Reflections 2014
Series 20
December 21
Canada Redux IV : Bay of Fundy : Minas Basin & Annapolis Basin

 

As we come to the final region of our current trip, we should trace our route on our green map of Nova Scotia:

http://www.wtcchalifax.com/site-tcl/media/wtcchalifax/Nova%20Scotia%20Map.jpg

 
 

Driving down from Cape Breton Island, we once again arrive at Truro, and, as chance will have it, in order to proceed to where we need to go, we get off at the very same exit, but in the opposite direction, of where we got off to see the tidal bore. Today, eight travel nights later than we stopped to see the bore quite conveniently at midday, the tidal bore at Truro is due today extremely inconveniently at dawn and in the evening--6:27 and 18:59. Still, since it's literally seconds from the highway exit to the viewing area, we stop there again to adjust our mindset—if nature had cooperated, we'd have looked for the tidal bore today, since we're now on our way to explore the Bay of Fundy and its extraordinary tidal phenomena, but now from the Nova Scotia side, as well as explore the history of this area.

 
 

It was in 2014/17 that we talked about the New Brunswick side, including Campobello, Saint John and its Reversing Rapids ("Falls") and Hopewell Rocks. On the NS side, we'll continue around the Minas Basin, including several places we made reference to in the Acadian history of that entry, and then move down the Annapolis Valley to settle into Annapolis Royal on the Annapolis Basin, and explore all around the Basin, including Digby.

 
 

Bay of Fundy Tides    In advance, we've collected from online sources for our reference some practical guidelines for tide viewing. We also have some pictures of these phenomena elsewhere in the Bay, which will illustrate exactly what we'll be seeing at locations on our drive.

 
 

The time between high and low tide is approximately 6h13. To best appreciate the vertical tide effect within a tidal range, one should visit the same location, such as a wharf, beach, mudflat, sandflat, or riverbank, at both low and high tide. One can see two low and two high tides a day at the same location, although that would be overdoing it. Still, with good planning (as with the tidal bore), one can see one high and one low tide during daylight hours of one day. As a rule of thumb, high and low tides move ahead approximately one hour each day. Furthermore, tide times vary slightly for different locations around the Bay, but that's true about tides anywhere.

 
 

The following views are in Alma, New Brunswick, which directly borders Fundy National Park on the north side of the Bay. Alma and the Park are both on Chignecto Bay, the northern twin of the Minas Basin we'll be visiting first. We've said in the past that the verticality of a wharf is an excellent illustration of a tidal range. This startling combined picture shows "tide in, tide out" at a wharf in Alma (Separate photos by Samuel Wantman, combined by Tttrung). Remember this when we visit equivalent wharfs in Annapolis Royal and in two other locations near it. Sometimes dizzily vertical wooden ladders appear built in to the side of the wharfs so that people can climb up to the wharf at low tide. These pictures also show the vertical tide in Alma, tide in, tide out (Photos by Dylan Kereluk). Remember these are just over six hours apart, with two highs and two lows a day, and is visible in many places around the Bay.

 
 

In addition, the tidal range can be observed as a horizontal tide. In some parts of the Bay, the tide retreats as much as 5 km (3 mi) from high to low, as 100 billion tons of water move with each tide. This leaves large parts of the ocean floor exposed as an intertidal zone, including rocks, beaches, and large mudflats and sandflats. Once again, the available pictures show Alma, here at low tide (Photo by Martin Cathrae), when the tidal plain is at its most exposed.

 
 

These exposed fertile mudflats and sandflats at low tide attract huge flocks of up to 100,000 migratory shorebirds to feast in the intertidal zone. In the summer, these areas become a critical feeding area for birds on their inter-continental migration. Notable is Evangeline Beach near Grand Pré.

 
 

Even smaller rivers around the basins show tidal bores with rapids of 3 to 3.5 meters/yards. Still, the bore time doesn't match either the high or low tide times for that area, but instead varies as to how far along the riverbank the observer is standing to view it. Look at it this way: as relatively fast as the tides move, the nozzle effect that causes the bores in the first place makes them move even faster, as we've seen. You've never seen a tide change as fast as a bore passing by, as in those videos we saw.

 
 

There is a curious surprise as to silt and the sand flats we've been mentioning. Look at this NASA satellite picture that includes the Bay of Fundy and you'll see that the innermost "horns" of the Bay of Fundy, Chignecto Bay above, where Alma is, and the Minas Basin we're about to visit below, have a reddish-brown tinge. The outer, lower Fundy rests on granite and basalt, but the inner, upper Fundy rests on sandstone, which is reddish brown and relatively soft. The serious tides in the Bay have little to no effect on the hard granite and basalt, but grind the sandstone into silt and sediment in the sub-bays, Chignecto and Minas. Much of this sediment remains in these inner areas, forming the famous red tidal mudflats (Photo by Danielle Langlois) of the sub-bays, this one again at Alma. Remember, it can be dangerous to become isolated on a tidal flat because the tide can come in rapidly.

 
 

Bay of Fundy: Minas Basin    The first area we'll visit (check green map) is the Minas basin, whose name sounds like "minus". "Minas" is derived from "Les Mines", a name optimistically given by early French explorers to this basin. They'd found some copper and semi-precious minerals on the beaches and had high hopes for mines. Copy and paste this more local map in another window:

http://www.bofep.org/Publications/Fundy%20issues/minas_map.GIF

 
 

Quite appropriately, we used this map when discussing the Truro tidal bore, so review again the location of Truro, its Salmon River, and Cobequid Bay, the name of the narrow inner portion of the Minas Basin. Cobequid was also the name of the local Acadian community that had been sent into exile. On the map, locate our route via the Shubenacadie River, Burntcoat Head, and Walton to Windsor on the Avon River, our next stop. From there, we'll visit both Evangeline Beach for its birdlife and Grand-Pré next to it (not shown). Compare this to the green map, which shows Grand-Pré and adjacent Hantsport, as well as Maitland on the Shubenacadie.

 
 

When, in an earlier posting, we came across the name Shubenacadie (Map by Andrew)—here's its drainage basin--it was to point out that the end of the name is a Mi'kmaq word, coincidentally like the Acadian word Acadie. The name of the river, the town on it, and the canal associated with it, is pronounced as though written Shuba Nackady. The lower 30 km (19 mi), beyond Stewiacke, is tidal, as this map indicates.

 
 
 As an interesting side note on military strategy and commercial history we should mention that the Shubenacadie Canal was built starting in 1826 to connect the Bay of Fundy and Annapolis Valley with Halifax Harbour via the Shubenacadie River and Shubenacadie Grand Lake (estimate the route beyond Enfield on the green map). While it wasn't completed until 1861, it was closed in 1871, which reflects the canal history in general as railroads started taking over their routes. Today, small craft use the route, but only one lock is operational out of nine. Three have been restored, and more restoration is planned. This makes one reflect again on the Rideau Canal.
 
 

The green map shows that we have to drive inland some distance from Truro to cross the Shubenacadie over the South Maitland Bridge (Photo by Verne Equinox). We drive back and forth a couple of times over the bridge to see the river adequately, noticing as in this picture, that the tide is low—the river seems only a third to a half full--and that the silting red earth of the Minas Basin is evidenced in the riverbanks (click). We also note the large mudflats and sandflats, and learn that the Shubenacadie, like our Salmon River nearby in Truro, experiences a tidal bore twice a day, sometimes reaching up to 3 meters/yards in height.

 
 

We continue up the riverbank to Maitland itself, on Cobequid Bay at the river's mouth, and continue to see low water, wide tidal flats, and high red banks. We won't stay to see high tide here—that's the problem when viewing tides at various locations—but we'll see similar contrasts in other locations later in the trip. We continue to a point a bit east of Burntcoat Head, and stumble across Anthony Provincial Park, which is one of the few places that allow us to drive right up to the waterside. We're there in the early afternoon, at 13:55, and continue to observe low water on Cobequid Bay. We discover that low tide had been at this point about a half-hour earlier, at 13:20, at 2.6 m (8.5 ft).

 
 
 Nearby Burntcoat Head is the location of the highest tidal range ever recorded, exceeding 16 m (52 ft), but during a spring tide only. Still, it has one of the highest average tidal ranges every day. Take another look at the white map of the Minas Basin and locate Cape Split, where incoming and outgoing Fundy waters are squeezed in and out of the Central Minas Basin via a narrow, but deep, 5 km (3 mi) channel. This creates extremely strong tidal currents, which cause the erosion and reddish-brown silting of the Basin. At mid-tide, the currents past Cape Split exceed 8 knots, which is 4 m (13 ft), per second, and the flow, which is about 4 cu km (0.96 cu mi) per hour, equals the combined flow of all the rivers and streams on Earth together.
 
 

A while later, at 14:30, we stop in Walton, where the local Walton River empties onto the Minas Basin. There had been a lot of industry and port action here in the past, but now, the port is inactive. At the moment, the river is nearly dry—low tide had been at 13:16—as compared to the Basin up ahead. We stop at the historic Walton Harbour Lighthouse (Photo by Dennis Jarvis)—here a sunset picture. It was built in 1873, but deactivated in 1896. It's on a cliff at the mouth of the Walton River to the left, where it guided ships coming in from the Minas Basin, at the right to the Walton Dock. As it happens, the low water levels in the picture are like what we see during our afternoon stop. The lighthouse is maintained by the local historical society, and one of the historical points made on a marker is that, in another life, Walton had been the Acadian town of Petite Rivière, which quite appropriately means Little River.

 
 

Windsor   The green map shows that we have to swing inland again along the Avon River to reach Windsor, our destination for two nights. Aside from seeing Windsor itself, we'll use it as a base to visit nearby Evangeline Beach and Grand-Pré. For now, let's see how Windsor is laid out—copy and paste this link:

http://www.town.windsor.ns.ca/sundry-1/436-landmark-map-of-windsor-ns-2010/file

 
 

You can also compare this map with the green map to see that Route 101, the 1970s parkway down the Annapolis Valley that helped kill the railway—don't get me started—screams its way through the north side of Windsor. All along the Valley it vies with the traditional Route 1, which connects the town centers. Route 1 is also known touristically as the Evangeline Trail, similar in touristic function to the Cabot trail.

 
 

In Windsor, Route 1 is King Street. Follow it from the bottom center of the map to where it ends at the river. Route 1 then uses Water Street to cross the river on a bridge. An adjacent bridge carries the now disused railroad tracks. You'll see later why we point this out so meticulously.

 
 

CLOCKMAKERS INN We arrive in Windsor at the bottom of the map on King Street/Route 1 and stop on the right just a half-block before highway 14 enters at the Clockmakers Inn, a Victorian mansion that is now a b&b. We get the feeling that this was the upscale part of town at the end of the 19C at what was then the edge of town. The Clockmakers Inn is a large, strikingly attractive Victorian, and proves to be a very good choice.

 
 
 A mystery: no clockmaker ever lived in the house, nor did it have anything to do with clocks. I missed the reference when I booked the b&b—it went totally over my head. I'm sure readers miss the reference as well, and why that is so is a very interesting story in itself. I maybe should have caught the reference because we were in Windsor before and were tenuously aware of it at that time. But then, that was 1969, and memory can be short. Stay tuned.
 
 

The Clockmakers Inn was built in 1894 for one Rufus Curry, a son of a wealthy sea captain and merchant. He occupied it until his death in 1934, and his widow Cornelia until 1946. Then, as is typical for these beautiful buildings of another era, it was too big for more contemporary tastes, and the building became first a nursing home, then a b&b under several owners.

 
 

The public rooms in this b&b are particularly large and numerous, but one usually gets to spend time only in the dining room, for breakfast. There's a magnificent staircase, near which are freshly baked cookies; the staircase has next to it a stained glass window, as we go to the bedrooms upstairs. As is often the custom, the rooms are named, and I specifically asked for the Cunard room. I've always enjoyed being on Cunard ocean liners, and have long been aware that Samuel Cunard was from Halifax, having started his business between the UK and Halifax, but then gradually moving the North American end, first to Boston and then to New York. There's also a statue of Cunard in Halifax.

 
 

The Cunard Room has period furniture, including a bed so high that you can't easily sit down on, but have to sort of hop up onto it. On the bedstand was a copy of Longfellow's Evangeline, important for nearby Grand Pré, for easy reference. I couldn't help rereading the first page. The room had a framed picture of the original Cunard ships Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary passing each other at sea and another of the later QE2/QM2 meeting at sea in April 2004. Both pictures were signed by Commodore Warwick. Now retired, Ronald Warwick (say Warrick), who I've met, was Master of the QE2 and the first captain of the QM2.

