When we went on vacation in 1966,I had no idea that the place we'd gone would become a second home to us.But,in the spring of 1967, my father began the first step in returning for a second year in a row.He was a natural born beach person who loved the sun and warmth of summer.He loved sand and salt water,and I don't think there was ever a time I've seen him happier than when he was at Fox Harbour,on Nova Scotia's north shore.His friend Art,his mentor in life really, had a cottage there,just two doors down from the cottage we'd rented the year before, and all of his friends and acquaintances from Springhill could drop by after just a short drive.My grandmother was nearby too,still living in Shubenacadie,in the central part of the province,about half way between Truro and Halifax. So Fox Harbour was the ideal setting for building a cottage.It really was peaceful and rather secluded.
Sometime in the spring,on an absolutely glorious day,we all piled into the family car and started off for my grandparents place in Canterbury.But this was not to be a straight forward trip.Instead of it being point A to point B, this time we turned off the highway at Sussex,and headed down toward Saint John.I don't think I'd ever been to Saint John before, so I thought it wound be a bit of an adventure.I just wasn't really clear on why we were going. As it turned out,my father was looking at finding temporary quarters for us to live in at the lot he'd purchased in Fox Harbour. In the form of a trailer. I guess he'd already checked out all the lots in Moncton and decided he needed to do some more shopping around. So off we went to Saint John.
So what I clearly recall about that trip is this: first,it was a beautiful day, among the nicest days I've ever seen.It was warm but not hot and there was very little wind.And it was at just that point in springtime that the first green leaves were coming out on the trees.There were apple and cherry blossoms all along the way too. Once we passed through Sussex,we headed down this river valley,and there were hundreds of ducks and geese about.This was not the Saint John River,like we used to drive past of the way to Canterbury.It was the Kennebacasis River,and it was not nearly so wide as the Saint John.It cut down toward the southwest from Sussex,through a really pretty part of the province, clothed in luminous new green and scattered with white churches and farm houses and old grey barns.It's the first real time that I remember looking out at the land of my home province and considering how beautiful it was.It's the first time in memory where I considered myself connected to a particular place, and I decided then that I wanted to live by that river when I grew up and left home.
After what seemed like the longest time,we arrived at this place on the outskirts of Saint John. It was a lot where there seemed to be used cars and trailers both.So we all went into a small office,and a man in a suit met us and showed us out to the lot where all the trailers were. The only trailers I'd ever really noticed before were the old Airstream ones, because my father liked them and would point them out any time he saw one out on the road. They were all bare metal on the outside, and would just about knock your eyes out if the sun was shining.But the trailers the man showed us were not Airstreams. They were much smaller than that and the metal on the outside was painted.
We looked at a few different trailers.In each one the man showed us all of the features of the trailer.They all had a brand new upholstery smell. Finally he led us to this little blue and white trailer and opened up the door.He showed us how the seats the table could be folded down to make two beds.The table was located just inside the door.At the very back of the trailer,it was a bit like a couch,and that could be extended into a bed as well. In the middle was a fridge of sorts-it was really an icebox, and a propane stove. and a toilet too. There was also a clean water storage tank on the outside, and another tank for not so clean water.So,while the salesman tried selling the trailer to my father, he was busy trying to sell the idea to my mother.She wasn't saying much,other than that she didn't like the smell of gas that seemed to come from the stove. But it was clear that she would eventually find herself in agreement with her husband. So my father went back into the office,while we waited in the car. It seemed a long wait.Both my sister and I were a little edgy because it had already been a long day,and we were not even half way to my grandparents house. So we really wanted to get out and run around.For a while,I was happy to sit and consider the trailer. I could count to four,and indeed it had four beds, but I was not really convinced that all of us would fit inside, because the whole trailer seemed like it would fit into any one of the rooms in our house if you could just get it through the door. And I wondered about the icebox.Where would we get ice? And surely it would run out all over the floor.So I had some reservations about living in a trailer, even at that age.
We were clearly getting bored sitting in the car,waiting and waiting.Then my mother noticed something really strange.On this big chain link fence by where all the trailers were parked,there was a box with a telephone in it.She pointed it out to us and asked us to watch it to see if anyone ever actually used it. It was just a ploy to keep us amused after the long car trip,but it worked for just long enough.At some point the phone started ringing and a man came running from halfway across the lot to answer it.He talked for a bit,then hung up. But before he got more than about ten feet away,it rang again.For maybe half an hour or so,all he seemed to be able to do was run back and forth to the phone. The whole thing struck me as really funny in a ridiculous sort of way.I'd seen phone booths before,but this was just a phone hanging on the fence.I wondered why anyone would want to have one.To me,it seemed as silly as bringing a phone booth into our front room,and I laughed at the thought of it.
