It would be my first attempt at dropping off a print without being seen as I head up the walkway – another nice thing about st. john’s lanes passing between streets where cars daren’t and cannot go, cul-de-sacs for vehicles but not for footies.
The attempt was a bust for although it was before 8AM the Charleton Street crowd was already out, sitting and chatting, walked by and handed off the print to the one that was the least active and kept walking.
Sunny I tried to make the shadows cast objects, for some reason I was photographing the food left along George and Water Streets. Got my café au lait and sat outside to write the entry.
Chatted with an Upper Canadian couple when they asked about the history and when and whether Newfoundland was a colony and/or a republic. Then on to the fact that they had done the Irish Loop and the Cape Shore route on a tandem – they were my age – as Peter – who is also my age put it later middle age. Felt awe, old and jealous all at once.
-I saw some people trying to bike up the hill around Patrick’s Cove, they gave up and walked.
-G. is not a walker.
It was another warm day and the heat from the reflection of the windows and the street had me looking for shade wanted to go down by the harbour – closed off as commercial vessels were in and with the North American terrorist acts there was a fear of some nefarious weapon being placed on them. The security measure was a parade control fence with a guard at one end.
Sat on a bench at the war memorial.
Back at the flat realised that this was the day of the organic farm being open – as we’d missed yesterday – real local greens and the like would be welcome so out to Portugal Cove to stock up and of course since people would chat to us some snaps.
A long talk to the wife of the owner – Melba - who was a social worker in a former life – he was a psychologist. They were losing money on the concern but were fully dedicated to the idea of sustainability – irrigation that used surface water rather than the water table.
She was replanting the squash that had been ruined by the cold strange spring. Gave us a history of the area and what is happening with farmer’s markets, co-ops and the like. Exchanged emails and websites, linked theirs to mine and off we went back to St. John’s.
Of course in my strange way which was via Portugal Cove – St. Phillips, Paradise – believe me it isn’t – and Mount Pearl.
Afternoon was still pretty young and I was itching for a road trip. I wanted to see what the Landfall Trust Residency was like in the Rockwell Kent home in Brigus.
Back in the machine, back on the Trans-Canada to Holyrood then snaking along the western shore of Conception Bay through towns that were closer together but not like the mess at the just to the other side.
It was remarked that this was like travelling in Wisconsin some 30 years ago. The water was used more recreationally over here – a few beaches with natural swimming areas due to the building of pebbles. Funny though as people would turn their backs on the bay and look into these tidal pools which smaller than an average swimming pool.
In Brigus there were people out on yachts while others jet skied about filling the air with that high pitch whine.
Asked at Hawthorne Cottage where the Rockwell Kent home was and I felt like I was giving a test to the guide there. She was a bit flustered. She gave good directions but made it seem that it was quite a distance from where she was.
It seems that she isn’t a walker.
Decided to walk about town as I wanted to make a few snaps and see what the place was like. I was here once before on a road trip with my mother up to Bay de Verde and Grates Cove but remember only the tunnel and the cottage everything sort of merged together.
Walked down the harbour where again people were enjoying the beach while others were going to look at the tunnel and still more heading to the concert at the church.
Looked across the harbour and saw this isolated home in a clearing overlooking the cove. I now understood why I didn’t get the residency in my annual attempts.
We walked over to have a closer look.
The house is enormous, bigger than the two together in Woody Point, it looks like something Merchant-Ivory would use for one of their period costume films – Howard’s End on the Rock. It was a nestled in the trees so that I could see the lawn where one could sit and enjoy the sun but not the lawn itself. It was a good 200 yards from where you could park the car and another hundred from the gate.
I was thinking that it was like the Hawthorne Cottage something in town and my proposal – as usual - dealt with the community, and the area which doesn’t seem as romantic at the Irish Loop – who yearns for Carbonear much less Bay Robert’s and Clarke’s Beach?
I also talked about wanting to work with the history – the first trans-Atlantic cable station – and the romance of the names – Heart’s Delight, Heart’s Desire and Heart’s Content along with Cupids.
Now I realised that my excessive land grabbing would not be in what I considered they would be looking for as the Kent Home was more a retreat, a place where one would write unperturbed – despite the man and child who l followed us up the path, past the gate and into the grounds where we could hear the residents asking him politely to leave – where one would bring out the oils and paint while having tea in the afternoon. Wondered about the light as there were no electric lines leading into the place. Generator?
A discussion of appropriate work and applications on the return trip.
No comments:
Post a Comment