 
 
 It's a shame the public rooms of these inns are so rarely used to the extent they were when the houses were private, and are mostly now for show. I always make it my business, in places like here and in Louisbourg, to at least go sit down in the living room for a few moments to absorb the atmosphere, but then there are so many other things to do. The glittering exception in my mind was in Port Townsend, Washington, at the James House b&b (2008/21). I was finished for the day by mid-afternoon, and had a few hours before going out to dinner. I got back, other guests were still out, and the housekeeper was just leaving until the next morning. It was a chilly day, and she showed me how to operate the gas fireplace, and pointed out the complimentary refreshments on a side table by a high-backed easy chair. As I wrote in that posting, ". . . in the late afternoon and evening, I partook of the sherry and cookies provided in the cozy living room, sat down in front of the gas fireplace, and enjoyed working on the laptop." A nice memory.
 
 

There is a YouTube video (1:36) of the Clockmakers Inn. Try to disregard the modernized third floor.

 
 

THOMAS CHANDLER HALIBURTON Who is the most famous person you never heard of? I have a candidate to serve as an answer. In the mid-19C, three comparable authors that "everyone" knew, certainly in the English-speaking world, but also beyond, were Dickens, Twain, Haliburton. Is any name there new to you? Based on my personal experience, in ten minutes you'll have forgotten it again. Haliburton's name just doesn't seem to stick like others.

 
 

Born in Windsor, Thomas Chandler Haliburton (1796-1865, shown here at age 40) was Canada's first internationally best-selling author. He was a businessman, lawyer, judge (he's still often referred to as Judge Haliburton), later a politician. He was a writer about history, politics, and farm equipment, but his talents as a humorist, in some ways in the same vein as Mark Twain, are what brought him the level of fame in the mid-19C of Dickens and Twain himself.

 
 

He retired from law and moved to England in 1856, and three years later, became a Member of Parliament. He received an honorary degree from Oxford for service to literature, so well-known were his works.

 
 

Rising head and shoulders above his other works, his humorous writings about the adventures of a fictional Yankee clockmaker (aha!) named Sam Slick is what brought him international fame and became popular light reading. The 22 Sam Slick stories were first published in a magazine, then in book form in three parts in 1836, 1838, and 1840. The title of the book was The Clockmaker; or, the Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of Slickville. Slick was a caricature, a shady peddler from Connecticut who roamed Nova Scotia making wisecracks about life there. It was social satire of a moral nature, delivered with humor. Some 80 editions of the Clockmaker were printed. I don't think it's inaccurate to say that, at the time, Sam Slick was as famous a character as Huck Finn or Oliver Twist, but thus is the nature of fame.

 
 

When the house, after serving as a nursing home, was to become a b&b, it's not unreasonable that the first owners chose the name of the literary work most associated with Windsor and its famous son as the name of the inn, and it's been the Clockmakers Inn through the subsequent owners. When Beverly and I first visited Windsor in 1969, we'd been unaware about Haliburton, but visited the estate, toured the 1836 Haliburton House, and learned about him. I then forgot about him totally, and, when booking the Clockmakers Inn, had no concept of the literary reference until it was pointed out to me. Now, let's see if we all can remember the names Haliburton, Sam Slick, and the Clockmaker for more than ten minutes. But I doubt it; the names are elusive.

 
 
 As a further footnote on naming, the young couple that currently run the Inn have pointed out that, after researching the Cunard family, they found that the youngest son of Samuel Cunard in fact married the daughter of Judge Haliburton, which made me even more pleased that I'd stayed in the Cunard Room of the Clockmakers Inn—at least, once I understood the literary reference.
 
 

There's an old wisecrack that Shakespeare is no big deal, since all he did was string together a lot of famous sayings and make plays out of them. But remember that "sayings" are part of the title of The Clockmaker, and it's astonishing how many sayings Haliburton coined in that and other works. All of the sayings are of a homespun nature, which means they're so common, we never realize they're anything special. Whenever you say any of the following, you are actually quoting Haliburton. These are the ones I could find without too much trouble—there are assuredly more:

 
 
 six of one and half a dozen of the other
an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure
facts are stranger than fiction
the early bird gets the worm
as quick as a wink
jack of all trades and master of none
death and taxes are inevitable
he drinks like a fish
like looking for a needle in a haystack
it's raining cats and dogs
 
 

Sayings like these make Haliburton the most commonly quoted writer in North America—even if people don't realize they're doing it.

 
 
 The word "slick" meaning "smooth and glossy" took on the additional meaning "deceptively clever" in the 1590s, so Haliburton was just using that variation in meaning as part of Sam Slick's name to reflect his nature. Still—and this is conjecture—it would seem that Haliburton's Sam Slick compounded the significance of that variation of the word's meaning, particularly when we talk today about a "slick character"—or is that a "Slick character"?
 
 

This is a short, illustrative YouTube video (1:57) about Haliburton.

 
 

FORT EDWARD NHS & THE ACADIANS Windsor was inhabited by the Mi'kmaq for several millennia prior to the arrival of Westerners. Then, once Champlain and others founded Port-Royal to the south, Acadians migrated from there up the Annapolis Valley to here in the 1680s to what was then called Pisiguit. (The name has numerous spelling variations between s/z, g/q, t/d, appearing also as Pisiquit, Piziguit, Pisiquid, Pisiguid, and more.) French census records dated 1686 list well-established farms and diked marshlands. At that point, the Minas Basin was the center of population of Acadia, containing villages we've already mentioned including Pisiguit, Cobequid, and Grand-Pré.

 
 

Fort Edward was built here in 1750 to protect the overland route between the Bay of Fundy and Halifax, the new British capital, built in 1749, but this region being the center of Acadian population that it was, Fort Edward then became central to the expulsion of the Acadians in the Bay of Fundy Campaign in 1755.

 
 

It's only mid-afternoon now, and we've settled in to the Inn. Look again at the Windsor map so we can go see the town. Leaving the southern end of King Street, we can cut across to go take a quick look at the large estate that includes the Haliburton House Museum over on Clifton Avenue to pay proper hommage, but we can just drive around the grounds and see the house, but we needn't tour it.

 
 

We can then cut back to King Street to the northern part of town, where, driving uphill just a block or so off the main road, we come to the Fort Edward National Historic Site (Photo by Verne Equinox). Actually, there's not much left. At the top of the hill are square grass-covered earthworks showing where the walls had been, protected by cannon, as in the picture. Almost all the buildings that had been within the walls are gone. For instance, the officers' quarters burned in 1922. The only thing that remains is the Fort Edward Blockhouse (Photo by Hantsheroes), although you can see here (click) how much higher the earthworks are above the river in the background. However, the blockhouse is one of the few mid-18C buildings left in Nova Scotia, but also has the distinction of being the oldest remaining blockhouse in North America (1750). We last saw a blockhouse in Merrickville on the Rideau Canal, and that, typical for a blockhouse, served by itself as a mini-fort. This one, however, was only part of the entire fort.

 
 

1000-1100 Acadians, seen as a threat to security, were forcibly removed from their homes and deported from the vicinity of Fort Edward, although some did escape and hid out for several years. In the early 1760's up to 70 Acadian families were imprisoned in Fort Edward. A 1764 proclamation allowed them to return and to own land again, but many went elsewhere in Nova Scotia. We find much of this information on historic tablets spread around the grounds of the fort.

 
 

THE AVON RIVER CAUSEWAY We're right next to the Avon River now, so you'd think we'd check the tide, but that no longer works in Windsor, a shattering concept, given that the Bay of Fundy and its tides are a major point of interest in this area. This is because we now come across the third in our list of environmental mistakes the Canadian government has made regarding waterways.

 
 

Check the Windsor map again. We made a point earlier of where Route One and the rail tracks cross the river on bridges, and then commented on the expressway, Route 101, having drawn away the business from the rail service, dooming it. But the government did much worse in Windsor. In 1970, when the expressway was built, it wasn't made to cross the Avon on a bridge. It wasn't even made to cross it on a causeway raised on pillars. The same idiotic solution was found as elsewhere: a rock-and-earth fill causeway was built for the road and rail tracks, using the excuse of flood control, since there are gates under the causeway to regulate the Avon's freshwater discharge and the incoming Fundy tide. But this completely chokes off the Avon from the Bay. Windsor had been a major port in the steamship era, and it's now cut off from shipping entirely. It's also dramatically affected navigation in the lower Avon because of excessive siltation—the tidal exchange and freshwater discharge can't wash away accumulated silt in the area that is now swamps and mudflats, with excessive vegetation. The upper Avon no longer rises and falls, but it kept artificially high. It's been renamed "Lake Pisiquid", a rather idiotic slap in the face to the Acadians who'd actually lived in Pisiquid. However, real estate values around the lakeshore have risen, since the land is now lakeshore property. A fake lake, but a lake nevertheless.

 
 

One scientist claimed that bottom-dwelling creatures at Windsor were experiencing a two-thirds mortality rate and he referred to the area as a "biological desert". There is concern for the critical habitats of the endangered Atlantic salmon and the American eel. The causeway has a "zero" fish passageway, thereby impeding all species of fish needing to migrate to their freshwater habitats to complete their lifecycles.

 
 

Copy and paste this link to see a satellite map of the Windsor area, then scroll down until it loads:

http://www.maplandia.com/canada/nova-scotia/hants-county/windsor/

 
 

You can see old Route 1 and the 101 Parkway. The truncated upper Avon River appears as clear blue, since it's all freshwater ("Lake Pisiquid"). The lower Avon, plus two side rivers, appear the customary reddish-brown that we expect in this area due to the silt, although some of this is silted mudflats.

 
 

You can see why we can't check the tides at Windsor—it sounds so ironic to say so—but have to drive up to Hantsport (see map) on the Avon to inspect the tidal range. When we're there at 19:00 this evening, we see the Avon full, since high tide is at 19:24 at 12.1 m (39.7 ft). Being in the same area allows us to compare it with low tide the next morning on the way to Grand-Pré, where we'll find the tide receding at 11:00, heading toward a low at 14:10 at 2.8 m (9.2 ft).

 
 

Highway 101 is scheduled to be upgraded to four lanes in the near future, and there are arguments on both sides of what should be done. There have been discussions about replacing the causeway with highway and rail bridges to improve water flow back to what it has always been. The fact that New Brunswick removed a similar causeway blocking the Petitcodiac River and its tidal bore in 2007 to avoid facing charges under the federal Fisheries Act is expected to at least have ramifications on the Avon River Causeway. While there is hope, nothing has yet been decided. Copy and paste the link to take at least a quick look at the below article by the Friends of the Avon River, especially the maps and pictures:

http://www.viewzone.com/avonriver.html

 
 

Evangeline Redux    I'm not sure how to handle this subject the second time around. I don't want to reinvent the wheel, and tell all about it all over again. Instead, I would strongly suggest the reader go back right now to 2008/4 (was it REALLY that long ago?). It's the third of three postings on Louisiana, starting in the first posting with my one and only (first and LAST) visit to Mardi Gras, and subsequent drives to Bayou Country and plantation houses, Avery Island (home of Tabasco Sauce) and Evangeline's Saint Martinville. On that third posting, do a Find (Ctrl-F) for Evangeline, and at least review that Series entry about Evangeline and Gabriel, with short quotes from the poem and discussions of Longfellow, Acadia, and related matters. While the story ends in Louisiana, it starts in Nova Scotia, so one should be aware of both. I will assume from here on in that the reader knows the plot of the story and other points made in 2008/4, including what's to be seen in Saint Martinville, Dolores del Rio's connection with that statue, and how the town is twinned with Grand-Pré. Beyond that, I'll add here new information to the subject, and then we'll take part in continuing the current visit, on to Grand-Pré.

