.

The end of another season

circa 2002

Murphy our Springer Spaniel and I went for a long run along the Waugh’s River today. Cool frosty temperatures but who could resist a good walk with a trusty friend. Now that November is over Murphy and hundreds of other recreational walkers can return to their daily exercise. The problem for walkers in November is that Murphy and his mates need to wear orange to draw attention that they are dogs or people and not a winter’s meat supply.

The 2002 deer season is now over and hopefully it went by in your neck of the woods without mishap or tragedy. Our local white tail population can now return to their favorite frozen field or quiet wood and prepare for the annual winter challenges of deep snow, frozen food and above all the need to avoid the coyotes.

Don’t get wrong I am not against hunting, in fact I trapped, ferreted or shot my share of game over the years. My idea of a great Sunday dinner is not limited to what you can buy at Foodland. If you want to invite me over for a rabbit or venison pie, pick up the phone and I will be there right after the NFL game on Sunday.

My worry is basic health and safety, avoid getting mistaken for Bambi’s Dad.

My worry extends to Murphy and his canine buddies. I regconise that recreational walkers and the hunters can both share our fresh air, but I tend to err on the safe side.

On the other side of the coin, statistics have shown that since a hunter education program became mandatory in Nova Scotia in 1980, the number of accidental shootings and fatalities has decreased by 50 per cent. But walking through the woods or along the river in November stills causes me to worry.

In order to avoid this predicament this year my wife and I decided to take a holiday during the annual deer hunt. We were prepared to skip the early morning sounds of rifles. We didn’t mind if we missed the daily ritual of pickup trucks travelling 3 miles an hour down the back roads of Colchester County with both of the front windows open, even though it is usually cold at 6.45 in the morning.

No, we would give that pass this year and pay a visit to our son who lives in England.

From our perspective the benefit of having family and friends in another country is that it provides one a great excuse to leaves one’s backyard and experienced life from someone else’s viewpoint.

What we quickly discovered was that England today is as preoccupied with the problems that plague the US and the rest of the world, the real danger of possibly being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We started the trip off by flying to Newark New Jersey and spending a night before we traveled on to England. I am retired therefore I have had plenty of time to watch Law & Order reruns so the attraction of going over the river to New York City for dinner during our layover was out of the question. We thought of taking in the nightlife of downtown Newark but since I don’t know Tony Soprano we gave that thought a pass as well. Pizza delivery to your Hotel room is the best idea when your options are limited.

The trip went well but the endless waits at the airport in New York and London were simply too long and very tiresome. Today airport security means that one has to be prepared to take off one’s shoes or empty one’s carry on luggage so that it can be scanned for toxic chemical by detectors and new age technologies.

On the bright side the long delays waiting for your plane to arrive does provide one time for thought and reflection. One might ponder why are thousands of people in this airport today? Where are they going? Could they be the reason for increased security? Do they pose a threat simply because they’re foreign? Everybody appeared suspicious to me, I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad guys and no one was wearing an orange coat or hat, they all just blended in. I longed for home, the peace and quiet of North Colchester.

We returned home safely and I avoided the deer season and all of the world’s bad guys in the same month.

In doing so I learned a few lessons about world security issues but heck learning new things, having new experiences isn’t that why I travel away from home anyway.

Quietly Retired on Waugh’s River

Edward Sampson

Flowers for Valerie

Speakers’ Corner is a traditional site for public speeches and debates since the mid 1800’s when protests and demonstrations took place in Hyde Park.

Speakers’ Corner is located on the north-east edge of Hyde Park, nearest Marble Arch and Oxford Street.

Historic figures such as Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin and George Orwell were known to often use the area to demonstrate free speech.

In 1872, an act of parliament set aside this part of Hyde Park for public speaking. Even today, on a Sunday morning, it’s not unusual to find crowds gathering at Speakers’ Corner to listen to enthusiasts expounding their views. Anyone can turn up unannounced to speak on any subject, as long as the police consider their speeches lawful.

Tonight will be the first time that I share/show a selection of my photos to the members of the Truro Photo Club.

The photos are to tell a story without any voice over. I have chosen 12 photos from a group of 50 that I took at Speakers Corner in Hyde Park London in 1969.

It was my third day in London on my first trip to Europe. Little did I know that I would not return to Canada for 12 years. I hope that you find these photos interesting.

The Perfect Garden 

A Halloween Story 

         It was no surprise to me that my cousin Helen was thinking about buying a weekend retreat on the North Shore. Whether you are looking for waterfront on the Brule Shore or a rustic old farmhouse with a view of the Cobequids, our quiet rural community is attracting the majority of those contemplating retirement or an escape from the city.

