Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, / Which we ascribe to Sainte-Adèle,

Didn't we just get back from being away? Halifax, Prince Edward Island, and all of that? Well, yes, but we also managed a long weekend at mother-in-law's cottage, a space we barely seem to get to, anymore. Christine had long-ago planned a weekend there with friends of hers (her school-pal Christine, along with husband Matt and daughter, just between our wee two in age). We'd done a prior weekend with them a couple of years ago as well (although I don't seem to have posted about it, so can't recall exactly when that might have been). We landed Friday and remained until Monday morning, so perhaps the longest we've been up there in some time. I spent a great deal of time reading and making notes around new poetry and non-fiction titles, and the children childrened. There was an afternoon that Matt and I took the young ladies to an amusement park, which did amuse, at least. They ran around and caught rides and ate ice cream and got along with each other, which was good. They don't see this Toronto-area friend that often, although I do think Aoife is in semi-regular contact via text message, at least. 

Odd to think how long I've been coming up here, back since that first post from 2008 (and we're probably up here for Thanksgiving again; see my post from two years ago, same). Why is this the first I'm hearing of this amusement park? We should have taken the kids here moons ago. Did you know there's a waterpark here as well? And here I thought this whole region was cute little shops, bistros and skiing, so that just shows what I know. Most of our weekends hiding out in the cottage, but this weekend wandering a bit further, even taking the young ladies thrifting, which Rose and Aoife went a bit mad, for (Matt said he hadn't taken his daughter to such, prior, so this was a completely new experience). There were board games, long stretches of quiet reading, chaos involving "movie night" (a whole day the two smaller ones prepared tickets and snacks to watch their choice of film, Jurassic Park III, and turning it off after five minutes because they both found it far too scary; but at least there were snacks). 

Speak to me as to thy thinkings, as thou dost ferry, (part three,

[catch part one here; part two here]

Thursday, August 20, 2026: Aoife and I went for a wander, for coffee and pastries, walking by the array of lobster traps. So many! We wandered over to the cafe they found the day prior, with quaint wee bookshop. Apparently Rose picked up a copy of Ocean Vuong's novel On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (2019) from this charming shop. This is a book I've heard good things about, but can't really ask her if she's enjoying without making it weird, apparently. What kid would want to read something their parents find interesting? Cringe. Still, I am curious to know what she might think about it.

The cool air around water, and the view back to the mainland (if one could see that far, certainly). A morning of a brief walk in one direction, returning for the sake of an eventual spot on the beach. Apparently we're going to the beach? Repeating the brief jaunt we made yesterday evening, nearly losing Christine and Aoife along the shoreline, the walk along the sandy shore not the roundabout direction the car wished to take us (not every line is a straight line, after all).

The way of things. A splash in the water, as Christine and the young ladies wandered the beach, splashed around, collected smooth stones and other items. Aoife, who returned with handfuls of shells and small stones. An hour-plus at the beach, and then a quick jaunt back to Cricker's Creamery for ice cream, and a slip into the post office (to be able to send off my second round of postcards). Ice cream, and then a toy store, en route to the ferry. Where was this? I can't even recall. The children picked up nonsense and insisted on photos by the array of items outside in the yard (but requested that they not be posted, of course). And so, my own.

Naturally, any visit to the island requires as much Lucy Maud Montgomery as possible, so we drove and we drove, heading back to the ferry, but stopping along points as best as possible, none of which interested our young ladies in any way. I keep forgetting that Montgomery married a MacDonald, wondering if he was related in any way to eldest daughter's maternal grandmother, another MacDonald from the island. 

And, to the ferry. The ferry, where I attempted to take notes, but Aoife was more interested in wandering. And so, we wandered. Once landing in Halifax, we were hanging with Christine's brother and his family in their new house, having moved this way after five years in England, a house myself and the young ladies had not yet seen. And to a variety of baseball tournaments over the next two days, although I was already back to Ottawa by the next afternoon, due to my above/ground press event [see my report on such here] on the Saturday night. It would have been good to spend further time in the area, perhaps even visit the handful of folk either Christine or I or both know around this way, but the timing didn't allow. Neither, the drive. I was one night in Halifax, back Friday afternoon; Christine and the young ladies back by Sunday morning. Will we attempt again next year, possibly? Might we ever have enough time?

i left my (potato) heart on Prince Edward Island, (part two,

[see part one here] 

Wednesday, August 19, 2026: You might not be aware that our wee Aoife has been months begging us to take her to The Canadian Potato Museum (please, she begged us last fall, you can make it my birthday present). How did she even know of such a thing? It was more than an hour west and north from where we were staying, so made our way out before most of us were even awake (okay, before I was even awake--Christine and the young ladies had already done a morning walk to the coffeeshop for coffee, treats etcetera). 