 
 

In addition, if you want to either read or just skim the text of Evangeline, below is a link to it. I strongly recommend, if you haven't done so before, at least reading the first three verses, constituting the Prolog (lines 1-19), and the very last four verses, constituting the Encounter and Epilog (lines 1343-1399). Doing so will give you a strong sense of the epic. Become acquainted with the iconic opening phrase This is the forest primeval. (French: C'est l'antique forêt.; German Hier ist herrlicher Urwald.) And when "the deep-voiced neighboring ocean" is mentioned, both in Prolog and Epilog, think of the Bay of Fundy we're in the process of visiting:

http://www.bartleby.com/42/791.html

 
 

ÉVANGÉLINE ET MOI Let me first summarize my own personal background with the story.
As mentioned in 2008, I attended enriched classes from grade 4 to 9 in New York City, and we read Evangeline, I believe, in grade 6, and it made a great impression.
In the mid-1960s, when I found that Beverly hadn't read it, I got her a copy and she caught up with me on the story.
On the second of our two huge summer drives around the US and Canada in 1968-1969, we were in Nova Scotia that second year and Grand-Pré was without a doubt a stop we made, on 11 July 1969. We stopped again in 1984. My memory of both trips includes the iconic Evangeline statue with the church behind it, but unfortunately little else. A revisit is now in order.
Later on that same trip in 1969, after we'd swung way south along the Gulf Coast, we stopped in Saint Martinville, Louisiana, on 1 August 1969. It was an unplanned coincidence, driving to so many places that year, that we visited both Evangeline locations, in historical sequence, just 21 days apart.
In 2008, on the Mardi Gras trip, I was again, as we've just said, in Saint Martinville a second time, this time for a much more thorough visit, as that posting shows.
Here we are in 2014, and we're about to visit Grand-Pré again, for ITS more thorough visit and writeup. I was amazed at how much more insight I had this time as to what I was seeing and doing.
In the autumn of this year, I was on another trip to the Gulf Coast, and had occasion to have a long driving day between Galveston, Texas, and Natchez, Mississippi on Interstate 10 through Louisiana, very close to Saint Martinville. There was no good reason to stop again, since I'd had the more thorough visit there in 2008. But with the excuse of breaking up a long drive, I added an hour to my trip and got off again at Saint Martinville for a quick, 15-minute visit to the gorgeous, languid Bayou Teche, the Evangeline Oak, and the Evangeline statue. It was unplanned that I'd be both north and south this year, so I can count that much as a coincidence, one that I tweaked by actually getting off the Interstate. Thus, I've repeated the 1969 dual visit in 2014 to both Evangeline sites, again in historical sequence. It was on 6 June in Nova Scotia and 3 November in Louisiana, this time not three weeks, but five months apart. Vive Évangéline!

 
 

LONGFELLOW & EVANGELINE It might seem unusual that Longfellow, as an American poet, wrote about Acadia, a Canadian topic, but it continues to illustrate the joint history of New England and the Maritimes, lying directly opposite each other on the northeast coast of North America.

 
 

What IS unusual, however, is that Longfellow never visited Nova Scotia, that is, the former Acadia. He was a professor of modern languages (ahem!) at Harvard starting in 1836, and was there for 17 years. He did not come across the story of the Acadians by himself, but was pointed toward it by his friend, Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose House of Seven Gables we mentioned in Salem in 2011/20. At the time, the story of the Acadian expulsion was little known, but there were two historical reference works available that mentioned it. It's a known fact that Longfellow borrowed a copy of the major 1829 reference work, Thomas Chandler Haliburton's An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia, from the Harvard library in 1841, and relied heavily on it. He also consulted a major 1770 work in French (learn languages!) by Abbé Guillaume Raynal. While the source I found didn't name that work, other research shows that Raynal's most important work was indeed written in 1770 in four volumes, and its wordy title is L'Histoire philosophique et politique des établissements et du commerce des Européens dans les deux Indes.

 
 

Longfellow started writing Evangeline in 1845 and published it in 1847. Hundreds of editions in all major languages followed, notably the French edition in 1853, and, interestingly, the French Canadian edition in 1865. Contemporary reviews were very positive, and it promptly became an international best-seller, notably among the Acadians in Nova Scotia. It became his most famous work in his lifetime, and remains popular. Before the influence of the poem, historians generally focused on the British founding of Halifax in 1749 as the beginning of Nova Scotia, but the poem's appearance made well known the century and a half of Acadian settlement before that.

 
 

There's another very interesting cross-border situation here. We first said that the first Siege of Louisbourg in 1745 by the "British" was actually by New Englanders assisted by the British, that is, prerevolutionary "American British", assisted by "European British". That also applied to the Acadian expulsion ten years later in 1755, which was likewise planned and executed by New Englanders and British. But Longfellow wanted to shed light on the plight of the Acadians, and blaming fellow New Englanders would not have been a diplomatic way to accomplish that, so he carefully omitted from the poem any New England responsibility for the event. Throughout the poem, the British are exclusively defined as the "bad guys" and the US is cast as a place of refuge as the story evolves. I suppose he felt that the end justifies the means in disregarding significant culpability.

 
 

Painters have been inspired to illustrate the Evangeline story, and we have here a work for each end of the poem. This is an 1893 painting showing the Deportation at Grand-Pré, notably the village church where the men were gathered together. This c1899 painting by Samuel G Richards shows the Encounter, where she, as a nurse, finally meets Gabriel, and is titled Evangeline Discovering Her Affianced in the Hospital.

 
 

The story of Evangeline also had a significant effect on the early film industry. Perhaps that isn't so surprising, since such a tragic love story is quite melodramatic, as were early silent films. Many films were made in the early 20C about Evangeline, but we'll mention just two, both silents.

 
 

The first Canadian feature-length film ever made, and the first Canadian feature-length film ever shot on location, was Evangeline, produced in 1913 by Canadian Bioscope of Halifax. Quite appropriately, it was shot in the Annapolis Valley and at Grand-Pré. The company existed only for three years, 1912-1915, since it did not survive the outbreak of WWI. The film was both a commercial and artistic success, but it and the handful of other films the company made afterward are lost. However, one single still remains of the 1913 Evangeline, and I'm pleased to say that this is it.

 
 

In 1929, a well-known film version of Evangeline starring Dolores del Rio was made by the Art Cinema Corporation (c1927-1933) and distributed by United Artists. Prints survive at the UCLA Film Archive. Cut and paste this link to see a still of the 1929 Evangeline:

http://www.silenthollywood.com/sitebuilder/images/Dolores_Del_Rio_EVANGELINE-570x444.jpg

 
 

I'd heard in Louisiana that this film was shot in St Martinville, which is why the St Martinville statue of Evangeline (no attribution) was posed for by Dolores del Rio and donated to the town by the film's cast and crew, as we said back in 2008/4. It's perfectly true, but that was just one of the locations. A bit more online digging confirms there were four filming locations. Two others in California are not overly noteworthy, Big Basin Redwoods State Park and Point Lobos State Reserve, but, to my great surprise, filming was also done at Minnehaha Falls, Minneapolis MN, which we described with pictures in 2003/4. It's surprising, since this is another Longfellow site, obviously deeply associated with his characters Minnehaha and Hiawatha. How ironic to be filming Evangeline on Minnehaha's turf! How further ironic that locations at opposite ends of the Mississippi River—Minnesota and Louisiana—are both associated with Longfellow characters.

 
 

Although we just had a still from the 1929 film, one that seems to show the Encounter at the end, there is available online a YouTube excerpt, apparently from the beginning of the film, of the 1929 Evangeline. To appreciate this as a work of art, one has to accept seeing the story through the framework of a melodramatic 1920s silent film. Not surprisingly for the melodramatic style, the story is rather simplistic. The whole video runs 8:40, but jump ahead immediately to 1:49, where the film starts. Dolores del Rio as Evangeline appears at 6:10; the clip doesn't go far enough to show Gabriel.

 
 

The name Evangeline didn't exist before Longfellow. He made it up. Let's consider this:

EU- (variation: EV-) is a Greek prefix meaning "good, well," as in "eulogy, euphoria, euphony, euphemism".
ANGEL derives ultimately from Greek άγγελος / angelos "messenger".
The two combined to form ευάγγελος / euangelos "bringing good news".
This developed in English to EVANGEL ("gospel"), which expanded to form EVANGELISM, EVANGELIST.
Longfellow invented the name EVANGELINE specifically for his epic poem. It's become a female given name, but is rare, used by less than one female in 9,090. It also appears as Evangelina.

 
 

It's obvious what Longfellow based the name on, but it's less obvious just why. At the risk of over-thinking his reasoning, the meaning doesn't seem to apply to the character or the story directly. I have only a half-baked theory, that she was meant to bring the "news" about the Acadians to a wide, international audience and perhaps for her to become a cultural icon to the Acadians. Yet the news wasn't "good" but tragic, for all involved, so that doesn't seem to work, does it?

 
 

EVANGELINE & THE ACADIANS But she did become a cultural icon. It's been said that her story "awakened the collective consciousness of Acadian people". With Evangeline, their story acquired international prestige, and the Acadians acquired an identity. Starting with the latter 19C, Acadian leaders took advantage of the poem to further their cause, despite historical errors that may exist in the poem, which the poem ignores. The story also has promoted tourism to Nova Scotia.

 
 

Although Evangeline is fictional, in the mind of the public she acquires a certain reality as a local heroine. While the name didn't exist earlier, it's now used as a first name, and occasional place name, written with proper acute accent marks: Évangéline. In the 20C, at local summer festivals, there are contests to choose an Évangéline and a Gabriel, both in Nova Scotia and in Louisiana.

 
 

In 1971, a French-born, naturalized French-Canadian lyricist and composer named Michel Conte wrote a song called Évangéline, which was probably his greatest success. It's been recorded by a number of chanteuses, notably by the Acadian Marie-Jo Thério from Moncton NB. The song is in standard French, not Québec or Acadian French. We have three (!!!) videos of her singing the song. I suggest you at least give listening to them a try, for the reasons cited, including language practice. Depending on your mood at the moment, OK, we admit it, a box of tissues near your computer might come in handy.

 
 

FIRST VIDEO This first video runs 5:56 and appears with bilingual subtitles, in both French and English simultaneously. It has very few pictures. If you speak or even just know some French, you'll find that the text is not complex, and it's an excellent opportunity to review and practice some French using the dual-language screens. Some may get into the sprit of following the French, and decide to run it a second time. The only unusual word I had to look up was sarcelle, which the English version simply has as "teal". It refers to a teal duck, whose color is—what else--teal (blue). The confusion comes from the fact that the word is most frequently used in English as a color, not the duck of that color. Of the few pictures, the Evangeline statues in Grand-Pré (standing) and in St Martinville (seated) are shown at the appropriate times.

 
 

SECOND VIDEO This second video runs 5:58 and appears just with English subtitles. It's a good opportunity to listen to the French while using the English as a crutch, as needed. This version is fully illustrated, including excerpts from a variety of parts of the 1929 film.

 
 

THIRD VIDEO August 15 has been celebrated since 1881 as the Fête nationale de l'Acadie / National Acadian Day, and Madawaska, Maine, is the location of a large annual celebration of the Fête / Day. Copy and paste this link to see the area we're talking about:

http://www.nps.gov/maac/planyourvisit/upload/maacmap.jpg

 
 

Find the St John River, which denotes the international border at this point before it actually flows south to St John. At the uppermost point of the river, two yellow dots show Edmundston, New Brunswick across the international border (there's a bridge) from Madawaska, Maine, and both are a stone's throw from Québec Province on the left. Madawaska is the northernmost town, not only in Maine, but in all of New England.

 
 

This area is hugely francophone. Not only is Québec nearby, but the northern part of bilingual New Brunswick is where its largest francophone concentration is. 95% of Edmundston is francophone, and its cross-border twin city, Madawaska, is 83.4% francophone, which gives insight to having the festival here, although outside of Canada. The third video shows the Fête this year in Madawaska, on 15 August 2014, with Marie-Jo performing the song. For language practice, we had bilingual subtitles in the first video, then just English subtitles. This time around, it's time to wing it, since there are just French subtitles as a crutch (but be sure to CLICK ON CC AT THE BOTTOM RIGHT OF THE FRAME to activate the Closed Captioning!) There are no pictures this time, just the performance, which runs 8:08. You may want to skip the introduction and jump right to her performance, which starts at 0:54.

 
 
 At 1:08 she greets Nouvelle Angleterre / New England.
At 7:07 when she sings Ton nom dépasse les frontières / Your name crosses borders, she pauses for a cheer from the audience to acknowledge that they're across the border in New England.
 
 

Grand Pré    The green map shows that our day trip out of Windsor to Grand-Pré simply involves a drive up the west bank of the Avon, through Hantsport again, where we do our second check of the tide level mentioned earlier. It also illustrates that, while Windsor is inland, Grand-Pré faces the Minas Basin directly, so Evangeline Beach should have a nice view. While we start out using a regular map, which is quite good, it isn't until we actually stop at the Visitor Centre that we get the below absolutely excellent overview of the area (copy and paste the link), which I've also found online. This map has given me insights I never got before on two previous visits.

http://www.paysagedegrand-pre.ca/uploads/2/1/0/7/21073090/landscape_of_grand_pre_mini.pdf

 
 

When the map appears, first note at the top that it says "Welcome Bienvenue Pjila'si". It's worth pointing out again that signs in Mi'kmaq, at least the welcome greeting, are not uncommon in the Maritimes. I first saw the word at the entrance to the Bras d'Or Lakes Inn in St Peter, where they went one step further by including Gaelic: "Welcome Bienvenue Failte and Pjila’si".

 
 

We are looking at the outside of the map folder, which we'll come back to later. For now, scroll down to what is the inside of the folder, the actual map. We should all appreciate the first-rate quality cartography here. Adjust the size of the map at the top to taste using the (- +).

