A Nova Scotia Country Boy Heads To the Sea

The view from the rocks at Peggy's Cove

Last fall, Dwayne was unable to attend the Long Service Awards ceremony for the provincial government because it happened just six weeks after his stroke. One day in October, a package arrived with his plaque and a framed print marking his 40 years with the Department of Transportation.
The print was of the harbour at Peggy's Cove, and Dwayne said, "I've never been there."

What??? Born, raised and living in Nova Scotia all his life and he never once visited Peggy's Cove?

I made it my mission to get him there, and this past Sunday, since I wasn't leading worship at church and I needed a break after four days of play-ing, and since the day promised to be sunny and warm, I declared it our Big Sunday Adventure and told him to head towards Halifax.
"I'll tell you when to turn."
It wasn't until we'd driven through Tantallon and passed the turnoff to Highway 103 (which takes you to Lunenburg, etc.) that the next sign listed the turnoff to Peggy's Cove, and Dwayne knew where we were headed.

As soon as we rounded the bend in the road and saw the lighthouse -- tiny in the distance -- Dwayne said, "Wow, there is it."
I could tell he was genuinely pleased by the surprise destination of our Big Sunday Adventure.
He couldn't wait to get parked and head onto the rocks. We took the requisite selfies with the famous lighthouse behind us, but it was the vast and sprawling rocks that fascinated Dwayne. We spent an hour walking and climbing over the rocks, and sitting, our legs dangling.

When you sit at the edge of the rocks at Peggy's Cove, with your back to the parking lot and restaurant and lighthouse, when it's mid-April and not very busy, when you tune into the sound of the incoming tide washing over the rocks,
you can imagine that the earth is just that --
the rocks
and the sea
and the two of you
sitting on the edge of the world.

I can't speak for my husband, but it was rather emotional. Every day, I'm vitally aware of how lucky we are to have these days, for him to be able to drive to Peggy's Cove and walk over those rocks. Sitting there, with the sound of the waves in my ears and the warmth of the sun against my face, even as the wind blew cool on our backs, I was deeply and profoundly thankful that we were there, together, fulfilling a promise I made to last fall to get Dwayne to Peggy's Cove.

I suspect it won't be our last visit, either.  He seems drawn to the place, to the rocks and the sea.
Sure, it's touristy and it's famous, but if you move away from the lighthouse, the teenagers shouting and squealing, and the idiots wanting to stand on the black rocks (they're wet and slippery), the massive rocks and the wide-open sea speak to your spirit in a way the field can't.