Eventually my father returned and got back into the car.He pulled up behind the blue and white trailer that we'd been looking at.Then he and the salesman hitched the trailer up to the car, and we were off, pulling our summer home to be behind us. We pulled it all the way to Canterbury,where my father showed it off to all of my mothers family.The, when we were finished visiting, it trailed behind us all the way back to Moncton.
Sometime in the spring,on an absolutely glorious day,we all piled into the family car and started off for my grandparents place in Canterbury.But this was not to be a straight forward trip.Instead of it being point A to point B, this time we turned off the highway at Sussex,and headed down toward Saint John.I don't think I'd ever been to Saint John before, so I thought it wound be a bit of an adventure.I just wasn't really clear on why we were going. As it turned out,my father was looking at finding temporary quarters for us to live in at the lot he'd purchased in Fox Harbour. In the form of a trailer. I guess he'd already checked out all the lots in Moncton and decided he needed to do some more shopping around. So off we went to Saint John.
So what I clearly recall about that trip is this: first,it was a beautiful day, among the nicest days I've ever seen.It was warm but not hot and there was very little wind.And it was at just that point in springtime that the first green leaves were coming out on the trees.There were apple and cherry blossoms all along the way too. Once we passed through Sussex,we headed down this river valley,and there were hundreds of ducks and geese about.This was not the Saint John River,like we used to drive past of the way to Canterbury.It was the Kennebacasis River,and it was not nearly so wide as the Saint John.It cut down toward the southwest from Sussex,through a really pretty part of the province, clothed in luminous new green and scattered with white churches and farm houses and old grey barns.It's the first real time that I remember looking out at the land of my home province and considering how beautiful it was.It's the first time in memory where I considered myself connected to a particular place, and I decided then that I wanted to live by that river when I grew up and left home.
After what seemed like the longest time,we arrived at this place on the outskirts of Saint John. It was a lot where there seemed to be used cars and trailers both.So we all went into a small office,and a man in a suit met us and showed us out to the lot where all the trailers were. The only trailers I'd ever really noticed before were the old Airstream ones, because my father liked them and would point them out any time he saw one out on the road. They were all bare metal on the outside, and would just about knock your eyes out if the sun was shining.But the trailers the man showed us were not Airstreams. They were much smaller than that and the metal on the outside was painted.
We looked at a few different trailers.In each one the man showed us all of the features of the trailer.They all had a brand new upholstery smell. Finally he led us to this little blue and white trailer and opened up the door.He showed us how the seats the table could be folded down to make two beds.The table was located just inside the door.At the very back of the trailer,it was a bit like a couch,and that could be extended into a bed as well. In the middle was a fridge of sorts-it was really an icebox, and a propane stove. and a toilet too. There was also a clean water storage tank on the outside, and another tank for not so clean water.So,while the salesman tried selling the trailer to my father, he was busy trying to sell the idea to my mother.She wasn't saying much,other than that she didn't like the smell of gas that seemed to come from the stove. But it was clear that she would eventually find herself in agreement with her husband. So my father went back into the office,while we waited in the car. It seemed a long wait.Both my sister and I were a little edgy because it had already been a long day,and we were not even half way to my grandparents house. So we really wanted to get out and run around.For a while,I was happy to sit and consider the trailer. I could count to four,and indeed it had four beds, but I was not really convinced that all of us would fit inside, because the whole trailer seemed like it would fit into any one of the rooms in our house if you could just get it through the door. And I wondered about the icebox.Where would we get ice? And surely it would run out all over the floor.So I had some reservations about living in a trailer, even at that age.
We were clearly getting bored sitting in the car,waiting and waiting.Then my mother noticed something really strange.On this big chain link fence by where all the trailers were parked,there was a box with a telephone in it.She pointed it out to us and asked us to watch it to see if anyone ever actually used it. It was just a ploy to keep us amused after the long car trip,but it worked for just long enough.At some point the phone started ringing and a man came running from halfway across the lot to answer it.He talked for a bit,then hung up. But before he got more than about ten feet away,it rang again.For maybe half an hour or so,all he seemed to be able to do was run back and forth to the phone. The whole thing struck me as really funny in a ridiculous sort of way.I'd seen phone booths before,but this was just a phone hanging on the fence.I wondered why anyone would want to have one.To me,it seemed as silly as bringing a phone booth into our front room,and I laughed at the thought of it.
Eventually my father returned and got back into the car.He pulled up behind the blue and white trailer that we'd been looking at.Then he and the salesman hitched the trailer up to the car, and we were off, pulling our summer home to be behind us. We pulled it all the way to Canterbury,where my father showed it off to all of my mothers family.The, when we were finished visiting, it trailed behind us all the way back to Moncton.
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