 
 

We arrive up from Windsor and Hantsport on Route 1 (in red), since it's a pleasant, country road, but find that, unusually, a piece that road is missing, and we're diverted for one exit onto the parkway, Route 101 (in gold), and immediately cross a small, local river. It isn't clear at the time, but later inspection of this map shows that Route 1 no longer has a bridge over this river, that apparently was once there. We also find that this is the small, local Gaspereau River, which enters the Minas Basin right next to the Avon River at the above right. Keep the Gaspereau in mind. We take Exit 10 back to Route 1 in tiny Hortonville, and a minute later we're in the former Grand-Pré.

 
 

Note the names here, which are bilingual, common in francophone Québec Province, perhaps in bilingual New Brunswick, but unusual in anglophone Nova Scotia—it's obviously in deference to the Acadian history of the Grand-Pré area. And they are not only bilingual, but bilingual in that unique Canadian way. We're right next to "Chemin Old Post Road", which no one reads as written—you have to choose your language. Either you read it as "Old Post Road" or as "Chemin Old Post", a reading choice which, by itself, is already a little weird, and that is hard to find outside Canada, if not impossible. But then there's the second layer of weirdness. English names put into French are not translated. Remember Rue University in Montréal, which was NOT Rue de l'Université, as it would be anywhere else outside Canada. Similarly, this is NOT Vieux Chemin de Poste in French, but Chemin Old Post. I suppose it's politically necessary, but I continue to shake my head.

 
 

Also note further to the left on Route 1 that we're still on the Evangeline Trail—or, if you're so inclined, the Route panoramique Évangéline. But of course, where else but in Grand-Pré would that name be more appropriate? Anyway, from Route 1 we make a right onto Grand Pré Road, and, as we cross Old Post Road, we already get a feeling of being off the beaten path, driving on roads more countrified even than Route 1.

 
 

We immediately pass the Visitors' Centre on the left (#2), but will come back to it. We continue through a large agricultural area and promptly zig left to reach Evangeline Beach Road to Evangeline Beach (#4). We learn later from this map that the community there is North Grand Pré. But when we are there the season is still early, and restaurants and lodgings are still closed. We step onto the boardwalk with its information panels about birds, but just see this (copy and paste):

http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RCxT2UeBlSM/UAX1nod562I/AAAAAAAABjw/htoO9Q6_1Nw/s1600/IMG_5640.JPG

 
 

As in this picture, the tide is out, exposing the typical, extensive (see map) reddish-brown mudflats of the area. They must be a great bird-feeding area, but it's not yet the migratory season, and there are few birds to be seen. So, we resort to YouTube to see what we'd see during the migratory season: this is the Flight of the Sandpipers (1:29) at Evangeline Beach.

 
 

We backtrack through North Grand Pré and the agricultural area and, at its south end, pull over to read a large government sign, following my policy of never letting a sign pass you by without stopping to greet it. It says that this land is maintained by the Nova Scotia Department of Agriculture. Fair enough, but no big deal. But it also says that this is the area behind the Grand Pré Dike, that it covers 1,219 hectares (3,013 acres) below sea level, and that it's behind 8,673 m (28,455 ft)—equal to 8.7 km (5.4 mi)--of dike.

 
 

It's a moment of revelation, and one light bulb turns on after another in a forehead-slapping epiphany of things I'd never realized before at Grand-Pré, since I'd never passed the historic site by to go to the Beach before:

1. This rich area of farmland is diked-in land built by the Acadians two-and-a-half centuries ago. They owned it then, but, as you can read at the top of the map, it's all privately owned now (don't count on the present owners being Acadian), and apparently still producing richly. Just look at the size of it on the map.

2. The Acadians diked in this land, and drained it. Checking the map shows that Evangeline Beach is on the former Long Island, now connected to the mainland by this farmland. Red lines show the dikes the Acadians built on the west and east sides, to connect the island to the mainland. As the map also says, the unpaved roads on top of the dikes are also privately owned.

3. But actually, the head-slapping moment was the language one. The historic area (#2) covers the location of the former village of Grand-Pré. I always knew the second word meant "field" but never what field it referred to. So this is the grand pré it was named after! I never knew there was actually any pré at all behind Grand-Pré, let alone such a grand one!

 
 
 Technically, a pré is a meadow, perhaps a pasture for grazing, and a champ is a field, which is why the Elysian Fields are the Champs-Élysées. Still, I think we can take a bit of translator's license here and say that Grand-Pré can best be translated as big field, great field, even grand field, which work better in English. Think of an English-language place name such as Grandfield, or even the proper name Granfield.
 
 

We're already at the edge of the Grand-Pré National Historic Site, so let's just drive into the parking lot and enter the Visitors' Centre. Acadians inhabited the village between 1680 and 1755, and Grand-Pré was the most important of the Acadian settlements. But as Longfellow tells us in his Prolog, Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.. The fields were given over to the New England planters, and later to Loyalists. But of all the Acadian villages, it was Longfellow's poem that caused Grand-Pré to be the spot most associated with the Expulsion.

 
 

The Grand-Pré area is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and on our map, it now makes perfect sense that the yellow line delineating the WHS covers not only the townsite, but also the entire grand pré.

 
 

In the Visitors' Centre, we have a longish chat with the man selling tickets, who, perhaps not surprisingly, has an Acadian heritage himself that goes way back. It's time to see the video explaining Grand-Pré and the Expulsion. Recently in 2014/17, when discussing the Expulsion, we saw this YouTube video on the reenactment of the Acadian Deportation. I said at the time that at least part of it was taken from the video shown at Grand-Pré, the part up to 3:47. If you take a quick look at the first part again, you'll see the events in the church at Grand-Pré starting with the painting at 0:45.

 
 
 Two items of interest occurred when I watched the video at the Visitors Centre (not repeated here). First, when I saw a group of soldiers in the video, I immediately recognized that soldier in costume, at a cannon, that I'd had a lengthy conversation with at Louisbourg—there's no doubt in my mind. It makes perfect sense that they should have shot period scenes at the Louisbourg restoration, using local portrayers already in period costume. Then, when watching the credits roll at the end, I spotted a thank-you for services rendered to three b&bs, one of which was Cranberry Cove, where I stayed in Louisbourg in Anne's Hideaway.
 
 

We'll come back to the main map in a moment, but now, since we're onsite, let's use this map of the Grand-Pré NHS (Map by Dr Wilson). Or, if you prefer, copy and paste this link to the same map in another window:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6f/Plan_parc_Grand-Pr%C3%A9.svg/1000px-Plan_parc_Grand-Pr%C3%A9.svg.png

 
 

The Visitors' Centre and parking lot are at #3 on this map. A short walk through a garden, followed by a right turn, brings you to the iconic view (Photo by Dr Wilson), at a distance (click), of the Evangeline statue (#4) with the church (#5) behind. Moving closer, we get the much more familiar iconic view (Photo by Timotrav) that many people recognize.

 
 

The bronze statue of a standing Evangeline was put up by Acadians in 1920, along with a reconstructed church building (not a real church) to represent the original village church on the original site. Since no one knows what the original church actually looked like, one was built with a Normandy-style arch. For comparison, look again at the seated Evangeline in stone in St Martinville, modeled in 1929 after Dolores del Rio.

 
 

On the map of the WHS, #6 is an orchard, #7 a vegetable garden, #8 an old forge, #9 a well # 13 are some small ponds. The actually only other real location of interest is #11, which is a bust of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which is a copy of one in Westminster Abbey. One more thing about this map. We've said how the railroads in Nova Scotia (as in many other places) were killed by the highways. Note that the route of the Dominion Atlantic Railway (chemin de fer) came right through the property, and the right-of-way is still there, as well as the station. Imagine coming up from Halifax and getting off the train to see Grand-Pré right at that station with a perfect location. Furthermore, the railway used Grand-Pré and Evangeline to promote rail travel, using the logo "Land of the Evangeline Route". It's all gone.

 
 

We can leave this map and go back to the main one. Find #2 again and note here, too, the route of the former railway. We cut down to Old Post Road and zigzag through Hortonville out to Wharf Road, almost at the Gaspereau River to a sight I'd never known about before. This is the point, known as Hortonville Landing, where the residents of Grand-Pré were brought to be loaded onto ships for deportation, and today the location of the monument known as the Croix de la Déportation, or Deportation Cross (Photo by DWBAtlanticpic). On the map you'll note there's also another monument here which I think is frankly out of place. After the Acadians were deported in 1755, the same landing was used in 1760 when New England Planters arrived to resettle the Grand-Pré area, a fact commemorated by that other monument. I suppose the current anglophones in Nova Scotia feel they have to commemorate their people arriving—there was something similar in Cobequid at the tidal bore—but putting it right here just seems like a slap in the face. And I get the feeling the same theme continues under the surface. The picture I just showed of the Cross I had to find in French Wikipedia, because the picture English Wikipedia used for the same entry just "had to" show both monuments.

 
 

On our way back, we'll zigzag along Old Post Road and pass Grand-Pré Road by just a bit to location #1. This is something else I never saw before, the View Park, built relatively recently, up on a hill, that has, in addition to more explanatory markers, an excellent overall view of the area. To judge the size of the expanse that can be seen, scroll back above the map to the previous page. There's a circular map there that indicates in red the areas that can be seen from the View Park, and the picture on the extreme right shows that, centered around the Grand-Pré church, with the grand pré itself in the background.

 
 

There's one thing I've left to now that I found disturbing, yet politically necessary, I suppose. You might wonder what the stance of the British government is on the deportation after all these years. Well, in the Grand-Pré church there's an answer. It's a large, fancy proclamation on the subject from 2003 in a glass case, supposedly from Queen Elizabeth and signed by her, but of course, actually from the British government. Do you think it's an apology? Perhaps some people viewing it think so, but they don't look into it carefully enough.

 
 

Think of cases you've read about of big companies settling disagreements out of court, but not admitting culpability in the matter. Why? If they said they were culpable, they're open to lawsuits. It's the same thing with the British government. The proclamation, with the Queen supposedly speaking, expresses regret for past events, but there's no apology there. If there were, lawsuits against Britain dating from 1755 to the present would flood in about confiscated land and other property, loss of life, and a myriad of other things. So after regret is expressed, Acadians are asked to turn the page and move on. It actually uses the words "turn the page". Thus this wishy-washy proclamation, when read between the lines, draws no legal of financial responsibility of Britain for what happened. I suppose turning the page from past history is the only practical way to proceed, but it's all very depressing.

 
 

Finally, I found more information only available on French Wikipedia, and not in English Wikipedia. Perhaps you can see why. Translated and summarized, it stated that a lot of Acadians considered Grand-Pré the historic and spiritual heart of Acadia and that an Acadian should visit it at least once in his or her lifetime, a point of view that reminds one of Mecca. In addition, there are those who come for symbolic reasons, such as athletes visiting the site before a local competition. Most interesting of all is what some do as a special pilgrimage. They march the route of deportation IN REVERSE, from Horton's Landing back to the site of Grand-Pré, as a symbolic "coming back home".

 
 

Bay of Fundy: Annapolis Basin    The next day we leave Windsor and Grand-Pré and drive from the Minas Basin down to the other body of water that defines the area of our visit, the Annapolis Basin. To do so, we'll drive down the Annapolis Valley along the Annapolis River to Annapolis Royal, our destination, where, unusually, we'll spend eight nights (more later). See the green map for large-scale orientation, but for closer orientation of this last part of our trip, copy and paste this link to the map of the area in another window:

http://www.aquatic.uoguelph.ca/rivers/anmap.htm

 
 

Let's take those four "Annapolis" names in order, We're still along the Bay of Fundy but you see we're leaving the Minas Basin area to a deeper portion of the Bay. You also can see that the Annapolis Basin is a sub-basin, an internal body of water not in the open Bay. The mostly shallow basin is about 24 km (15 mi) in length and about 6 km (3.7 mi) at its widest. It's actually a tidal lake, and the average daily tidal range in the Basin is 8 m (26 ft), with the water level going up or down 0.3 m (1 ft) every 15 minutes.

 
 

On the map you can see St John NB on the other side, and judge where the ferry route is between there and Digby in the Annapolis Basin. This is one of the few remaining transportation infrastructures in the area, with the disappearance of the railroad and with other ferry services being minimal, and tenuous.

 
 

You can see on the map that the Annapolis Valley, running southwest for 112 km (70 mi), connects the two basins. It's defined by two mountain ranges. To the southeast is the range known simply as South Mountain (see map), which is broad and stretches across the spine of the Nova Scotia mainland. It protects the valley from severe weather coming from the Atlantic, but seems to stand off more distantly to the side when one is in the valley. On the other hand, the long, narrow, volcanic ridge known as North Mountain, as seen in this NASA satellite view, rises dramatically from the valley floor, and is about as in-your-face as you can get. Its steep face, directly adjacent, shelters the valley from severe weather coming in from the Bay of Fundy. The two ridges together create a micro-climate in the valley with relatively mild temperatures, which, combined with the fertile sedimentary soils there, provide the valley with major agricultural benefits. The valley is particularly famous for its apple orchards.

