Backyard Camping

About a week ago Toby flew out of Charlottetown, leaving me once again as the solo female cyclist that I started this journey as. I'm definitely going to miss his daily science lessons and quirky eating habits (does anyone else you know buy a litre of chocolate soy milk, then drink it straight from the carton before leaving the grocery store parking lot?). Alone on the road, I quickly realized that I had a bit more to time to think, read, and write in my journal. I've also had the opportunity of meet a few interesting individuals, since strangers are a bit more willing to approach a single traveller, and I as a single traveller am more likely to ask for the help of strangers. For instance, now that I'm on my own I don't feel quite as comfortable camping out in the bush, so I've taken to asking folk permission to pitch my tent on their lawn. Funnily enough, this strategy hasn't quite worked out as planned, and instead of setting my tent up on the back acres of stranger's properties, I find myself being invited into their homes and given a bed to sleep on and breakfast in the morning. On only one occasion did I actually set my tent up in some one's lawn, of which the following is sort of an account of.

One of the most memorable characters I met on Prince Edward Island was kind and gentle elderly woman named Georgina. Born and raised on the east coast of the island, not far from Murray Harbour, she's now in her 80s. What struck me most about her when we first met was how soft her wrinkled hands were, and how much shorter than myself she was.

Myself, as well as her 60-something year old nephew, were staying in her backyard, although Gary (the nephew) and his wife Gloria were residing in a spacious RV and I was stuffed into my single person tent. Anyways, I was lucky enough to arouse the curiosity of these three individuals (all whose names happened to start with the letter 'G'), and found myself invited in for a cup of tea. We sat in the cozy living room, with pictures of young grandchildren looking down on us from the fireplace mantle. I shared some of the details of my trip, and they told me a bit about country life. It seems like life on PEI has changed over the past 50 years, just like everywhere else I guess. Farming has become increasingly mechanized, people have left the small towns to move to the big cities, and kids are a bit reluctant to follow in the footsteps of their parents. But in talking to Georgina, I felt like I was stepping back in time, or that the past was walking forth to greet me. Glancing around the room, I couldn't help but notice an intricate quilt resting on the corner of a chair. When I asked complimented her on her quilt work she responded with a twinkling eye and a subtle smile, "Oh yes, I've won a few ribbons" and then told me about the old country fairs and the pieces she entered in the contests.

Although a little hard of hearing, Georgina was still sharp as a knife, with the memory of a fox. Gary and Gloria spent hours with her, listening to stories about the days of old and trying to piece together what life was like on the island before they were born.

Being one used to real food, and not the overly processed prepackaged stuff that makes up most of the stock in the grocery isles, Gloria had come prepared to help Georgina through the winter. Boxes of canned peaches and plums lay on the floor in the living room, waiting for someone to pack them down to the pantry for storage. "Round this part of the world, folks don't go for store bought bread," Gary informed me, "they still bake it themselves, although Aunt Georgina is getting a little too old for all that, so her friends and neighbors come by with their homemade loafs".

The next morning we are toasted raisin bread for breakfast, and I savoured every bite of the bread just as I savoured every moment of our conversation. Good food, I think, is one of the simplest ways to happy living. The meal I shared with the "three G's" reminded me of all the other excellent home cooked meals I've eaten on this trip, and I was thankful that I can find such supreme pleasure in the process of cooking, eating, and sharing stories. My mind jumped through time and space and I had a flashback of Toby, Ian, Ayla and I, all perched on her sloped roof at midnight eating home baked pizza and listening to the sounds of the Blues Fest in Thunderbay. Nothing spectacular happened that night, although it was beyond a doubt a magical and fantastic evening. The process of nourishing ourselves provided entertainment enough, and my memory of the four of us dining above the city and under the stars, with plates on our laps and wine glasses balanced precariously on the windowsill will never fade.

On a completely unrelated note, I had the pleasure of strolling down a carpeted path through the woods! I was sleeping in the camper van of Gene and Bob, a couple of awesome folks from the tiny town of Rock Barra on the North Shore of the island. In the morning before I left they took me out for a pleasant stroll through the path that Bob had cut through the bush out to the beach. Their energetic son William, as well as their stick-obsessed dog Rover joined us and we went forth as a merry troupe into the morning sun. Our route took us through the forest, across bridges, alongside the pond, over sand dunes, and back through a carpeted path to their property. It was something straight from the pages of Alice in Wonderland, and I loved every moment of the excursion with these friendly Islanders whom I hardly knew :)