At last, scallops. Prepared perfectly, seared and not overdone. We are heading north to Cape Breton today, where I am less sure to find scallops and may have to return to haddock. We ate in Gio in Halifax. We were to be amidst 30 eye doctors in a noisy setting, but they were all late, and we had the restaurant virtually to ourselves.
Halifax is very walkable, with a large public garden and very polite people. No one jay walks and bicyclists stop at red lights. It takes some getting used to!
This is as you can see a picture of rocks, evidence that we went to the lovely beach at Lawrencetown today. Over a croissant this morning, I asked the proprietress where we could get an excellent seafood dinner in Halifax. She said “my house.” That seemed a large imposition, so we kept looking. Which is why we went to Lawrencetown.
We were able to watch surfers using parasail type kites to surf. Very tiring looking. The beach was clean and relatively empty. A kind woman told me we had to eat a donair while in Halifax. This is not scallop based! We had one for dinner from Johnny’s, touting authentic donairs. Turns out they are gyros. Very salty, very good, very not seafood.
The quest continues.
I haven’t found any scallops yet. I did learn that in Nova Scotia you are immediately identified as a tourist if you say “scallop”instead of “scow lop.” I had haddock in the Boston airport, but nothing special. Maybe it was a sign that this would be a haddock vacation after all. I did speak with a young man who said he didn’t eat fish, only haddock, Eh?
Tomorrow we are headed to Nova Scotia, one of the provinces I have yet to visit. Last year we went to Quebec, and the year before to New Brunswick. Since I retired from teaching, we try to go after Labor Day, so that the crowds are reduced, but before the leaves turn. We don’t need to travel to see leaves turn since we can see them out of our windows at home.
I try to focus on one food for each vacation. Last year, to the distress of my waist, it was fresh croissants. The year before it was halibut. This year I can’t decide between scallops and haddock. I love them both, so we will see. I will post my decision in pictures.
Thanks to a post from another genealogy blogger, I just learned that I am a Canadian citizen! That means I have dual citizenship with Canada and the U.S. I took the on-line quiz from the Canadian Immigration folks titled: “are you already a Canadian citizen?” I guess I am not alone in my ignorance. Since my dad was Canadian, so am I. I am going to have to practice saying “eh?”
Here people have been joking–sort of–about the dire possible national election results in November by saying they will emigrate to Canada. When I told a friend about my newly recognized Canadian citizenship she said, “We will come stay with you, eh.”
When I was in third grade, the teacher went around the room asking each of us what we had eaten for breakfast. I was astonished to hear my classmates describe eggs, toast, bacon and juice. I quickly caught on that this was what the teacher wanted to hear, so I immediately revised my report. I had actually poured myself a bowl of Kix with milk. I thought that was normal. It was what my family had for breakfast, though my dad ate Grape-Nuts.
My husband likes huge breakfasts, similar to the one pictured. He loves hotels which feature full spreads. In Nova Scotia, our hotels will please him. I, on the other hand, prefer whole grain toast, from my own baked bread, spread with almond butter. And coffee. And no company. And no conversation. In my pajamas.
On vacation, he will usually slip out of the dining room with toast and coffee for me, then return for his extravagant breakfast
A perfect start to the day for both of us!
There are no great things, only small things with great love.
I have wondered for a while about the widespread interest in genealogy in the last few years. Ancestry runs television ads for software, while PBS has shows with Henry Louis Gates tracing the past of celebrities. TLC has a show “Who Do You Think You Are?” which similarly works with various people to explore their families’ past.
I got interested many years ago because my grandparents had died and I realized I knew very little about their forebears. My parents, like many of their generation, had broken with the past and carved out new lives thousands of miles from their beginnings. They were future oriented and had little time to talk about earlier times. I suspect many baby boomers have similar stories. We found ourselves somewhat adrift and curious about where we had come from. Perhaps, too, the urge to seem only American and not anything else had passed for our generation. We were willing to embrace our various ethnic beginnings without shame.
I have been astonished to learn about the lives of many of my ancestors. It has made American history take shape in a personal way. I have had to learn about migration patterns, learning about canals and railroads as I went. I would be intrigued to know why others take up this hobby. Feel free to send me a comment.
At first glance birding and genealogy, both hobbies of mine, might seem to have nothing in common. However, as I enjoy each more fully, I have discovered that there are two types of people who love each hobby. There are the collectors and the explorers.
Collector birders love lists. They travel the world adding to their life list of birds they have glimpsed. For some, it is a competitive sport. Collector genealogists have vast spread sheets of every ancestor that they have identified. Sometimes, unfortunately, in their haste to get an ever bigger data base, they import other genealogy data bases from the internet.
Explorer birders like to get to know a few birds in depth. They are content to have the same birds visit their yards and feeders, observing their habits at leisure. Explorer genealogists try to learn as much as they can about individuals in their ancestry. They are fascinated with the details of a forebear’s life and their historical context. They rely on primary sources as much as possible and try, often fruitlessly, to correct the mistakes of the collector genealogists.
I am clearly an explorer birder, fascinated with hawks. I am also an explorer genealogist, looking deeply into the lives of several remarkable women in my maternal line whose sketches I am working on posting in the future.
I have often lived near berry patches, whether domestic or wild. Here I pick the neighbor’s “organic” raspberries. Organic since they were just left alone to grow. We planted raspberries next to our garage in Connecticut and give them the “benign neglect” which qualifies them as organic. They produce good berries in June and wonderful berries in late August and September before dying back. One good pruning in winter and they are ready to produce again.
My grandchild was very concerned the first time she viewed the cut back patch believing that there would be no more berries. Now she knows to wait until–sure enough–they emerge again in spring.
I spent many happy years in Camp Fire Girls, the west coast equivalent of Girl Scouts. Here I am plucking mussels from the rocks at low tide on the Oregon coast with a troop leader and another friend. I had never eaten mussels before this trip, but we had a feast steaming them over a fire.
On other excursions to the coast, we would buy fresh Dungeness crab and wait while it was boiled and cleaned. Then we would sit outside with a pile of napkins, pulling the crab apart and eating the delicious meat.
We are going to Nova Scotia in a week, and I am looking forward to seeing what fresh seafood is local and available. We tried dulce, dried sea weed, in New Brunswick a couple of years ago, but I can’t say we became converts. They said it was an acquired taste–one we haven’t acquired!
Saved By Words 