 
 

A break in North Mountain occurs at the gap called Digby Gut, where a narrow, deep tidal channel cuts through the mountain ridge and provides an outlet from the Basin to the Bay of Fundy. There are strong tidal currents, numerous rocky ledges, frequent fogs and unpredictable winds that make it a dangerous passage requiring either local knowledge of the waters or a pilot on a ship. As to the word "gut" as used here, dictionaries define it as a "narrow passage or strait". It would seem that the metaphor involved in calling a transportation passage a gut has to be nothing beyond a biological one.

 
 

The Annapolis River runs much of the length of the valley and, in actuality, simply widens to become the Annapolis Basin, just as the floor of the Basin is geologically considered to be an underwater extension of the valley floor. Between the narrow upper river and the actual Basin is the estuary portion of the river, which is considered to start at Bridgetown, the head of navigation and also the tidehead, and to extend to Port Royal. Port Royal, on the green map, is considered to be at the mouth of the river, but that really has to be subject to interpretation, as the change in width does seem to be gradual.

 
 

From the 18C to the early 20C, during the age of sail, the river was heavily used as a transportation corridor all the way up to Bridgetown, which had a thriving shipbuilding industry. The name of the town would imply it had the first bridge across the river for travelers going upstream. Opposite Annapolis Royal is Granville Ferry, whose name also indicates that here one once crossed by boat, but in the early 20C, the ferry was replaced by a bridge, from then on belying the name of the town and that of Bridgetown.

 
 

But in 1984, using the excuse that the bridge needed to be replaced anyway, the powers that be instead inflicted another of their ecological disasters on the region—the fourth one we've discussed, if you're counting—by once again building a rock-and-earth-filled dam and causeway (to carry Route 1), which blocked the Annapolis River between Granville Ferry and Annapolis Royal. Here the excuse was to build the Annapolis Royal Tidal Generating Station (Photo by Hartmut Inerle). Here the view of the facility and the causeway is from the upstream side, with the Basin and Annapolis Royal immediately beyond.

 
 

It's North America's first (and only) tidal power plant. When I stopped there, there was a retired engineer who apparently volunteered to explain the facility in the viewing room above the visitors' center. The part of the Annapolis River above the dam/causeway now functions as a reservoir. By a pact with upstream landowners, who, like in Windsor, were tired of seeing high muddy riverbanks and tidal flats, but also flooded fields, the high water level in what is now the reservoir must be maintained, and not be allowed to fluctuate by more than 2 ft (0.6 m). Thus the plant generates on the outgoing tide only. The incoming tide is allowed to pass through the dam and raise the water level in the reservoir by the prescribed amount, and then that same limited amount is allowed to escape through the dam on the outgoing tide, at which point electricity is generated.

 
 

As I'd discussed with the Lockmaster in St Peters, I discussed with this engineer my feelings on these earthen dams-cum-causeways, including this one. To my surprise, he agreed with me. None of them, even this one, should have been built, which is why no more have been built since.

 
 

Further research shows mixed results. Yes, the project does generate electricity, but the blocking of water by the dam has resulted in increased riverbank erosion on both the upstream and downstream ends. The dam is also known as a trap for marine life. Two notable cases involved humpback whales who passed through the dam into the reservoir and became trapped upstream.

 
 

It's now time to continue the narrative of our visit, but it will be slightly out of sequence. It all revolves around the stay in Annapolis Royal, but before we actually drive into town, it would be most convenient to discuss first three local day trips of only a few hours each out of town and around the Basin, and only then conclude with visiting Annapolis Royal itself. To do this, cut and paste this link to a new, local map for reference:

 
 

On this map note the places we've discussed. Check out to see how it's difficult to see that Port Royal is at the mouth of the Annapolis River. Note how Route 1 crosses the causeway. Find again the ferry out of Digby to St John. Near Digby find the town of Bear River on the (unnamed) river of the same name, which is the other river of any consequence entering Annapolis Basin. The curiosity about this river, located in a drowned river valley, is that it's calculated that it was the ancient original northern terminus of the Bear River that carved out Digby Gut across the Basin.

 
 

The three day trips out of Annapolis Royal will be to (1) Port Royal, (2) North Mountain and its side of Digby Gut, and (3) Digby and its side of Digby Gut. We'll end with our stay in Annapolis Royal, including Fort Anne, located in town.

 
 

Port Royal   A discussion of Port Royal brings us back to Samuel de Champlain. We first pointed out his travels to the region in 2013/2, when he stopped in Tadoussac in 1603. In 2013/5, we said he came back in 1604 and established, in 1605, an habitation, which can be described as a stockade-protected living space, in Port Royal, in what is today Nova Scotia, and then again in 1608 to Québec, where he established one in what is today the Basse Ville / Lower Town of Québec City. Now that we're in Nova Scotia, this is simply the completion of that discussion as we visit the area. The thrill of the visit here is that the building has been reconstructed, since it's in a rural area, while the one in Québec cannot be since the historic streets of the Basse Ville are more important and shouldn't be disturbed. That means that a visit to the reconstruction at Port Royal gives insight to both settlements in what was then distant outposts of European civilization.

 
 

While Champlain always seems to get the credit for these two expeditions, since his is the more famous name, both expeditions were actually with and for Pierre Dugua, Sieur de Mons (sometimes misspelled Monts). He was a Protestant merchant and a noble, and the king had given him a fur trading monopoly in New France, so in actuality, he was the leader of this exploratory expedition, which was without women or children. Champlain, a cartographer and explorer, served as Dugua's captain and navigator. Nevertheless, the first attempt fizzled.

 
 

When we cryptically said above that Champlain came back in 1604 and established Port Royal in 1605, we glossed over what might have happened in 1604, which was a total flop. However, it's interesting, because their very first settlement, which turned out to be temporary, was in what is today the US, and not Canada. Dugua had asked Champlain to find a site for a winter settlement. Champlain checked out the Bay of Fundy and ended up choosing St Croix Island in the St Croix River, which flows into Passamaquoddy Bay. Here they established a settlement for the winter of 1603-1604. But the winter was exceedingly harsh and, with a lack of provisions and an outbreak of disease, about half of the 79 colonists died. Champlain scouted the area further and found the site of what became Port Royal.

 
 

St Croix island is tiny, measuring only about 200 by 100 meters/yards. Copy and paste this link to see where it is:

http://stones2gems.earth2geologists.net/images/QuoddyLoopMap.jpg

 
 

We last discussed Passamaquoddy Bay in 2014/17 in regard to Campobello Island. Both the Bay and the St Croix River form the border between the US and Canada, so note again how Campobello Island, associated with FDR, is in Canada, but is accessible by land only from the US. Now work your way up the St Croix until you find the flyspeck of St Croix Island, which, by a smidgen, is on the US side of the river. It remains inaccessible from either side, but both countries have informational displays on their respective riverbanks, and reflect the international nature of the site. This is the US location in Maine (Photo by SarekOfVulcan), and this is the Canadian location in New Brunswick (Photo by Magicpiano). The view looks across the river to Maine, and, believe it or not, that's St Croix island in the river. So technically, the first (temporary) settlement of what became Acadia was in Maine—but then we've always pointed out that historic Acadia included a very large piece of Maine.

 
 

So they crossed the Bay of Fundy, entered what is now the Annapolis Basin (see that map) and relocated their settlement in 1605. They named the Basin Port Royal, since it was their harbor, and then named their settlement Port Royal as well. That's not too odd: I think of New York State where Lake George is on Lake George. And that's even more complicated: Lake George (village) is in Lake George (town[ship]), and both are on Lake George (lake). Champlain also noted on a map he made in 1609 that what is today the Annapolis River was the Rivière du Dauphin / Dauphin River.

 
 

Champlain used Port Royal as his base until 1607, while he explored the Atlantic coast. In 1608, it was Dugua who wanted Champlain to go up to the St Lawrence and found a new colony, which became Québec, and Dugua financed the expedition out of his own pocket. But meanwhile Mons's trading rights were revoked in 1607 under pressure from other merchants who wanted free trade, and he went back to France to straighten things out, so from 1607 to 1610, some caretakers were left to watch over the habitation. He managed to renew his grant and returned in 1610, but that lasted only three years, because in 1613, Port Royal was destroyed by English expedition from Virginia, which looted and burned it. Actually, it was explained at the site that this expedition was from Jamestown, the first permanent English settlement in the Americas, so the British and French were at it from really early on. On the other hand, even at this early date, these were "American British"—but we needn't go there.

 
 

At this point, the first settlement, with its habitation, was abandoned. France relocated the settlement 8 km (5 mi) upstream, and across the river, and named the new settlement Port Royal as well, which became Annapolis Royal, which we'll discuss later. But let's summarize the use of the name. The harbor called Port Royal is now the Annapolis Basin. The first settlement of Port Royal1 existed from 1605-1613. The second settlement of Port Royal2 was founded in 1632 and was the capital of Acadia, but was taken over by the British in 1710 and renamed Annapolis Royal. The only remaining use of that name is for the small farming community we've seen on the map that remains at the first site, which is the location of the restoration of the habitation.

 
 

The replica of the habitation was built by Canada in 1939-1941, and is considered a milestone in the Canadian heritage movement. Like Louisbourg, it has historical interpreters in period costumes. In high season other interpreters demonstrate early 17C activities like woodworking, blacksmithing, cooking. In 1984, we visited it, and it made a profound impression on me. For years afterward, and to some extent even today, visiting it remained in my mind as the epitome of time travel for the serious-minded traveler.

 
 

It's about 20 minutes from Annapolis Royal to the Port Royal National Historic Site (see map), across the causeway to Granville Ferry and then south. First take a look at Champlain's diagram of the structure. Count the chimneys; note to two flanking structures at the corners with the entrance next to the right one; note the roof lines are broken on the front and back, but solid on both sides. Now cut and paste this link to a diagram from the Parks Canada brochure:

http://www.pc.gc.ca/eng/lhn-nhs/ns/portroyal/edu/edu1/~/media/lhn-nhs/ns/portroyal/edu/Port%20Royal%20Illustration.ashx?w=550&h=461&as=1

 
 

The similarity is striking, and even moreso when looking at the restoration face-to-face. You can see the well in the courtyard here, and the staircase leading up to an attic. The reproduction is, as the original has to have been, a collection of dark, weathered, fortified buildings around a central courtyard. Champlain had designed it all in a style reminiscent of a 16C French farm, and at the time, crops were grown nearby.

 
 

As you approach the restoration through the trees from the parking lot, you stop at a sheltered booth, open to the front, to get your ticket. An interpreter was there talking to some visitors and I joined the discussion. Knowing it was still early in the season, I asked how many there would be in high season, which would be only about five. Remember, this is nowhere near the size of Louisbourg.

 
 

In that regard, I wondered about the two restorations. Louisbourg is fabulous, and very large, with only a quarter restored. On the other hand the Port Royal Habitation is petite, completely restored, very complete in its presentations. Also, it's from a century earlier, and further reflection reminds me why I'm so impressed with it. Consider its contemporaries, the original settlements in the US and Canada. There is nothing original or restored in Jamestown VA, the Swedish settlements on the Delaware River, New Amsterdam in NY, or Plymouth MA. And in Canada, the only contemporary structure would be the habitation in Québec of the same period—and that isn't restored.

 
 

The costumed interpreter I was speaking with wasn't as flamboyantly dressed as this reenactor dressed as a 17C soldier (Photo by Charny) at the main entrance, but you get the idea. This is a better view of the entrance (Photo by Danielle Langlois). Compare with the diagram to confirm it's to the right side, or in the southeast corner. The steeply pitched roofs and fieldstone chimneys are totally authentic. In addition, there are no nails or spikes in the timbers, they are mortised-and-tenoned and pinned together.

 
 

Let's walk into the front entrance, while we note the petite quality of the building—that staircase in the courtyard is right in front of us. But the building's size was adequate for its purpose, since there were as few as 22 people living here, and at most 45. We make a sharp turn left in the courtyard and see both the roofed well and south and west wings (Photo by Danielle Langlois) of the building.

 
 

We enter the first doorway on that south wall to the left and find the forge with its anvil, a kitchen, and a bakery. I cannot link to any of the interior pictures I have, so to see the forge, copy and paste this link:

http://www.wiredtotheworld.net/OTRA/Maritimes%202007/Pictures/2007-07-17%20Annapolis%20Royal/Port-Royal-foundry.jpg

 
 

Near the forge is a woodworking shop with a lathe. It's powered by a rope connected to a young sapling above, then twisted around the wood to be turned, then running down to a foot treadle. Since no one was around to demonstrate it, I tried stepping on the treadle. The downstroke spun the piece of wood and pulled down the sapling, then the sapling did the upstroke by righting itself, spinning the wood the other way, and raising the treadle again. Low tech, but it works. In the corner of this area, we can step outside onto that protruding structure, which is both a platform for cannon and gunpowder magazine.

