway,my father said he would only be a minute,and that we should all wait in the car.It seemed like a lot more than a minute,and it was getting really hot inside the car.There were about a half dozen kids that came swarming around the car,and I would have liked to have gotten out to play with them.One of them had some sort of stick,and they might have been playing hockey in the driveway before we came.They were a grubby looking lot,and it occurs to me that we'd pissed them off by parking there.That's what made me think they were playing hockey.In any event,while we were waiting for my father to get back with the key,one of them reached through the window and hit my sister. Didn't seem to have any fear at all of my mother sitting right there,and I'm not certain she saw any of it.When my father got back a few moments later,my sister said that one of the kids had hit her,but he just backed out of the driveway and drove off.
My father was obviously proud to have been able to rent a cottage and let us all experience an extended stay at the beach.Along the way he said"This is going to be great.My kids can get tanned and healthy looking like little nig... ".My mother shot him a sharp look,that I knew was disapproval,so he paused,then finished."As dark as chocolate." The word he was going to use was a word he used from time to time,as I was to find out later.He never really meant any malice in it,I discovered.It was just a word that nearly everyone in Springhill used in those days.But my mother disapproved of it's use,and he tried hard to please her and set a good example for his children.
To get to our cottage,we still had to pass through the towns of Oxford and Pugwash,and there was a considerable distance between each of the three towns.There really wasn't a lot to see until we got into Pugwash. Pugwash is a port and there were sometimes ships in,and loading pulp wood,or salt from a local salt mine. On the day we passed.there was one ship in,and my father pointed out to us how you could tell if the ship was ready to leave,by how low it sat in the water.This one,he said was nearly full,and would likely leave on the high tide.In the distance I could see the mine.with huge piles of salt piled up outside.And,as we drove through town my mother pointed out the street signs,which were in Gaelic,rather than English.She also pointed out a large wooden church and said that her uncle,who was from Maine had built the steeple.That was one of the things he did.Build steeples.
At last we came to that decrepit old road into the cottage.First,though we went down another back road that was even worse than the one leading into the cottage.We had to go really slow,and the bottom of the car dragged on the ground.What exactly my father was looking for down that road,I've no idea.Maybe it was just a road he'd never been down before.It was possible to drive right up to the cottage road on blacktop,but for some reason,we would sometimes take that old road where there was nothing but mud and porcupines.
The cottage turned out to be a little yellow and white cabin,nearly surrounded by trees.The lot was clear at it's back edge facing the water,but you couldn't see out to the road.The road was dusty too,when cars passed too fast,but the trees kept the dust from settling on the cottage.Inside,the cottage was small,with a kitchen facing the water,and two bedrooms side by side at the back,closer to the road.One of the first things I saw when we entered,was a ship,inside a bottle,resting on one wall,close to a clock.
Down at the back of the lot,there was a small embankment that lead right down to the beach.Right in front,there was a narrow,rocky strand,then miles and miles of open water.We were in a little cove,with an Island off to the east.The island was called Oak Island,but it wasn't the Oak Island that was reputed to hold buried treasure.There was another island,called Saddle Island farther out into the water.Oak Island,though was only really an Island at high tide.At low tide it was connected to the land in front of the cottages by acres of sandbars.A bit to the west,a point stuck out into the water,and my father told us that it was a long way off,but,before we went home,we were going to walk there and back.There were also said to be berries there.Mostly raspberries,but some strawberries and blueberries too.And some wild cherries.Later,my mother said,we were going to go picking berries in the bramble patch that was a ways down the road.But the first order of business,right after lunch that is,was going down to the water for a dip.
Our cottage turned out to be almost next door to Art's cottage.There was just one other house in between.When we arrived,there was nobody at that cottage.My father said that it was owned by an old German lady,and that we shouldn't go there.That seemed to make some sense to my five year old mind.The only thing I knew about German people,I'd learned from afternoon war movies,so I was sure the reason he didn't want us going there was because the old woman would have a machine gun.Nobody would ever accuse the movies of that day as being especially complimentary,never mind accurate when it came to Germans.As it turned out,my father was only concerned about us disturbing the privacy of neighbors we didn't really know.But I was feeling some anxiety about the fact that there was a German living right next to us.As it turned out,and as I would learn over the course of our vacation,I needn't have worried at all.