          In Helen’s case it was a bit of both. With retirement about 5 years away, her thoughts were that she would buy something that needed a bit of attention and take the next 5 years to put her touch to creating a perfect retirement home. A home that would be suitable for all seasons. High on her list was the chance to finally have her own garden.

          Octoberfest was a good a time as any to start looking for a new house, so my cousin made arrangements to meet with several local real estate agents. Using our house as her home base she told the realtors that she would be up for Octoberfest and would contact them that weekend. Octoberfest is a great opportunity to meet everyone at the same time in the same place. Over several steins of a Tata Brew I would point out the realtors as they made their way to the dance floor or to the sausage stand.

Helen was never one to be shy, so in no time she had buttonholed two the North Shore’s leading brokers. Helen told them that she wanted a property with a garden and no immediate neighbors. She made it clear that privacy as well as peace and quiet were important to her. It appeared that while there were several cottages and a few small farms for sale. Unfortunately nothing the realtors had on their books seemed to spark her interests. 

On Octoberfest Sunday we invited a small group of friends for lunch hoping that one of them might be able to help Helen identify a potential property. During a walk in our garden one of our friends from Denmark told Helen that a property on the Denmark road, near Earltown had been on the market for years. He believed that the property would be a perfect fit for Helen’s needs. Helen made some inquires with a local realtor and he quickly told her that yes the property had been on the MLS listings for several years. Fantastic location, sound house, wonderful orchard and yes the perfect garden. He went to add that for some strange reason no one had ever made an offer. He told her that every real estate broker tried to sell the property but all had failed to garner an offer.

 Helen had to see the property even though others didn’t appear to be interested. Over dinner that night we each came up with a good reason why the Earltown property wasn’t sold. The first thought was that it was priced too high. Helen’s husband George thought that maybe the well water was probably bad. I reminded everyone that some houses have dry rot or bats in the loft. One point that we all agreed on was that times change and sellers quite often reduce their initial asking price. Arrangements were made for Helen to visit the property the following weekend.

I spoke with a number of my Earltown friends and the word was that a MacAllister owned the property and that he now lived in Toronto. For some reason he had not been back to Nova Scotia since 1980. He inherited the small farm from the death of an uncle but found that farming couldn’t provide a living so he moved to Ontario to find employment. What ever kept him from returning to Nova Scotia, nobody knew but he now wanted to sell the property and retire to Sudbury.

The following week I met with the realtor to pick up the keys because he had another showing that day. Helen would visit the property on her own and leave the keys with me. The realtor’s info sheet on the property was that the house was empty and that no one lived or for that matter had lived in the house for 25 years. The house was also dry and clean but completely empty of furniture and fittings. He told Helen to take all the time she needed and return the keys to me. I was busy that Saturday morning so Helen and her husband George with keys in hand drove to Denmark, turned right and headed on down the road towards Earltown. The realtor mentioned that the property was on the left with a gate post with a wooden sign identifying the entrance to the MacAllister property. Helen had no problem finding the property and spent at least 4 hours on her visit. That night a very enthusiastic Helen described her visit to Earltown and how she discovered her perfect garden.

With delight in her voice and a constant smile Helen gave a complete recount of her visit. As was her hope the property was somewhat isolated. The entrance to the property was a meandering drive, slightly uphill with a running brook to the right. Immediately on seeing the farm house one was simply overwhelmed with the view of the Cobequid hills in the distance. The hills were alive with early fall colors, maples and silver birch standing tall still enjoying the mild October weather. The house was a typical two story Colchester farm house with an abundance of climbing roses many of which were still in bloom. George wanted to inspect the house but Helen was eager to see the garden at the back of the house. As she approached the garden her breath was taken away. Helen was speechless. Nowhere had ever she seen such a perfect garden, the delphiniums were still 10 foot high with colors as vivid as postcards from Kew Garden. Rose beds, fall glads, asters of pale blue, dahlias to die for, yes Helen had found her perfect garden.

Helen was unable to move forward, motionless at the garden gate she slowly took in all the beauty. Then she said she saw someone in the garden shed, well she corrected herself and said she saw the back of someone working in the shed. It turned out to be the man who created and maintained the garden. His name was Paul MacAllister. He told her he was the brother of the owner of the property. He went on to explain to her that he spent every day in his garden. They talked for hours about gardening and Paul offered to assist Helen in the garden if she bought the property. His final comment was that he could not imagine ever leaving his garden.

          During dinner that evening I reminded Helen that there still had to some reason why no one had ever bought the property. I insisted and that she should ask more questions before moving forward with an offer. I told her that I had managed to get a telephone number for the brother in Toronto and for starters she should call him to discuss the property.