 
 

Champlain knew that boredom and sickness were going to be problems, and it was believed anyway that disease could be brought on by idleness, so he founded a social and gastronomic club called l'Ordre de Bons Temps, literally the Order of Good Times, but usually translated as the Order of Good Cheer. It's considered the first social and gastronomic club of North America. The purposes were twofold. The meetings were to celebrate good food, in particular the wild game that was easily hunted nearby, but also to include entertainment. The first meeting took place on 14 November 1606, and it included a theatrical performance written by a member of the club called "Le Théâtre de Neptune en la Nouvelle-France" (The Neptune Theater in New France). The play told the story of sailors coming to North America, but encountering Neptune, god of the sea, on the way. To this day, it's considered the first play ever performed in Canada. The Order still exists and membership is generally presented by the Province of Nova Scotia in recognition of individuals it wishes to honor, or in honor of the Acadian tradition. Copy and paste this link to see an illustration of the festivities:

https://www.collectionscanada.gc.ca/obj/021013/f1/nlc008882-v6.jpg

 
 

While the play was performed out-of-doors, the meetings took place in the large Common Room, which is the next room we come to, and the first in the west wing. Copy and paste:

http://www.canada-photos.com/images/500/historic-dining-room_3092-2998.jpg

 
 

The furthest room in the west wing is the chapel, but an interior staircase brings us upstairs to the attic, which constitutes the very simple artisans' quarters with either bunks or floor accommodations. Wooden shoes are everywhere. Elsewhere, the soldiers' quarters were similar. Copy and paste:

http://s1.hubimg.com/u/10815780_f520.jpg

 
 

The entire north wing (Photo by Bardencj), here on the left, was the posh area, and functioned almost like four town houses. In the drawing you can see that there are three gentlemen's residences, and then the separately-roofed area in the northeast corner is the residence of Dugua, the Sieur de Mons. These are all much more elaborate—here is an example. Copy and paste:

http://www.annapolis-valley-vacation.com/images/HabitationGentlemansBed.jpg

 
 

All the furnishings are meticulous reproductions. Some windows are actual glass panes, others seem to be made of animal skin. The only anachronisms are necessary ones, the lightning rods on the chimneys and the sprinkler system.

 
 

The east wing is the business center. Since a trade with the Mi'kmaq had been established, there was a trading room with a counter and a supply of blankets, axes, and pots. There were storerooms, and also a wine cellar. The outdoor staircase leads up to an attic that served as a sail loft for making and repairing sails. Finally, there's a guard room adjacent to the other protruding structure that had platforms along the inner edge for soldiers to be able to shoot over the palisade fence.

 
 

While "you can't go home again", I was again very satisfied with the completeness of the restoration and the way it depicted life here between 1605 and 1613.

 
 

North Mountain to Digby Gut    The second short excursion out of Annapolis Royal is to North Mountain. On the Basin map, follow the route across the causeway to Granville Ferry (Photo by Whpq), with the imposing, and very long, North Mountain behind it. After a zig on the map, up we go over North Mountain and then down the other side to Parker's Cove. This is the first time we're on the open Bay of Fundy, as compared to Minas Basin and Annapolis Basin, which are enclosed. Almost immediately in Parker's Cove we see a large wharf with boats all around it. The tide is getting low--better to see the empty areas at low tide than to see high tide, which looks rather normal—but it's easy to tell that this wharf would look just like the one we had the pictures of earlier at Alma, with stark differences between low and high tide.

 
 

We continue along the Bay on Shore Road, but then have to come back over North Mountain, and find ourselves again near Port Royal. But the destination is to see Digby Gut, which would be at Victoria Beach (see map), our destination. The road gets narrow and ends at another very large wharf. It's obviously heavily used, but absolutely no one is around at this time of day. Well, I suppose fishermen fish. We drive out onto the wharf, which is large enough to easily hold a dozen cars like ours. We're at the mid-point of the Gut. We can't really see much of Digby to the left, and can't see very far out to the Bay on the right, but can easily judge the length and width of the Gut, and get the feeling of how a wharf like this, as in Alma and elsewhere, deals with the tide. The tied-up fishing boats are, let's say, three stories below us as we look down on them. If a boat at high tide were level with the dock, and if that can be considered to be the "ground floor", these fishing boats were not on the basement level, but the subbasement level, way below. There are long ropes tying them up, with those very, very vertical, and vertigo-inducing ladders built into dock for people to climb up. Well, some people, but not me.

 
 

On the way back, just a short distance after Port Royal, we see a sign for the Melanson Settlement National Historic Site. We stop, and take the five-minute trail to the site. Actually, superficially, there's "nothing to see", just a lot of grassy mounds near the edge of the Basin. But that there's "nothing to see" is exactly the point. The Melanson family, Acadians, established a farming settlement here in 1664. They were deported with other Acadians, and the settlement was destroyed and abandoned. The tablets explain that we're seeing the remains (a diked terrace and "subsurface archaeological resources") of a pre-expulsion Acadian village in the salt marshes of the Annapolis River, and that it's representative of Acadian settlements and their unique form of agriculture along the Dauphin (now Annapolis) River. We'll find that we'll have occasion to refer back to the Melanson Settlement a few days later.

 
 

Digby to Digby Gut    The third trip out of town is partially gustatory. On our map, follow the route on the south shore of the Basin, past Clementsport, to where our Route 1 has to join 101 again in order to cross a bridge over the Bear River. Do remember that it was the ancient northern outlet of the Bear River that carved Digby Gut, so let's take a look. This is Digby Gut (Photo by Verne Equinox) viewed from across the width of the Annapolis Basin. Victoria Beach, from our last trip, would be on the right, and if you click, you'll see what seems to be a couple of ships passing through, and just possibly, a bit of the pier we were on, but it's hard to tell. Our goal today is, beyond Digby itself, to go out to Point Prim on the left, whose lighthouse is not visible from here.

 
 

We'll take a quick look at Digby for now to compare tides later and go right out to Point Prim. From our high view from the cliff, we can see Victoria Beach across the way. It's medium tide, but from up here it's easy to see swirling currents, probably rip tides, moving in both directions in Digby Gut. It's understandable that it's a dangerous passage. But the advantage here is to be at the end of Digby Gut and to be able to look out into the Bay of Fundy. Although this is an evening view of the Point Prim Lighthouse (Photo by Dennis Jarvis), and we're there at noon, it has the advantage (click) of showing the view out into the Bay, at high tide, with a fishing boat returning toward Digby Gut.

 
 

Digby has only a couple of thousand people, but, surprisingly, that's four times the number of people in tiny Annapolis Royal, as historic as it may be. There's a nice strip park along the waterfront with explanatory panels on tides and local history. This is the view of Annapolis Basin at Digby from the park at high tide (no attribution) and another view at low tide (Photo by Mike James) along the length of the park (click to try to find the cannon). I kept careful notes about tides in Digby. On the day we were there, high tide had been at 11:29, and our first arrival was an hour and half later, at about 13:00. We left at 16:30, and low tide was to be about an hour later, at 17:39, so we got a pretty good idea of the tidal difference.

 
 

The Mi'kmaq called it Oositookun ("ear of land"), but beyond that, people from the US had a lot of influence on settling this area. First, in the 1760s, a small group of New England Planters settled here and called their village Conway. Then, after the American Revolution, some 1500 Loyalists, called in Canada United Empire Loyalists, were brought here in 1783, and the village was formally surveyed and settled as a town. They arrived in three ships under the leadership and protection of Admiral Sir Robert Digby, and in gratitude, in 1787 they renamed the town for him.

 
 

But I discovered more to the story than that, which brings the story home—literally, to New York. We wrote extensively in 2011/17 about Loyalists, particularly from New York, and mentioned the wealthy families Phillips and Delancey, who went into exile, but whose names still are to be found in the New York City area. It's still hard to realize how, during and after the American Revolution, brother fought brother, neighbor fought neighbor, as to who was right and who was wrong. This is similar to the American Civil War a century later. It's true that history is written by the winners, and is rarely presented neutrally. The Loyalists were just as patriotic to their cause as the Revolutionaries were to theirs, which is why I use the term "Revolutionaries", and not the politically loaded, and biased, term "Patriots".

 
 

In any case, New York City was in Loyalist hands during the Revolution. As of 1781, Digby had had a command in the New York area, and took up residence in New York City. The city surrendered in 1783, and Digby wanted to organize the evacuation of Loyalists who wished to leave. Digby and another military official demanded that President Washington honor his promise to let the Loyalists leave without difficulty. They also blatantly threatened that if he didn't, they would resume hostilities, not even waiting to hear from London. The fleet of ships left for Nova Scotia without any problems.

 
 

Of the 70,000 Loyalists that went to Canada, 32,000, or 45%, went to Nova Scotia. But the point is that the ones that came to Digby were from New York City, and had broken ties with friends and family who were either Revolutionaries, or Loyalists who agreed to stay in the newly formed country. And that town of Clementsport that we went through halfway to here was settled by Loyalists from Long Island NY in about 1785.

 
 

But otherwise, we came to Digby for gustatory reasons. Digby is famous for its scallop fishing fleet, and everyone wants to try Digby scallops. I wanted a scallop dinner, but didn't want to come to Digby in the evening, so I decided on a mid-afternoon dinner at 3 PM, and it worked out fine. Others were dining then as well. I checked out several locations online and decided on the Fundy Dockside Restaurant, and dined on their back terrace facing Digby Harbour. Oddly, I found online an exact picture of the area. There's a boardwalk behind the buildings on the main street, and this picture is taken from the boardwalk up to the dining terrace (Photo by Mike James). I dined under the left-hand umbrella. I had an entire scallop meal, and loved it. The appetizer was scallops wrapped in bacon, and the main course was a scallop wrap. Delicious.

 
 

There's an ongoing discussion of how the word is pronounced, and perhaps people won't agree that there are two pronunciations of the word that are standardly used, just like with "either". Some people rhyme "scallops" with "gallops", which is what I do, and others rhyme it with "dollops". There's even a YouTube video demonstrating both pronunciations of "scallop". As Judge Halliburton said—remember him? I ask because it's been more than ten minutes—it's six of one and half a dozen of the other.

 
 

Annapolis Royal, with Fort Anne    To recap what we said above: the first settlement of Port Royal1 existed from 1605-1613. It was then moved upstream, and the second settlement of Port Royal2 was founded in 1632 and was the capital of Acadia. It was also the primary Acadian settlement until many Acadians migrated out of the community in the 1680s to the group of settlements on the Minas Basin, including Grand-Pré. But then it was taken over by the British in 1710 and renamed Annapolis Royal. It remained the capital until the founding of Halifax in 1749.

 
 
 Perhaps people assume that the "Royal" part of the name somehow reflects British nobility, or is an additional reflection on Queen Anne. It is not. It's just a re-use of the second half of the name Port Royal. Like Minneapolis and Indianapolis, Annapolis is built on the Greek word for "city": Ann(e)+combining A+polis. The only other city that uses that name is Annapolis, the capitol of Maryland. That is not a coincidence, since they were each named by the same person. Francis Nicholson apparently had a thing for the name Annapolis, because when he was the Governor of Virginia and Maryland, in 1694 he renamed Anne Arundel's Town Annapolis. Later, as Colonel Francis Nicholson, he led the force that took over Port Royal, and in 1710 he renamed Port Royal Annapolis Royal (and the fort Fort Anne). Therefore, the Maryland city has had the name longer. Quite appropriately, Annapolis and Annapolis Royal are sister cities. Pure speculation on my part is that Nicholson kept the "Royal" to tell the two cities apart.
 
 

So it took almost two decades after Port Royal1 was abandoned in 1613 for Port Royal2 to be founded in 1632 in the new location about 10 km (6 mi) upstream. Instead of building anything like the habitation, which, it must be agreed, had more of an outpost-in-the-wilderness character, the new location was to be a proper town and fort, and to this day, you can't really consider tiny Annapolis Royal without the remnants of Fort Anne as being part of it.