It took about an hour to get to Springhill. The trip as far as Amherst went quickly,as it was highway all of the way.But there was no by-pass back then,so you had to go nearly all the way into downtown to get onto the road into Springhill. And that road was not in nearly as good condition.There were a lot of hill and turns,and it was quite narrow,so passing wasn't easy to do.It took almost as long to get to Springhill as it had taken to get to Amherst,though it was less than half as far.When we got there,we didn't go visiting at all.My father was anxious to get settled into the cottage we had rented,and it was still a ways off.All he wanted to do was get the key,and the person who owned the cottage lived in Springhill. We went into town,to a part of town I didn't know well at all.I think it must have been near the hospital.There were trees all about and it was on a bit of a hill.When we got to the house and parked in the driveway,my father said he would only be a minute,and that we should all wait in the car.It seemed like a lot more than a minute,and it was getting really hot inside the car.There were about a half dozen kids that came swarming around the car,and I would have liked to have gotten out to play with them.One of them had some sort of stick,and they might have been playing hockey in the driveway before we came.They were a grubby looking lot,and it occurs to me that we'd pissed them off by parking there.That's what made me think they were playing hockey.In any event,while we were waiting for my father to get back with the key,one of them reached through the window and hit my sister. Didn't seem to have any fear at all of my mother sitting right there,and I'm not certain she saw any of it.When my father got back a few moments later,my sister said that one of the kids had hit her,but he just backed out of the driveway and drove off.
My father was obviously proud to have been able to rent a cottage and let us all experience an extended stay at the beach.Along the way he said"This is going to be great.My kids can get tanned and healthy looking like little nig... ".My mother shot him a sharp look,that I knew was disapproval,so he paused,then finished."As dark as chocolate." The word he was going to use was a word he used from time to time,as I was to find out later.He never really meant any malice in it,I discovered.It was just a word that nearly everyone in Springhill used in those days.But my mother disapproved of it's use,and he tried hard to please her and set a good example for his children.
To get to our cottage,we still had to pass through the towns of Oxford and Pugwash,and there was a considerable distance between each of the three towns.There really wasn't a lot to see until we got into Pugwash. Pugwash is a port and there were sometimes ships in,and loading pulp wood,or salt from a local salt mine. On the day we passed.there was one ship in,and my father pointed out to us how you could tell if the ship was ready to leave,by how low it sat in the water.This one,he said was nearly full,and would likely leave on the high tide.In the distance I could see the mine.with huge piles of salt piled up outside.And,as we drove through town my mother pointed out the street signs,which were in Gaelic,rather than English.She also pointed out a large wooden church and said that her uncle,who was from Maine had built the steeple.That was one of the things he did.Build steeples.
At last we came to that decrepit old road into the cottage.First,though we went down another back road that was even worse than the one leading into the cottage.We had to go really slow,and the bottom of the car dragged on the ground.What exactly my father was looking for down that road,I've no idea.Maybe it was just a road he'd never been down before.It was possible to drive right up to the cottage road on blacktop,but for some reason,we would sometimes take that old road where there was nothing but mud and porcupines.
The cottage turned out to be a little yellow and white cabin,nearly surrounded by trees.The lot was clear at it's back edge facing the water,but you couldn't see out to the road.The road was dusty too,when cars passed too fast,but the trees kept the dust from settling on the cottage.Inside,the cottage was small,with a kitchen facing the water,and two bedrooms side by side at the back,closer to the road.One of the first things I saw when we entered,was a ship,inside a bottle,resting on one wall,close to a clock.
Down at the back of the lot,there was a small embankment that lead right down to the beach.Right in front,there was a narrow,rocky strand,then miles and miles of open water.We were in a little cove,with an Island off to the east.The island was called Oak Island,but it wasn't the Oak Island that was reputed to hold buried treasure.There was another island,called Saddle Island farther out into the water.Oak Island,though was only really an Island at high tide.At low tide it was connected to the land in front of the cottages by acres of sandbars.A bit to the west,a point stuck out into the water,and my father told us that it was a long way off,but,before we went home,we were going to walk there and back.There were also said to be berries there.Mostly raspberries,but some strawberries and blueberries too.And some wild cherries.Later,my mother said,we were going to go picking berries in the bramble patch that was a ways down the road.But the first order of business,right after lunch that is,was going down to the water for a dip.
Our cottage turned out to be almost next door to Art's cottage.There was just one other house in between.When we arrived,there was nobody at that cottage.My father said that it was owned by an old German lady,and that we shouldn't go there.That seemed to make some sense to my five year old mind.The only thing I knew about German people,I'd learned from afternoon war movies,so I was sure the reason he didn't want us going there was because the old woman would have a machine gun.Nobody would ever accuse the movies of that day as being especially complimentary,never mind accurate when it came to Germans.As it turned out,my father was only concerned about us disturbing the privacy of neighbors we didn't really know.But I was feeling some anxiety about the fact that there was a German living right next to us.As it turned out,and as I would learn over the course of our vacation,I needn't have worried at all.
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