Judy P's Tickle Trunk

Monday morning found me standing in an all but empty parking lot, watching the sun rise over the Rodd Hotel in Yarmouth,  trying to force its light through the foggy gloom.

We were waiting for the Nova Star ferry to arrive from Portland Maine. We were early, indeed, we were number one. Lance dozed while I wandered the lot breathing the heavy morning air which smelled of gull poop, bilge, beach, and seawater. The pavement was crispy with the tire-crushed shells of mussels which the gulls had dropped from a height to break open their shells. We were not solitary for long and I watched as other vehicles trickled in with their bleary-eyed travelers who disembarked slowly like cowboys after a day in the saddle. They stretched their legs and backs and hobbled towards the Tim Hortons, gradually unfolding themselves as they went. This little Tims was just as weary looking as the guests; the morning’s baking had not made it yet to the shelves where there was a sparse display of the more unpopular doughnuts; honey crullers and old fashioned plain, and a handful of timbits which looked like they were fading and deflating under the glaring lights. Fresh cigarette smoke now added to the lot’s odoriferous blend.

We’re number one, we’re number one…..

As I wandered the periphery of the pavement trying to find a view without chain-link fencing I realized just how tired I was; the boat building, the craft fair, the yard sale, the mental stress of squeezing chattels from Prospect into the Milton house, and I was glad for the forced inactivity of the upcoming days of travel. I might catch up a little. Work the kinks out of my quads and catch up on my Blog.

Yarmouth, NS fishing boats early morning.

My reverie was broken by the sound of someone singing, not so reverently, “Amaa-ze-ing grace, ho’ow sweet the sound..” and I looked up to see three yard men in coveralls and safety vests rolling out the gate on an electric cart. One was singing, the other two joshing around and all smiling. I smiled. They were quickly drowned out by a loud convertible sportscar containing an equally loud couple. A small dog piercingly yapped his excitement as he made his way, yes I lie not, to the fire hydrant where he read the day’s doggie news before posting his own. The day had begun. It wasn’t long before we were looking at it all from the deck of the ferry.

Time to leave Yarmouth behind. First on but will we be first off?

Tuesday found us still on the road. What’s the name of that TV painter? The one with the bedtime story voice, the tremendous ‘fro, and the ability to paint perfect foliage right from scratch without looking at a picture or a book or out the window? “He could have passed through here” I thought. We were driving just outside Waterbury, Connecticut where the lush hardwoods were just starting to try on their autumn costumes; patches of reds and yellows and golds. We passed a solitary tree, a bright fresh green despite the lateness of the season, with artfully places dabs of yellow and red in perfect Paciolian proportions on the upper branches. Were it in a large field with a tire swing and a patch of pumpkins on a straw bale it could grace any respectable church calendar in this hemisphere. Sadly, it was growing on the highway median, surrounded by a small strip of sunbaked grass, concrete and asphalt. Then again, it being here on this busy highway, it will be seen by a heck of a lot more people than were it on a calendar, or in a rural field. That is if they take their attention away from the road or their passengers from their electronic devices, long enough to notice it. Who uses a wall calendar anymore anyhow, now that the time and date is delivered so accurately via the phone. I digress. We are on our way to DC and as we get further and further south the temperature rises and the leaves show less and less colour other than green. It should prove to be a very pretty drive back next week.

© Judy Parsons 2014