 
 

You are looking at a military engineering map from 1702 showing the proposed town and fort. If you wish to have it in a separate window, here's the direct link to the same map:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b4/PortRoyalAcadia1702.jpg

 
 

Click to enlarge this map, where the astute eye will pick up some interesting details. We can start with the title, which says we are located in La Cadie and not in l'Acadie, showing early confusion about the name, leading to how l'Arcadie lost its R. But let's start with the inset map at the bottom. At the right it says Partie de la Baye Françoiſe showing a long S, discussed in 2011/22. Modern spelling would have it Partie de la Baie Française, or Part of French Bay, which is now the Bay of Fundy. On the map, cutting through heavily forested Long Mountain is what is called today Digby Gut, then the Annapolis Basin (the old settlement would have been on the lower shore), then the Annapolis River. These last two would have been the Port Royal and the Rivière du Dauphin, although there's a bit of confusion in the statement Cours de la Rivière du Dauphin, autrement dite le Port Royal, or Course of the Dauphin River, formerly called Port Royal, where they don't actually distinguish the two. No matter. However, note the free-flowing river, which is now blocked by the causeway just above town.

 
 

Above that is the scale, described as showing lieuës de 2800 Toiſes chacune, or Leagues of 2800 Toises Each. We discussed the toise on the Louisbourg map in 2014/19 as being roughly two meters/yards long, so let's move to that first word.

 
 

There's a pair of homonyms in French whose singular and plural forms are all four pronounced the same: LYÖ. The more familiar one means "place", lieu, lieux, the singular form of which is used in English (pronounced LU), as in the phrase "in lieu of". The one we see here is the word for the former measurement of distance, the league, which is lieue, lieues. The spelling of the plural as lieuës is no longer necessary. The league was defined differently in different countries and in the different provinces and cities of France, which is why the league here is further defined as being each of 2800 toises. Believe it or not, the league has been metrified. The lieue métrique in France is equal to exactly 4 km (about 2.5 mi). But it seems you can't win. There are still national differences, and even this updated lieue métrique in Belgium is defined as 5 km.

 
 

Let's go back up the waterway to the proposed site of Port Royal2, which is located at the creek called the Petite Rivière, or Small River, and which is today called Allains Creek. Since the Annapolis River and Basin run NE/SW, this creek then and now defines the south side of town. Finally, on the main map, note how the French fort that became Fort Anne was built c 1703 to protect the nascent town from seaward attack. The legend says that A is the King's Bastion and storehouse for foodstuffs; B is the Dauphin Bastion and the bakery; C is the Burgundy Bastion and armory; D is the Berry (another province) Bastion, which is here being proposed to be the powder magazine (it IS there—I've been in it, and you will be, too, in a moment). E is a proposed Demi-Lune or Ravelin (a triangular outwork, or mini-fort to help protect the main fort).

 
 

F is the proposed town, with a quay. In actuality, small as today's town is, what is shown here is only the southern end of the main area, Lower St George Street, which runs several blocks north. H indicates houses to be torn down to make way for the fort. H doesn't appear on the map, but you can see some indications between F and the fort. A half-century later, c 1753, a certain Captain J Hamilton sketched this view (click) of Annapolis Royal and Fort Anne.

 
 

Fort Anne was attacked by the British six times before permanently changing hands in 1710, but over the next half-century, the French and their allies tried, unsuccessfully, six times to recapture the town and fort. During this period, 1710-1755, Fort Anne was a British enclave that was fighting the French, but that was surrounded by a French (Acadian) population, a very dodgy situation. But then in 1755 came the deportation of the Acadians (Map by Mikmaq), including through Fort Anne. There was later a French raid during the American Revolution. In all, Annapolis Royal and Fort Anne were attacked thirteen times, more than any other place in North America. After the American Revolution, a flood of Loyalists arrived in town, severely taxing its resources. While many stayed, others were dispersed to Digby and Clementsport.

 
 

Despite the extreme tidal range and relatively shallow waters in the Basin, just as Bridgetown became a shipbuilding center and major port, so did Annapolis Royal and its twin across the river, Granville Ferry. When wooden shipbuilding slowed in the 1880s, steamships took over, and Annapolis Royal became an early steamship connection point both to St John across the Bay and to Boston, as well as connections to Digby and Granville Ferry. Things got even better when the railroad arrived in 1869 and connected with the steamship service. But then the railroad reached Digby in 1893, and then Yarmouth, at the southern end of Nova Scotia. That extension shifted most of the steamship commerce to those towns. On the green map, locate Yarmouth, and note that Digby and Yarmouth are today the cities with ferry connections, not Annapolis Royal. At the same time, steel-hulled vessels requiring deeper waters became the norm and the wooden shipbuilding industry collapsed. Annapolis Royal then became the (very) small country town it is today. You would think things couldn't get worse, but more recently, the railway connecting Halifax to Yarmouth was suddenly shut down in 1990 and the track removed, as we saw on the Grand Pré map. With all the rail 'n' sail options the town had, they're all gone.

 
 
 To show how small Annapolis Royal is, it doesn't have its own Tim Hortons. In Canada, that's really saying something. There's one up in Bridgetown, and two down in Digby (I'd rather go there for scallops), but not in Annapolis Royal. As Rodney Dangerfield would have said, I tell ya, the town don't get no respect.
 
 

So what DOES Annapolis Royal have? First, with a 2011 population of only 481 (for Bridgetown, double that, for Digby, quadruple it) it's the smallest incorporated town in Nova Scotia. But it's also one of the most historic, since its 2 sq km (0.8 sq mi) encompasses 135 heritage properties, and that includes the oldest Canadian cemetery with the oldest gravestone. These properties form the largest registered historical district in Canada. And furthermore, Thomas Chandler Haliburton—remember him?--lived here when he was working as a judge in Digby.

 
 

Visit to Annapolis Royal    There's an aspect of my visit here that's somewhat unique. Did I stay in a hotel? No. Did I stay in one of those charming b&bs all around Annapolis Royal? No. Did I stay with friends. No, not exactly. Friend Allan in New York let me use his house for my stay of just over a week.

 
 

I can think of two cases of friends who rent a house or an apartment when traveling, but I never stay that long in one place. With one exception. In 1990, Beverly and I spent two months at the Malaca Instituto in Málaga, Spain, studying advanced Spanish. The school had its own residences, but were able to accommodate us only for August. For July, they found us an apartment about 15 minutes away, but we had a car. It was a unique experience shopping in a Spanish supermarket and living that long in a home away from home.

 
 

Well, Allan has a house in Annapolis Royal on St Anthony Street that he rents out for the winter, but it's available in the summer, and he said I could use it. My schedule worked out that I'd stay there eight nights and nine days, and it was a pleasure. I didn't want to set up housekeeping enough to actually cook, and went out to eat only a few times. Instead, I got to know the two supermarkets up the street, who had great prepared sandwiches. The house had a coffeemaker, and one place sold great banana bread. One can manage very well.

 
 

Living elsewhere opens myriad tiny insights. In the supermarket, you note that the familiar boxes you recognize as Nabisco products are sold instead under the name Christie. And I almost never watch TV when I travel, but living "at home" I'd eat my sandwich on a tray in front of the TV. It was a revelation. I always thought Canadian TV was mostly Canadian, with a few US programs thrown in. It was the end of June and I wanted to watch the Tony Awards, and wondered if they'd be shown in Canada. No problem. All the US major broadcast channels, and many cable channels were right there at hand, along with the CBC. And I was surprised to see another bond between the Maritimes and New England. Almost all the programs, particularly news programs, came right out of Boston. I was totally amazed.

 
 
 But maybe I shouldn't have been. Look at this map of the Gulf of Maine (Map by Canadaolympic989) and note how relatively close Boston is to Digby, and therefore Annapolis Royal. You rarely see a map overlapping two countries like this, which causes us to not realize how close some places may be.
 
 

The travel experiences I had were seeing the town, and the three excursions above. Otherwise, I'd set up my laptop at the dining room table and just got writing done (on China) as if I'd been home, since this was just a home away from home. In preparation for staying in Annapolis Royal I'd been very pleased to find they have an active historical society that's published a map and walking tour. I used it while there, and we'll use it again now. Copy and paste this link:

http://www.tourannapolisroyal.com/Binder2NEW.pdf

 
 

Click the plus sign (+) at the top to expand the view. To begin with, scroll down to the bottom right to see an overall map. Coming down from Windsor and Bridgetown over the causeway, Highway 1 goes down Prince Albert Street, crosses Upper St George Street at the courthouse, and goes on to Digby. Forget about this street. It's only a bypass road—well, semi-bypass—so that through traffic doesn't clog local streets, and there's little of interest on it. Upper St George Street is nice, but is, I estimate, a 19C expansion area from the historic town, which is all over on the left of the bypass road. As you can see, the historic town runs from Fort Anne up a very few blocks on Lower St George Street. You are looking at all of Annapolis Royal.

 
 

Put another way, the main local road is L-shaped. Lower St George is the core of downtown and certainly must go back to the 18C, with buildings there dating from then on. It then bends at the fort and runs to Upper St George, which I would estimate is an extension, dating more from the 19C on.

 
 

But then there are a pair of what I call "back streets" parallel to St George. One is St Anthony Street, the back street for Lower St George, and the other is Victoria Street (here unnamed) parallel to much of Upper St George.

 
 

This map also shows loss. The dotted lines show where the railroad used to be. One track looped down to a station on Upper St George, and the other went straight out to the steamship pier at Lower St George. All gone.

 
 

My first full day, I took the walking tour. It's only a few steps from the house to Lower St George. Follow the map on the upper page. When there face-to-face, it's nice checking out all the landmarked buildings, but we'll just mention a couple of stops here. Note #9, the Adams-Ritchie House, from 1747, which now houses Leo's Café. We'll come back to that later. On another day I walked the boardwalk along the river from the wharf to the town hall. It's grandly called the Promenade Sieur de Mons after Dugua. Along the way, you pass the cute, rather petite, 1889 lighthouse, #11.

 
 

The wharf (#6) is an obvious stop. From 1869 to 1991 it was the rail terminus for ferry connections, both for passengers and freight to the places mentioned, including Boston. When you look at the space between Drury Lane and Church Street, you can see where the rail yards must have been, now largely a parking lot. Copy and paste this link for an aerial picture of the area:

http://annapolisroyal.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/wharf.jpg

 
 

This view actually shows everything on the map on Lower St George from #2 to #8. St Anthony Street is in the back, behind the parking lot (ex-rail yards). The wharf today sees little business, but actually has a nice metal gangway/staircase leading down to a float that rises and falls with the tides, so people won't have to use those dizzying vertical ladders. You can see that this is high tide, although there are some mudflats to the left.

 
 
 Living in town for over a week was ideal to check out the tides, and I kept records for two days. I had to use Digby statistics for comparison, since none were available for Annapolis Royal (see "no respect" above):

Wednesday, 11 June at the Annapolis Royal wharf:
saw surprisingly high tide at 11:15; high at Digby was at 10:41 at 7.8 m (25.6 ft)
saw rather low tide at 16:47; low at Digby was at 16:51 at 1.2 m (3.9 ft)

Thursday, 12 June at the Annapolis Royal wharf:
saw surprisingly high tide at 12:15; high at Digby was at 11:29 at 8.0 m (26.2 ft)
saw rather low tide at 16:55; low at Digby was at 17:39 at 0.9 m (3.0 ft)
 
 

Now look at the other part of the walk on the lower page of the tour. This shows very clearly the intersection of the two back streets, St Anthony and Victoria. Allan's house is just above that intersection, on the left, a couple of houses in, so you can see how well-located I was. You can see how St Anthony Street, which in Acadian days, actually was called Rue Saint-Antoine, leads right up to Fort Anne (#15) with the Garrison Graveyard (#17) on part of its property. We'll visit both later.

 
 

As mentioned, Upper St George seems to have been the posher area of town in the 19C with several private residences still surviving, now usually b&bs. #23, the 1869 Queen Anne Inn (Photo by paulhami) is a fine example of Second Empire architecture. #19 is the former rail station with a gravel "walking trail" where the tracks used to be. The 1914 brick building had been grossly neglected, and abandoned in 1990, but in 2005 was privately renovated into professional office space. I walked around it to inspect it.

 
 
 I keep on scratching my head that, after having such excellent rail 'n' sail infrastructure a century ago, there is absolutely no public transportation today in Annapolis Royal. A lady I spoke to described the complex route she used to get to the US, taxi to Digby, ferry to St John, taxis and buses to Amtrak in Maine. Allan, who stayed at his house a few weeks after I did, to go home had a friend drive him to Yarmouth to take the ferry to Portland, where he made connections. And there are no car rental offices in town, so that's not an option. My only parallel is in Vermont. When I went to Middlebury (2011/24), I got off the Ethan Allen in Rutland, and had to take a taxi all the way up to Middlebury. Are we really better off than a century ago, or even a half-century ago?
 