Exactly what one might expect, one can walk through the space and learn a history of the potato and local potato crop [comparable to the Big Apple along Highway 401 by Colborne, Ontario, of course, except without the added benefit of the array contained within a giant potato], as well as farming. One whole wing was filled with farm machinery, much of which included signage on usage, and prior ownership. It seemed entirely the sort of museum I could see my father quite enjoying (and there were even the occasional antiquated item in the shed that I know we had). The young ladies collected (of course) potato-shaped stuffies, and I saw a stress-ball shaped like a potato, exactly like the ones we saw (and picked up) at EPIC: The Irish Emigration Museum in Dublin last summer [see my note on such here, including a pic of Aoife holding up said potato]. After all that build-up, Aoife reported that she was impressed, I guess, although it could have been better. What had she been expecting, exactly?

From there, we wandered over to a house made out of thousands of bottles that Christine knew about, with accompanying gardens. The space was lovely (both the buildings and the grounds/gardens were worth it alone), and odd to think a gentleman spent years of his life building such a thing, a series of structures that required repair after he'd passed (it is fully maintained; and with a charming wee gift shop to boot). It was misty, also. One could see out to the water, various lighthouses in view; the trailers at the edge of the property where some had settled into their own waterfront views, staring south-west towards New Brunswick (and just inland, Moncton).

I did manage another panorama shot or two with multiple Aoifes, which was fun to play with.

Rose buses, and many bees. In a way, the best part of this space had to be the abandoned house next door, just across from the parking lot, with a large stuffed animal on each side, set in the open window. Creepy.

As usual, there was too much to do, too much to see, so we were off again, back the way we'd come, to meet up with Ottawa poet Jason Christie and his family, who were on the island just as we were. Did I mention Jason was here also? I'd sent him a text before we'd flown out, asking if I'd see him at my event in Ottawa on the weekend, and he'd responded, saying, No, we've just crossed Confederation Bridge! Hey, we're doing that in two days! I responded. We drove, and drove, realizing we had missed out on an attempt at lunch (we'd considered as part of the potato museum, but the in-house diner wasn't open yet), so we kept hoping we'd simply pass something, knowing we had a loosely-scheduled 2pm meet up with Jason etc at Green Gables, right by where we were each and all staying. Not far from there, we drove into the parking lot of the Cavendish Boardwalk, for the sake of landing at Cows. I mean, there must be food here, yes? Once there, the kids went in one direction, Christine another, and I bee-lined to Cows for the sake of a new beach towel (I still had my worn towel from a much earlier PEI visit, possibly with my parents, somewhere during the 1980s; I'm a bit amazed the beach towel holds). A towel, a sticker or two, and a t-shirt, which I promptly changed into, just in the parking lot (why not?). The children purchased more stuffys for some reason (geez), but we did manage to convince them to remain still long enough to get them fed. If only we'd had more time, we would have told them about the Cows ice cream (we hadn't time, so didn't mention; perhaps we should come back at some point).

Green Gables, Prince Edward Island. I think this is my third time visiting? First, with my parents, somewhere in the late 1970s or early 80s, and again circa 2000 with my pal Sandie [a trip that resulted in my poetry title, red earth], and now this. It was different than I'd remembered, although I know I saw a wedding when I was last here, the space crowded with Japanese tourists. Given the broad popularity the books have in Japan and Japanese culture. The site really needs to perpetually thank Japanese novelist and translator Hanako Muraoka, who took it upon herself to translate that first Anne of Green Gables novel during a period that Japan considered English an "enemy language," publishing her translation in 1952. You want to see the impact of translation? Look to some of the tourism that regularly visits Green Gables.

This is a heritage house, basically, from the era from which L.M. Montgomery wrote those infamous books, of course, with accompanying texts surrounding the author and some of her characters. We met up with Jason and his family (his two boys are roughly the age of our two young ladies), and all four of the kids absolutely bored with the place. The children wandered, and wandered, albeit in different directions than we did. We paused for a bit of social, and the children had snacks. From there, a slip back into our separate directions, us back to North Rustico, and at least a few minutes not moving.