John MacAllister was as bewildered as any one as to why his property hadn’t sold. Helen told him that if she was to make an offer it would be subject to an inspection, in fact several inspections. She told him that she was determined to identify any potential problem up front and if none existed then a sale might be possible. Helen concluded her talk with MacAllister by telling him that she looked forward to having his brother in her perfect garden.

MacAillster was surprised that Helen not being a local knew of his brother. Yes it was very sad tale he told her. His brother Paul had died in accident as a young man. MacAllister’s parents started the garden as a memorable to their son. He loved to garden and they always felt close him when they were near the flowers. My cousin never made an offer on the Earltown property. Currently she is looking at Pugwash as a retirement option.

Edward C Sampson       

Quietly Retired on Waugh’s River, this story was circa 2003

Do I really need all these tools?

The Light circa  2005

Tim, a friend of a friend was here on the weekend. Tim is from England and as my friend was coming over for dinner we asked Tim and his wife to join us for a BarBQ on the deck.

I met Tim several years ago. Tim is a retired lawyer and was with the Kent County government in the UK before he retired. Tim has bags of energy mixed with an enthusiasm to take on home renovation projects. As is his nature it doesn’t take him long before he launches into his favourite topic of conversation. Do It Yourself or as his mates say in Kent “DIY discussions”.

I offer him another beer hoping that he will change the subject. He doesn’t take the bait and now he is giving us a walk through of the web page that Dewalt Tools has in England. Its not that I don’t want to discuss DIY, it’s just that my projects or repair work in the wood shed are not up to his standards. In fact Murphy my dog could handle a power tool better than I can.

Now Tim wants to move from the deck and into my shed and check out my tool box. He wants to inspect my recent projects and any new gadgets that I have purchased. Tim has moved on from the Dewalt Tools web page and is now explaining to me the wonders of computer assisted drafting, CAD for those in the DIY club. He assures me that it really is easy to redesign your whole home. Murphy wags his tail and wants to say that Dad can’t do those things, but being the good dog that he is, Murphy simply smiles at Tim.

Now I am no different than most retired men, I like to escape to the shed. In fact I have three sheds and a basement. In each of these special hideaways I have evidence that I have attempted most of the common DIY projects. I say evidence and not finished products. I am more adept at creating kindling for my wood stove than useful items such as bird houses or children’s furniture. That is not to say that I don’t have all the tools.

I know where all the Home Hardware stores are in the province. I read the flyers each Friday hoping that a new power drill might be on sale. I can’t go to Truro without spending money and a morning in Canadian Tire. Ask me if I want to go to Moncton and as long as I can drop my Princess Auto then I will even contribute to the gas for your car.

My problem is that I am not very good at actually using these tools.

I have to admit though that I am very good at collecting all the hardware tools. When I am south of the border and it rains, then I join the other bored men and wander through the Big Box DIY centres. It all seems so easy when you read the DIY monthly magazines. Build yourself a new bookcase. This is another good reason why I frequent the library and no longer buy first editions.

Now back to Tim and his visit to my main shed. The main shed is for tools, building materials and my table top saw. The second shed is devoted to poultry feed and the miscellaneous feeders that my feathered friends need to enjoy their meal breaks.

The third shed, my latest addition to having a hideaway, is my fishing, golfing centre. There you will find all the clubs that I have bought on sale in order to improve my golf swing. After 45 years of golf I have finally discovered that it is vitally important to have a swing that is consistent. Only then can I expect an acceptable level of play. I have discovered that fact but the good swing still alludes me.

Hopefully this fall I will seek assistance from those who know more than I do and together we will build an addition to the first shed so that I can adequately store my Dewalt collection that I found at Home Hardware and not on the Dewalt web page.

Quietly Retired on Waugh’s River

Edward C Sampson

Well I‘m back on the bench in front of the old library. Not a bad morning, slightly cool, perhaps spot of rain later, should be a perfect day to chat with someone interesting. I‘ll do my usual, hang around for an hour, you never know who might turn up.

The other day I ran into Betty again. Running into Betty isn’t difficult in Tatamagouche. Betty seems to appear everywhere. If you go into Shell or the Chowder House for morning coffee she will be there. Betty holds court, strutting her stuff verbally. Locals, tourists anyone within earshot will be buttonholed and held captive until her rant is over. Her complaint the other day I‘ve heard more than once before, Why doesn’t the government do something for Betty.

As for today, it would appear that Betty is no where to be seen. I am safe for the moment.