 

Visit to Fort Anne    It's a matter of steps down St Anthony Street and onto the grounds of Fort Anne. Copy and paste this aerial view:

http://novascotiainnforsale.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Arial-Photo-of-Fort-Anne_resize.jpg

 
 

We're turned around here, looking roughly south, down the length of Annapolis Basin in the direction of Digby. The lush green of the Annapolis Valley predominates on the left. Port Royal1 would be in the distance on the right. We finally get to see the end of Allain's Creek as it forms the southern border to Annapolis Royal. At the bottom, we see the walkway leading up from St Anthony Street onto the main area of the grounds. The Garrison Cemetery (see below) fills much of the area to the left of this walkway and under the trees.

 
 

Michelin describes this as a "peaceful expanse of green in the center of town". The weather is perfect this morning and there's the scent of freshly mown grass across the grounds, Canada's oldest National Historic Site. It's hard to imagine that Fort Anne was the most fought-over piece of land in Canada, having suffered 14 sieges, and having changed hands seven times between the French and the British—and is now a peaceful park.

 
 

We recognize the shape of the fort as we saw it on the map. The existing earthworks, though modified by the British, are the original French from 1702-8. The demi-lune is still there, behind the trees. This pleasant treed area, accessible via the tunnel you can see, called a sally port, (a protected entrance), was being used as a picnic area by some school groups during our visit. We see the foundations of the four bastions, of which the one on the far right was the main one, since it faced the river. To the right of the bastion, take note of the artificial protective slope, called a glacis (rhymes with "basis"), common in fortress architecture as a defense mechanism. This is a closer view of this bastion from the ramparts (Photo by paulhami). Click to inspect the mudflats after the retreating tide.

 
 

Back on the main picture, you may recall that the bastion on the far left was to be the powder magazine, (Photo by Korona4Reel) and so it is, half buried in the ground. It's the only surviving French building on the site, dating from 1708. You can go down the steps to see the restored interior (Photo by Korona4Reel).

 
 

You have to picture the central area as being like a village, similar to center of the Port Royal habitation, with buildings on all sides. In the late 19C, before the grounds became public property, a leaseholder of the property in 1881 demolished the blockhouse—similar to the one at Fort Edward in Windsor—without consulting anyone. The resulting outrage among the locals got the government to take over the property in 1883. The most obviously remaining building is the Field Officers' Quarters (Photo by Wladyslaw), dating from 1797. The garrison withdrew in 1897 when the fort's military duty came to an end. It's been restored, and now houses a museum about the fort. It's from those nearby front steps that the below tour leaves.

 
 

I did two walks, around the central area, and also following the path that's visible on the top of the earthen embankments, a nice way to enjoy the views. It's runs 0.75 km (0.47 mi). Finally, note the large statue way over on the right near the path. While Champlain has a bust on display over at Port Royal1, here, at what had been Port Royal2, there's a large statue of Dugua, Sieur de Mons (still incorrectly spelled Monts on the statue). It was placed here in 1904, since the habitation had not yet been restored, to celebrate the tricentennial of his arrival in 1604 as a "pioneer of civilization in North America". That's true, but since the habitation dates from 1605, they're quietly referring to the St Croix Island settlement, which was a fiasco. Let's just keep that among ourselves. Interestingly, given the location of this statue, the plaque reads that the government dedicated this monument "within sight of that settlement".

 
 

Visit to the Garrison Cemetery    We mentioned earlier the Adams-Ritchie House on Lower George Street, which now houses Leo's Café. I'd heard about it, but they don't serve dinner, so, as we did in Digby, we made it a 3 PM soup-and-sandwich dinner. But then I got talking to the owner, Paula Buxton. It turns out she attended the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) in Hyde Park NY, where we dined once years ago, so there are more US-Canada connections than meet the eye. I also had a very small-town experience: when she asked where I was staying and I told her, she knew the house exactly. Of course it wasn't far, but it's not the sort of thing I'm used to. In any case, when she heard I was in town for a week, she said I shouldn't miss the "Graveyard Tour". I'd seen it mentioned in places like on the walking tour, but had the feeling it was one of those touristy "ghost tours" you hear of, similar to the "witch tours" I carefully avoided in Salem, Massachusetts (2011/20). But she pointed out that these were regularly done, and had been for years, by a former president of the Historical Society, and that convinced me.

 
 

I checked about it online. In the shoulder season, he did it a few times a week, and then even more in the summer. As it turned out, it was being done that same evening, so off I went. It starts at 9:30, since daylight lingers in June. A group of maybe 15 slowly formed in front of the Field Officers' Quarters, where the tour started. When the guide showed up in Victorian costume, we paid him the C$9, which goes to the Historical Society, and he handed us each a long, wooden lantern with a candle inside, which came close to trailing on the ground when you walked. We were really going low-tech, which added to the time-travel aspect of visiting the past, starting in the 17C-18C. He fortunately passed around some bug spray as he discussed what we'd be doing. He introduced himself as Alan Melanson, and said he was a tenth-generation Acadian. That meant that for me, he was the second one after the "soldier" at Louisbourg, who was also a tenth-generation Acadian. I asked him if he was connected to the Melanson Settlement near the habitation established in 1664, and yes, that was his family. He said his family first came over in 1657, and he even knew the name of the ship, the Satisfaction. It was marvelous to have these personal links to the past.

 
 

The Garrison Cemetery is the oldest cemetery in Canada. It had been used by the French military, Acadians, the British Military, and later, the local church. We left by walking over the grassy ramparts to the cemetery. I'd walked through it earlier in the day, but this tour was more meaningful. Actually, I came back the next morning to see again in daylight what I'd seen the night before by candlelight. For a daytime view, copy and paste this link:

https://c2.staticflickr.com/8/7151/6773513267_48464eafaf_z.jpg

 
 

You can see in the background the Field Officers' Quarters. Now copy and paste this:

http://www.letow.com/Maritime/Annapolis-Royal.jpg

 
 

That's Upper George Street in the background. I've had a lot of experience in historic cemeteries—for instance, walkable from me at home are Trinity Churchyard and St Paul's Chapel Churchyard, both on Lower Broadway. But Alan summarized something I hadn't thought about before, the historic sequencing of types of gravestones. I'd seen stones made of slate before. They often come apart in sheared-off and broken layers. They were the oldest, he pointed out. I'd seen before sandstone markers. They get weathered easily and the writing often becomes illegible. Those were the next ones that were historically used. The Victorians then used marble, and today we use granite, and there were examples here of most possibilities.

 
 

He pointed out that these old stones need extra care. There are metal jackets framing some of them. In the winter, the Historical Society uses wooden "doghouse" covers for the most fragile ones. Volunteers clean the stones on a regular basis, but not the fragile ones, which are best left alone. They have an exact count of the headstones, and they're numbered, but they represent only about 10% of burials in the cemetery. One reason for that is the Acadian area. There's a large grassy lawn with no gravestones in the middle of the cemetery. Alan explained that this was, within the Garrison Cemetery, the Acadian Cemetery, including the French Garrison burials, where, in those early days, 1632-1755, wooden markers were used, which have long since rotted away. Near the street side of this area is today a large monument to commemorate the Acadian burials.

 
 

I have some of Alan's stories to tell, but first, let's see what the tour is like in this 4:30 YouTube video of the Graveyard Tour. In the beginning, you also see Alan's wife, from Texas (small world), who calls herself a Texacadian. She does town tours, but the cemetery at night with Alan follows at 2:14.

 
 

The oldest gravestone in Canada is here, that of Bathiah Douglass, who died in 1720 at age 37. That alone is interesting, but Alan added this. The stone mentions BATHIAH DOUGLASS WIFE TO SAMUEL DOUGLASS, and one wonders why those O's are like that. It seems the stone had to be made in Boston, and when it arrived, they'd misspelled Douglass as Duglass both times, so someone was found to add a superscript O in each word. Look back to the video at 3:00 and you'll see it "live".

 
 

The next story has two parts. You'll recall that from 1710 to 1755, Fort Anne was a British enclave that was fighting the French, but that was surrounded by a French (Acadian) population. For that reason, the British were very wary about using the cemetery for burials, knowing that the local Acadians would inform the French of increasing British losses. The solution they decided on was not to bury the dead soldiers in the cemetery at all, but to bury them at sea in the Annapolis Basin, shallow as it is. One would hope there was appropriate ceremony, but if the enemy were watching, probably not.

 
 

Some time ago, a soldier's body was found in the mudflats. By means of the uniform—somehow buttons were particularly helpful—they had an idea of who he was, and the authorities gave him a full military burial. Only afterward did more information come to light, and it turns out he had been dishonorably discharged, and wouldn't have been eligible for a full military burial.

 
 

The other story is more poignant. At another time, a doctor visiting the town was walking down in the mudflats and spotted what he knew was a human legbone. He alerted authorities and archaeologists were sent. [Thoughtful aside: how do archaeologists work at a site, in situ, where the tide will be coming back in six hours? I doubt they hurry things. I hope they built a little coffer dam around the site to keep it dry.] In this case, they did identify the young soldier by various means, and found out he was from Massachusetts. [More thoughtful asides: the British fighting here included "British Americans". Also, Boston is just a stone's throw away, so this shouldn't be a surprise.] And it gets better. In the State Archive of Massachusetts, a letter was actually found that this very same soldier had written home to his family, in which he stated fears that he'd never make it home alive. Which he didn't, but I'll bet he never suspected his body would be ignominiously dumped in the Annapolis Basin. I assume he, too, was given a burial with full military honors, but I don't know if that was here in Annapolis Royal, or if his remains were repatriated to Massachusetts for burial. In any case, this is the sort of thing one can learn by a good cemetery tour led by someone from the historical society.

 
 

Overview of Annapolis Royal    I've just found three excellent aerial views, but all require copying and pasting of links:

http://annapolisroyal.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/annapolis.jpg

 
 

Here's the town, looking north. You recognize the buildings in Fort Anne, and the town wharf in the distance. You see the bypass road on the right going over the causeway to Granville Ferry, and up to North Mountain. Copy and paste:

http://images.marinas.com/med_res_id/101107

 
 

A very similar picture but with a difference. You can see Lower St George Street on the left, and St Anthony Street in the center, and the bypass road coming charging through the town. But it's high tide in the Basin on the left, and water is flowing through the passages in the causeway to refill the upper river-cum-reservoir, or at least the two-feet worth of depth that's required by contract with the landowners. No electricity is being generated in this direction. Copy and paste:

http://static.panoramio.com/photos/large/2047768.jpg

 
 

Reorient yourself—we're on the other side, above Granville Ferry looking south now into town. We not only have a perfect view of the entire causeway blocking the river, but it's now low tide in the basin, and water is being let out of the reservoir—just two feet worth--and IS generating electricity. Still, I find it a violent disruption of nature, especially when compared to the tranquil Allains Creek in the distance.

 
 

Epilog: The Ironbound    On the last day, I drove 2.5 hours to Halifax Airport. After I got gas, I made a final stop at Tim Hortons for a Boston cream donut—there's Boston again—and returned the car. I had an unusual, but pleasant experience at the duty-free shop. Jost (YOST, rhymes with "host") is a major boutique producer of Nova Scotia wines. I'd tasted their very unusual Jost Maple Wine when I was at the Bras d'Or Inn in St Peter, but couldn't find it anywhere else—until I saw it at the duty-free shop. They also had Jost Ice Wine—I love ice wine—and that bottle of Drambuie looked pretty good. But that would put me well over my allowance by US customs. Well, the clerk gave me some information I'd never heard before anywhere in any duty-free shop. The shop works on the basis that I'd already passed through US customs—it is not unusual in Canada to have US Customs at the Canadian airport--and therefore wasn't in a position to pay duty on whatever overage I had. Therefore, the duty-free shop has worked it out with US customs that THEY reported the overage and THEY paid it for me. What a pleasant surprise, as I squeezed three bottles into my bag.

 
 

The flight to New York was actually to Newark Airport, and I'm used to taking their elevated, driverless, rubber-tired "Air Train" from the terminals to the New Jersey Transit rail station, which then goes via Newark Penn Station to New York Penn Station. However, months before, I'd been notified by email and warned that the Air Train would be undergoing maintenance, and that there would be shuttle buses from the terminals directly to Newark Penn. Actually, I was glad to hear that. Adjacent to Newark Penn is the multi-ethnic working-class neighborhood known by a marvelous name, the Ironbound, based on its location surrounded by rail lines. It's particularly known as a Portuguese enclave with many Portuguese restaurants, and I'd found online the Iberia restaurant, not far from the station, and had a Portuguese dinner there before continuing on to Manhattan.

 
 

Telescope forward five months. I'm in St Francisville, Mississippi, on a bus tour off the steamboat American Queen to a plantation home. Outside the bus, I strike up a conversation with the African-American bus driver, who I assume is local. I ask him: Where are you from?--New Jersey.--Where in NJ?--Newark.—I was just in the Ironbound a few months ago.—I grew up in the Ironbound.—I went to a Portuguese restaurant—Was it the Iberia?—Spot on! Small world!

 
 
 
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