I hadn't realized until this trip the array of Acadian across Prince Edward Island, the array of Acadian flags that ran through this part of the island, specifically. There's a statue of an Acadian fisherman in the water, not far from our doorstep, to acknowledge both the cultural heritage of the space and the men who have, for generations, fished these waters. Right by our doorstep, also, a place where one can take a ride along for deep sea fishing. Not me, thanks, but it does sound interesting. A wall of lobster traps along one whole side of set buildings along the boardwalk.

After a respite of an hour or so, we collected some supplies and headed off the fifteen minute drive to where Jason and family were staying, an array of cottages closer to Green Gables, for the sake of dinner, socializing. It probably had been two years since the kids had seen each other, the past number of months Jason and I out for dinner maybe two or three times a year, but the array of household requirements and child schedules preventing us from doing anything beyond that.

It took a while for our children to talk to each other, but they figured it out. We hung out on the porch, right across from Grandpa's Antique Photo Studio (which Jason joked we should do, until he realized how much). A grand evening, overall, although the children remained a few fire-pits over, at what they termed "the good fire," beyond the one that Jason built.

next up: we head for a ferry, and back to Halifax,

Nova Scotia thrift, New Brunswick stone, (part one,

Did you know we were east last week? Christine, myself and our young ladies flew into a late-night Halifax to immediately drive out the following morning across Nova Scotia and into New Brunswick, towards the Confederation Bridge, and destination: Prince Edward Island. There was a certain amount of (our usual) chaos, given a late afternoon cab to Ottawa's train station, train from Ottawa to Dorval (Montreal) for a flight that managed a bit of a delay, only landing into our near-airport Halifax hotel and our beds well after 2am (the children bickered for at least half an hour before settling, not wishing to share a bed). Did we have these problems with our young ladies in Winnipeg? Parc Oméga? Picton? Calgary? No. Certainly not in Ireland, as they didn't even share a room. Perhaps they were overtired. I mean, I know we were (but we're way old).

Tuesday, August 18, 2026: First thing in the morning (well, eventually), we managed our 11am rental car and noon check-out (grudgingly, achingly, slow) and began heading out, catching two different locations for Guy's Frenchys, an infamous clothing thrift store chain [we'd been through prior, but I seem not to have mentioned it]. I mean, we had to make the trip bearable for our young ladies, didn't we? Rose loves her thrifting. Bins upon bins upon bins of second-hand clothes, as our young ladies took turns clogging the stores' dressing rooms. 

I didn't find much interesting for myself in either location, but I did pick up a book that intrigued (the books were spare, random, but there was this one, at least), especially given my genealogical links (recently realized, via birth mother) to some of those locations [I wrote about some of that here and here]. What else might there be to discover? Probably lots. Anything relevant? Impossible to know, as of yet. It was good, at least, to begin to catch a better flavour of this American trail that links, somehow, to my individual self. Our young ladies filled bags of thrifting, and were pleased enough.

Driving. There were rolling hills and clouds, train tracks and highways, a smattering of rain. Perpetual rain. Perhaps there was always rain. Perhaps there had never been a point where there wasn't rain. I can only see rain. En route to the bridge (with a coffee/donut run in there somewhere, also), at Christine's further suggestion, we ended up at the Joggins Fossil Cliffs, managing the gift shop fifteen minutes prior to closing (postcards, stones, other items), and the water already at high tide. I'd wondered about gathering a fossil, perhaps, for J.R. Carpenter, referencing their recent (second) above/ground press title, but between the water level and the fact that one wasn't allowed to leave with anything, it just wasn't possible. Not even a photograph of a fossil to hold onto, although the view, the space itself, set along the Bay of Fundy, was remarkable.

I even managed a panorama, and was quite amused that Aoife, without realizing, moved a bit during capture and managed to get into the same photograph twice. Aoife ran up and down the steps, Rose more meditative, distracted; requested Christine take pictures of her with the water backdrop [she has requested to not have her photographs included in these notes], and the plentiful flower bushes were populated by an army of bees. There was a spot on the beach we could see further down but not access (some folk wandering through, their car parked well above), but hadn't the time ourselves to walk back up, drive over, and walk down the other side (we were aiming for a 4pm landing at where we'd be staying on Prince Edward Island, and this was already well after 5pm). Once back out on our way, we even drove by Parrsboro [where we stayed with a very wee Rose, moons back]. Christine couldn't remember, so I looked it up.

And then to the open road again, which led us to a small gas station for the sake of a pit stop. By the washrooms, this particular display case of vintage items, most likely the same vintage of my late parents.

