I am Mill Girl and I skate on the backs of a thousand snails

Hey, I'm alive. I did not die at the scary motel for one. And it was super nice to have water pressure again. Even if, for some reason, I didn't want to touch anything in that room. Pro tips to the owners: Don't sit outside the ONE customer's room (presumably) to get a better wifi signal, and don't try to peek in her windows first thing in the morning to see if she's up. Weirdos.

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.

My first stop of the day was the Grand Pre historic site.

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.

 

The church behind her houses documents, maps of where the Acadians were taken at this time, paintings, etc. Also there are plaques listing all of the last names of the families deported. I recognize a lot of names from childhood classmates when I come up here. Funny that so many of us have a shared history that we didn't realize back then. That's kind of the stupidity of being white. America is not a melting pot. White America is a melting pot. And it means there is very little cultural identity beyond skin color. Being an angry, proud 'Merican is enough for a lot of people. Feels kind of bland to me. *steps off soap box*

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.

 

And I'm surrounded by vineyards! So happy to see hillsides planted with grapevines. Last time I was in this area, I think there was only one vineyard. You go on with your bad self, western NS! And starting August 2, they are doing daily vineyard bus tours of the area. I will come back someday to ride this magical bus.

I may have picked up a little somethin' somethin'.

For the next three nights, I'm staying at a motel/cottage right on the bay, looking out at Cape Blomidon. This tiny place has about seven rooms and two apartment-type spots with water views. Guess what I went for.

Entry/den area

Kitchen/dining/bed area

The view from the den.

Now before the water came into the bay, I decided to try walking out on the ocean floor. Other people were doing it, so why not? I was determined to reach the water, so I knew this would be a long walk in mud.

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

 

 

 xo