Black Duck Creek

Black Duck Creek / 18x18 on cradled board

I AM HEADING HOME. Heading south, toward Channel Port-Aux-Basques, toward the ferry, toward Nova Scotia, Maine, then eventually Wachapreague. I am loving Newfoundland but honestly, I can't wait to get home. Can't wait to see Peter and the dogs, and all my friends, and family on the way - can't wait!                                                                                                  This is an interesting trip on many levels. It is great to have Carol with me for the first week, but when she leaves, I find myself feeling rudderless. The pattern of the trip changes. Partly it changes because I'm alone, and partly because of where I am. 

Every morning of the trip, Carol and I start with coffee from Tim Horton's - and suddenly, I'm in a place with no Tim Horton's stores. It is just coincidence, but it is still somewhat rattling. 

Carol has trip goals outside of painting, and when she leaves, she takes a bit of the shape of the days with her. I have only painting goals, and they can - and must - change according to the weather, the wind, the color of the light. I drift a little. 

By and large, where I am after Carol leaves, there is no cell phone coverage. I find this embarrassingly unsettling. I don't like being unconnected. Don't like being unable to call home, check the weather, talk to my daughter. 

And this trip has a different pattern than all my others. In them, I drive and drive and drive and then I am in a place where I can paint endlessly, finding dozens of landscapes in each mile. 

Here, the places that are beautiful, and which call to me, are separated by miles and miles and miles and miles of pine trees - whole days of driving to get from one landscape to the next. And if you remember wrong, and go back to the wrong town, it makes for one long, long, long day of driving.  

It is a hard place, Newfoundland. Beautiful but scrabbled and fierce and lonely and solitary. Winters would fall around you like a cage, cutting you off even more. I think it would be very hard to live here. I wouldn't want to try. But I would love to come back. 

***
The Crow's Nest


LET'S BACK UP to Twillingate. After Carol and I see the whales, we are frozen! We stop at the Crow's Nest, which advertises itself as “a cafe with more than a great view” - and it is. 

It’s a tiny place, and the line moves glacially. 

Outside, we meet Preston and his new friend, Crosby, who belongs to the people who own the Crow’s Nest. 

Preston, visiting from Yellow Knife, has bought Crosby a ball on a rope that makes it easier to toss and to retrieve. Crosby is clearly in love with the ball, and with Preston. Cros will give the ball to Preston, but runs from me every time I tell him to give it to me. 

Inside, we find that the reason that the line moves so slowly is that the two baristas make each and every coffee individually. It’s OK to wait, though. We are both cold, and we get warm in the cafe. In addition, we get to see paintings by Keli-Ann Pye-Bashara. 

Eventually, we will see prints of her work all over the place, but the Crow’s Nest seems to be the spot where you can buy her originals. 

To see more of her work, check out her website - https://www.kapb.ca/




***
Dog of the Day


IT'S CROSBY, hanging out with his new friend Preston, who is visiting from Yellow Knife. Crosby will chase and retrieve balls as long as Preston will throw them. All day? yay! 

***
A Final Thought

"All journeys have secret destinations, of which the traveler is unaware." 

- Martin Buber






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