We'd originally hoped that this trip could have been a drive from home, but we hadn't the time for such a thing, and even what drive we had was rather condensed, having to pack in as much as we could in short spaces, skipping over whole swaths (and a handful of potential social visits with writers along the way). We crossed the Confederation Bridge and kept driving, driving. It was 9pm or so before we were safe in our space in North Rustico, overlooking the water. The young ladies, settling down into their (individual beds) as Christine and I sat on the front porch, local wine at the ready.

next up: the potato museum, Prince Edward Island + Cows,

Our Winnipeg:

Okay, so we spent the weekend in Winnipeg, for the sake of Christine's family things. Her mother is from there, so our whole crew, plus Christine's brother and his family, met up with mother-in-law and her two Winnipeg-based sisters, to acknowledge what would have been Christine's grandfather's one hundredth birthday. The last time I was in Winnipeg was for the sake of the ARP launch in 2023, which was plenty fun [see my report on such here], but this trip more for a couple of family events, and the kids seeing cousins. I've been moving around a lot lately, far more than usual, catching a recent week at the Banff Centre [see my report here] and an exciting weekend in Victoria, with three events in two days [see my reports on such here]. Otherwise, our last family trips would be Park Omega in February [a quick overnight, see my report] or that trip to Ireland and Northern Ireland last July, following Rose and her choir around as they performed [see my reports on such here], or even Calgary, the November prior (where Christine and I also read, and Rose had a birthday) [see my report on such here]. There is talk of our household (sans cats) attempting to drive to Halifax later this summer to visit Christine's brother and his family, but nothing is settled quite yet.

We spent the weekend in Winnipeg, landing Friday just before noon, and the young ladies and I left Christine to rest in our hotel room while we ran off to the Assiniboine Park Zoo [our young ladies have requested fewer pictures of them online, by the way], another Robert Kroetsch reference, his poem "The Winnipeg Zoo" [see also: Mile Zero]. Although, if this zoo (established 1904) was always known as the Assiniboine Park Zoo, why did Kroetsch title his poem thus? Was it the presumption that folk beyond the city's boundaries wouldn't have known the reference? Or was he, in New York State, misremembering? Mid-point through the zoo adventure, we met up with Winnipeg poet Melanie Dennis Unrau [see my review of her debut here], which did prompt Rose to complain less about having to be out at all, at a zoo, whatever. Aoife was having a grand time. She wanted to see snakes! She wanted to see polar bears! Melanie showed us the polar bears, who seemed tired, bored. But the heat was some thirty degrees. One barely poked his head up from the pool.

After the zoo, we went off to meet up with Christine, and then with her brother and his family for dinner, before they took the kids to the pool, and I wandered out to a pub night with various Winnipeg writers (Christine had considered joining, but her energy didn't allow for such), including Unrau [pictured], Marjorie Poor, melanie brannagan frederiksen, K.I. Press, Angeline Schellenberg, Julian Day and Kathy Block at a local place called Barn Hammer, which I quite liked. It was good to meet Schellenberg, who I hadn't prior [she had a "Tuesday poem" back in 2022], and I'd forgotten that Poor actually used to work at the late, lamented Heaven Art & Book Cafe, so we hadn't seen each other since the end-of-Heaven party back in, what, June 1999? Apparently Block had attended, during Covid, an online chapbook-making conversation I was invited to do, sponsored through one of the provincial Writers Guilds (Alberta? most likely). And did you know that Unrau has a new chapbook with Gap Riot Press? It is a lovely thing, hoping to get my hands on a copy of my own at some point. It was a grand adventure! Always good to see folk, certainly.

The next morning, a brunch, as our young ladies hung out with their cousins. More time at the pool, in which the young ladies hung out with their cousins [and I began to read the book, above, that Christine found at the Ottawa airport, as we were leaving]. And a bbq at Christine's auntie's house, where the young ladies hung out further with their cousins, a wall of photographs of Christine's grandparents. Christine's brother's family live in Halifax, after all, so we're only able to see them a couple of times a year. And at the bbq, a birthday cake or two for Christine, to mark her own birthday [do you remember the birthday poem I wrote her in 2011?], even wearing the birthday pin that I got her (or was it the one her mother got her? we each picked up the same). 

We visited the graveyard, on Sunday, where mother-in-law's parents lay, and a quick trip to Red River Books (finally) and then the Manitoba Museum before heading back to the airport. So quick! The big ship at the back of the Museum was pretty cool. Go see that!