My perch on the bench provides me with a total recognizance of the comings and goings of the movers and shakers on the North Shore. From my vantage point I witness the steady flow of traffic to the Post Office and Scotia Bank , the sprawl of down town Tatamagouche. This is as close at it gets to the real action. For us out of towners, the so called Come from Aways, it as close as we get to Bay and Bloor or even George and Hollis Streets.

Twenty after eleven and not an hello from anyone when I notice a blue ford pick up park in front of Hueston’s Butcher shop. Out steps Lionel , you know Lionel , Lionel the fine old gentleman who has the voice. I don’t mean he has an opinion, no I mean a real voice a professional voice. If Richard Burton were still alive then he would give up Elizabeth Taylor for Lionel’s voice. Perhaps it is gift from his English Grandfather, someone said that his people came from Kent .

I first noticed Lionel years ago when I was in Tri County Ford and he was getting his snow tires put on his blue ford. It was his voice that captured my attention. All he wanted was an appointment but it was the way he spoke to staff. Slow with a deep full pronunciation of each syllable. It was magic.

Later that same month over coffee with the boys in The Chowder House, Lionel reminisced about his early years in New York in Radio Drama. It was then that I realized that Lionel was an actor. Now edging towards 80, Lionel spent a lifetime in radio drama.

After I got know him better I realized that Lionel simply lives Radio, I don’t mean the news or Sports but Drama, Radio Drama.

Tales of live broadcasts that went haywire, real actors, not just a face but people that had true voices, boy can Lionel play the part. It doesn’t take much to get him going. Offer him a cup of coffee and Philip Marlowe appears before you eyes. Lionel spent 40 years trying to find work, mostly in New York during the Hey Day of radio, the forties and early fifties.

Always curious I asked him one day if I would remember any of the programs he was in. His response was that nobody would remember any of the characters that he portrayed.

They were the other parts, the limited role, the stand by guy or maybe if he was lucky the understudy to a Radio Star of his day.

For my part I definitely remember radio. When I was a kid radio drama was my escape. It was my way of avoiding playing Crazy Eights with my younger brother. I did and still detest playing card games.

I would go upstairs in the duplex that we shared with my Grandmother. She and I would eat fig newtons and spend hours listening to Perry Mason, I was a Spy for the FBI or if I was lucky an episode of Boston Blaikie. The first time I mentioned Boston Blackie to Lionel a huge smile appeared on his face and then he broke into character, “ He was an Enemy to those who make him an enemy a friend to those who have no friend.” Yes that was his persona, every program started and finished with that line I boasted.

Last month at a church social Lionel treated everyone to a selection famous voices from the past. It is remarkable how a person changes when they are in character.

As it turns out Lionel was a cast member of the Boston Blackie show. In fact he was a close as you could get to Richard Kollmar the actor who played Blackie until 1952. He was his understudy, he knew the part inside out and every Tuesday and Thursday night he was ready to play the role if Kollmar was sick, but it never happen. Over 7 years on the program and Lionel never spoke a line.

The next time you see Lionel in town asked him about his New York days. He might be shy but I guarantee that he will go in and out of characters from Philip Marlowe to Nero Wolfe and back to his favourite Boston Blaikie.

You might think that Lionel had a remarkable career , but not in his opinion. He will tell you that it was hardly a living, let alone a career. He never owned a car, he couldn’t get a mortgage, he never married, all that he did was survive from one bit part to the next, never really having a role to play.

As for television, he never appeared on it, never wanted to. Live theatre turned out to be the reason that brought him back to Canada. That stage in his career never amounted to much either. As he approached his 60s he did a bit of directing, mostly high school plays. In his opinion it was a way of keeping his feet wet.

Never wanting to be too inquisitive I once asked him, how he ended up in Tatamagouche. He had a simple answer. When his Canadian pension kicked in, it was the first time that he had a guaranteed cheque at the end of the month. He was able to put down roots and why not here in Tatamagouche he told me.

Lionel and I chatted for about twenty minutes today. It is always great just to sit on the bench and listen to his voice. With a wry smile he got up from the bench and as he opened the door of his ford he asked me what I remember most from the radio drama days. Every Tuesday and Thursday with my Grandmother and yes the fig newtons were a treat as well.

ECS

Join me on Thursday Night at 7.30                                               

at the Brule Community Centre.

As part of the Brule Summer Thursday Evening talks,

this week I will recount my never ending battle 

with our furry friends. 

Will it be Raccoons for Dinner or perhaps you have a favorite

Raccoon Story to share.

See you at 7.30 on Thursday for

an entertaining talk on how we cope or not cope

with the Masked Bandit,

the Raccoon in your Back Yard.