I headed south this morning and immediately ran across a field of sheep that could not have cared less about me. Jerks.
Today's adventure entailed about seven minutes of driving from Windsor. I'm in Wolfville for the next three nights.
Wolfville is a college town (Acadia U has a truly nice campus) with assorted pubs and nice walking paths. And everywhere you go, you are able to see the amazing Fundy Bay.
|Psst--everything glorious is behind you. Stop staring at me.|
Grand Pre is a memorial to the deportation of neutral French Acadians who lived off this land in the 17th and 18th centuries.
We were living like this.
And the British did this.
Then, to add insult to injury, they did this.
This historic site, however, is different from others I've seen in Nova Scotia in that it doesn't call out the British so much as New Englanders. Sacre bleu!! Now I'm confused. I'm angry at myself for deporting myself. Did my maternal grandfather's side of the family (Massholes since 1630) fight against my maternal grandmother's side of the family (Acadian since 1630)? Frankly, that is an eerily accurate depiction of their relationship. No wonder I'm thirty-blah and don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life.
Longfellow wrote a piece called Evangeline about the deportation and a heroine named, well, Evangeline. Evangeline gave a face to the history, so everything in this area of NS is named after her. The scenic road up the coast is the Evangeline Trail. There's an Evangeline Campground. It goes on and on. Kind of like how Salem, MA, whores out that witch incident.
Anyway, here is Evangeline in all her sorrowful Acadian glory.
|Comeau and proud|
Where was I? Oh yeah, Grand Pre and its pretty walking grounds.
The welcome center shows an impressive film beforehand and then has a room full of artifacts and documents.
Remember yesterday when I was wicked flip about that old building? Um, that was Fort Edward. And looking at this roster, I see that Comeaus were imprisoned there. Sorry, forefathers. I did not know.
Down the street and around a couple corners from Grand Pre is the deportation cross, marking the spot where they believe Acadians were forced onto ships to be taken away.
***Enough of all this somber beauty! Let's talk about the good stuff. Like the fact that pen aficionados might be impressed that I found the last holdout of BIC fine print accounting pens from the 80s right here in town (I know--white barrel would have been even better). If you know pens, you know how well these write. I did not buy any. Yet.
|I may have picked up a little somethin' somethin'.|
|The view from the den.|
But the mud is actually pretty gross, and I began to regret this life decision partway in. The motel started to look very far away.
I had to abandon my shoes and just walk in the slop. Higher up on the beach, it's like walking through cooked brownies. Closer to the water, it's like walking through brownie batter. (A chocolate comparison--quelle surprise.)
Then I realized something awful. Inside other people's abandoned footsteps were LOTS of snails. And all around me were little holes in the mud. Then as I walked I could kind of feel them. I was walking on a bajillion snails. At this point, I was so far out I didn't know if I should carry on and reach the water, slop it back, or just stand there and cry. I decided to walk all over the helpless little snails. "ME MILL GIRL! ME KILL DEFENSELESS SNAILS WITH GIANT, CHUBBY, MUDDY FOOTS! ARRRG!"
|If you've been to New Brunswick, Hopewell Rocks this is not.|
Eventually I made it back and decided I never need to do that again. I watched the tide come in. And here's my shot of vacation feet: The Canadian edition