And did you know that Winnipeg is the Slurpee Capital of the World? I had no idea! Although we did appreciate it, in the thirty-plus degree heat.

introducing: Goose and Frankie,

These two young gentlemen (who will be four months old tomorrow) entered our household last Saturday afternoon. We'd been pondering new cats for a while, our young ladies preferring one each, in part so they wouldn't fight over a single one, and so the kittens could entertain each other during school-days. After the loss of our Lemonade more than a year ago [see my obituary for him here], the household was finally ready to be able to move forward (there was talk at one point of attempting to get Lemonade "a friend," but we never quite got there). Again, the kitten-proofing (lots of stuff getting knocked over) and the sunroom door closed (until potentially poisonous plants can be re-housed). Again, the attention to litter and water and brushing and food.

These "chaos gremlins" (as Christine refers to them) are a curious Highland Lynx/Siamese blend, and lap-cats (at least so far), very different than our skittish and moody Lemonade. As well, as Lemonade, both kittens are polydactyl, with multiple extra toes (and accompanying claws) all over their wee padded feet. It took longer than I would have thought for the young ladies to land on names (and refusing any of the ridiculous names I offered: "Captain Marzipan!" "Peaches!" "President Eisenhower!" etc). Aoife finally chose "Goose" for her kitten, after our recent Captain Marvel (2019) watch [Aoife and I have been doing an entire MCU watch, having watched twenty-five movies-to-date in order of their release, as well as the Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special, Ms. Marvel (which I knew she'd really like) and WandaVision, with more to come]. Rose has landed on "Frankie," a name she claims she "just likes," but it makes me think of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, of course. "Frankie says Relax," I tell them, and the boy agrees. Although Rose had earlier attempted "My Melody," a Hello Kitty reference we weren't convinced by (when naming pets or children, one has to be able to land on a name one can yell), but made me think of this song from my youth (one I was actually surprised Christine didn't know), which I hadn't realized was by a Toronto band. Are all my references from 1980s pop? Possibly.

Parc Oméga : outside you are three wolves,

Last week we spent an evening, night and part of a day at Parc Omega, a Safari-like park just outside of Montebello, Quebec. There's often so much activity, from music lessons to Guides to birthday parties to other things, we'd barely been able to catch our breath, or do something as a quiet unit for a while, it seemed. We'd been to the Parc prior, driving through to see the wolves, boar, bears, deer (which you can feed carrots to, from your car), silver foxes, moose, bison, etcetera. We'd only driven through (roughly an hour to ninety minutes to drive through), Christine suggesting there were cottages one could rent, with options of a panoramic view, or into a space where wolves might congregate. We picked the wolves, the whole one side of the building set as window, watching what was most likely three wolves wandering, moving, strolling. White wolf who walks by the window, in one direction. White wolf who walks by the window again, in the same direction, again. A third, a fourth time. As though this wolf, these wolves, a pattern, a path, worn into snow. One who spent much of the evening on a small mound, sleeping. The same (presumably) white wolf that would wander by and prod it, move a bit, before returning to their spot. All their movements, set upon a pattern.

We suspected that their food was delivered somewhere in this space, which is what would bring them by. 

It was a lovely, meditative space, with the option for a small fire in the woodstove, as well; although the hour drive there took two, given traffic and snow (and near white-out driving conditions, along highway 50), after the hour-plus I spent collecting the children from each of their schools, collecting Christine from work (the first forty minutes of our drive out of town purely on King Edward in Lowertown, which was irritating). While (finally) there, nestled into our cottage, we attempted best to keep off machines or phones while there, and Christine could hear them howling throughout the night. I don't think the young ladies did. Aoife and I played Uno, our game lasting around an hour or so, until I finally won (by a hair's breadth, to be sure).

This is far different than those childhood family trips I recall going to Parc Safari with my parents and wee sister, back in the 1970s (a space I somehow thought was north, but a map now tells me it sits south of Montreal, just by the American border). Seeing giraffes and lions in a Canadian setting always seemed confusing to me (especially an outdoor setting), but Parc Omega was rather nice. And the horrible cold was so cold, the next morning one of the workers wandered by removing snow with a leaf-blower, if you can imagine. Terrible.

We woke to wolves wandering, attending food, it looked like. We woke to wolves and to the crows, which might have been ravens, who also wished for some of whatever the wolves were having. Good morning, wolves. Good morning, crows.

And then, close to lunchtime, leaving our cabin to attend the rest of the parc, strolling through with the car, our young ladies feeding carrots to deer through the windows, Rose catching videos of her feeding (we were told we weren't allowed to talk when she was recording), and an eventual lunch at the chip truck. Curious to be in a space off-season, mid-week, nearly empty of anyone else but the occasional worker, attending repairs on the roads or elsewhere. The quiet of minus twenty, minus twenty-three. This solace of wolves.