Send Someone To Fetch Me

This column was published in the February 1st issue of The Oxford Journal by Sara Mattinson.

As we waited for the snow/rain storm to hit last Friday, forecasters kept talking about it starting in the west and then saying, “it’s already snowing in Yarmouth.”

Wait a minute, I thought. Aren’t we in the west? Isn’t Cumberland County the west part of Nova Scotia while Yarmouth is southeast? Or are we north? But when I drive home from Halifax, I’m heading west...right?

It appears I can only drive in this province when there is cloud cover. If it’s sunny, I have no idea what direction I’m heading. The sun is never where I expect it to be. When I drive out of Halifax at four in the afternoon, I expect the sun to be in front of me, because I’m heading west. But look! It’s shining in the driver’s side window and that should be south. 

“I don’t get how this province is situated,” I complained to my mother as the sun tucked in behind the car. 

“That’s nothing,” she replied, “I don’t get debit and credit.”

Which just proves the importance of good signage, and that some people aren’t ready for a cash-less economy. 

It’s not that I don’t have any sense of direction; I only get lost when I don’t know where I am (and that only happens when we’re four-wheeling and my husband decides to “see where this trail goes”). Perhaps I’m turned around here because I was born and raised along the 401 corridor between Toronto and Kingston. It’s a straight highway running across the southern part of the province. Head east in the morning, the sun is in your eyes;  head west in the afternoon, the sun is in your eyes. It’s all perfectly obvious. 

Yet here, I can’t even tell where north and south, east and west when I’m standing in my backyard. Here’s what I think the problem is: The roads in Nova Scotia are crooked. It appears they were built according to the local geography, not the 90 degree angles of the compass. Winding river? Build the road alongside it. Hills? Go around them. Hey, let’s follow that eagle! I hope I don’t come back in my next life as a Nova Scotia crow because I’ll never be able to get around the way I’m supposed to.

Maybe a map will clear up my confusion. Or not...it appears that the actual land mass of Nova Scotia lies north and south, which still  doesn’t explain why Yarmouth is considered west. Cumberland County still looks “west” but definitely “north” of Halifax. I might as well drive with my eyes closed.

All I know for sure is this: No matter where I am in Nova Scotia, no matter where the sun shines or where the snow starts, I am where I am supposed to be. And if the road signs in this province ever fall over, I’m lost. 

Big City, White Knuckles

First published in the January 18 issue of The Oxford Journal, by Sara Mattinson

“This is just the right amount of cars,” my mother said as we drove along the Trans Canada, returning from treating her to supper. “There aren’t  a thousand cars on the road.”

No, there weren’t. There were two cars coming in the opposite direction and three cars stretched  out before us. Counting cars and commenting on traffic patterns isn’t her usual occupation but my mother was about to head south for the winter. Facing the three day drive by herself to my sister’s home in Georgia had her on edge because now, at the age of 70, three days by herself on the interstate is too much. (It’s the price she pays for taking so many books and gifts for the grandchildren.)

Two things are true: We lose our nerve as we get older, and more traffic means more close calls or outright accidents. Mum and I were in Moncton when we narrowly avoided being sideswiped while making a left turn as the van in the other left turn lane began turning into ours. What was remarkable, however, was how nervous I remained the rest of the day. I was relieved to return to Nova Scotia but not pleased with my feelings. Driving in a city is a necessary skill to keep honed and after years of carefree driving in Toronto and Vancouver, I’m worried about losing my nerve. 

When all you’re driving for weeks on end are winding rural roads, driving in the city becomes a white-knuckle experience. The one and only time I used the Armdale Rotary in Halifax, there was 20 seconds when I truly believed that I was going to be stuck there for the rest of my life. And it’s one thing to merge into light traffic from the on-ramp to the 104 at Oxford; it’s another thing to merge into four lanes of solid vehicular motion. At five in the afternoon. In the rain. 

It gives me chills just writing about it.

But like using generators, sump pumps, and snow blowers, driving in the city is a skill every country dweller needs not only to possess but also to have confidence in, and there’s more to it than remember on what level of the parking garage we left the car. Mostly we go for medical appointments, perhaps a concert or a wedding or a funeral, but driving into the city is like a flu shot: it’s unavoidable and necessary even if it makes us feel sick. 

As for my mother’s trip down south, she had three close calls on Day Three. 

“I’m never doing this again,” she told me over the phone once she’d arrived safe and sound.  

I couldn’t be her daughter for 41 years and not know what that means: There’s a three-day road trip in my future.

Fall In Love

It's the perfect fall day. Even with the wind, it's Autumn at its finest. It's why I love living not just in  Nova Scotia but in the northern part, with the hills and the river valley.
We were just lazing in bed until my husband said, "Why don't I take you into Oxford to the farmers' market?" I was out of bed, dressed and waiting in the truck before he'd finished his second cup of coffee. The market wasn't busy but it certainly put us in the mood for more adventures.
"Could I interest you in a cup of tea?" my husband asked, and with take-aways in hand, we turned left instead of right and headed out of town.
I couldn't believe what a beautiful day it was. After a lush and green summer, now the leaves are vibrant reds and yellows, the sun is shining, the sky is blue. No wonder this my favourite season.
"This is a day to focus on all our blessings," I said as leaves skittered across the road and twisted in the air around us. "We are lucky to have each other and to live in a such a wonderful part of the country. Let's just enjoy being happy."
In Collingwood, I spied a sign announcing a yard and bake sale at the community hall so we turned around to check it out. I scored a warm hoodie for Dwayne  and a coat for me to wear to the chicken coop (alas, the leaves remind me that winter is coming). Still, we weren't ready to head home. We headed further up the road and when we pulled into the local snowmobile/ATV dealer, just for a moment I thought, He's gone and bought something and this is is way of surprising me. Not so, however, and I'm not sure if I was relieved or disappointed. We looked, and sat, and even turned on, and he let me decide which colour we'd get, if... (Red).
We kept on driving and found ourselves up the mountain, found friends to visit and a large dog in need of a serious butt scratch. They told us about discovering a patridge dead inside the cabin.
"It must have been flying from the other side of the creek," they said. "It went right through the centre of the window."
Only in the country. But better a home invasion by a doomed bird than a determined thief.
"Could I treat you to chowder for lunch?" my husband asked as we headed back into town. Not yet ready to return home, not ready to come down from our happiness high.
What a day for being content, for counting blessings, for feeling lucky, for being in love - with each other and with northern Nova Scotia.