Our third month in New Brunswick draws to a close. To say that time moves fast is cliched and old, and yet it is the absolute truth. I look back at the last three months and I see a range of days lined up like little toy soldiers. An impossible line, an impossible number of days, and yet we have lived them.
Why are we stalwart Newfoundlanders here in New Brunswick? Quite simply, half of our beloved family calls this province home. They have been beyond our tangible reach for two pandemic years. Two years of missing them and being unable to touch them. We had a lot of catching up to do.
Boyd and I came here with the intention of loving our children, helping where we could, and most importantly, for the first time in our married life together, being a part of their regular days. Not a fleeting visit, harried and anxious, but an extended time where being together was normal, where lives intertwined like braided hair.
We came here with initial trepidation. For us, this was a huge undertaking, essentially uprooting our lives for three months, during a pandemic. We left the relative ease and safety of Newfoundland’s twelve total Covid cases, coming to New Brunswick’s extreme of 60 to 100 cases a day. (Imagine! We had no idea of what Omicron had in store for us.) Other signs seemed to tell us to ‘stay put’ and to ‘bloom where we were planted.’ The largest and most spectacular being when our truck ignited on the highway and husband stood helplessly on the shoulder, rescued coffee in hand, and watched flames shoot twenty feet into a brilliant blue sky. An omen to remain home? That blaze pilfered thirty days from our visit as we awaited insurance payouts and truck replacement.
Then came logistics. We are a household of four. Two humans and two furry family members, one of which gets desperately scared and ill whenever she is kenneled and placed in the truck. It was decided that Boyd and our setter, Elsie, the John Cabot of travel, would drive together. They would travel by truck and ferry while our literal scaredy cat, Mauzy, and I would fly to Halifax. Boyd would coordinate his driving to retrieve me and the kitty from Halifax Airport after Mauzy’s maiden flight. (Thank God for gabapentin. Mauzy was the BEST flyer.)
Next: Where would we live? It was decidedly difficult to arrange accommodations with our requirements. We needed a furnished short-term rental for three to four months that was pet friendly and affordable. In this endeavour we were blessed. A family member of Boyd’s happily provided the most amazing loft home, complete with instructions to stay as long as we desired. Perched atop a mountain and nestled amongst the trees, we have lived in a space of pure tranquility and beauty for these past months. I remind you now, in case you have forgotten: people are good. People are kind. And in our experience during these past months, certain extraordinary people are generous beyond measure
Surprisingly, certain adjustments made to accommodate pandemic life, also guaranteed easier long-term travel. Virtual medical appointments ensured that we could keep doctor/therapist appointments while away. Access to care was easy and reassuring. In addition, my husband works from home. As long as we could access a steady internet connection, he can work from anywhere.
With these arrangements in place, all that remained was to pack the truck and begin our journey. So. Packing for three months… Have you ever packed for three entire months? It’s not easy! Visualize a large Ford truck, swollen like an over-packed suitcase, its zipper straining. A bulging Ford trailing shoes, clothing and red rose teabags. Also imagine my husband, tight-lipped and grim faced, holding both the wheel and his tongue. He is surrounded by pet beds, food for four, coats, pillows and Elsie riding shotgun above a tray of kitty litter placed on the passenger floor.
Despite any challenges, we are here. The past months spent happily ensconced in a winter marvel. Outside our windows, the white world is pristine, like a blank sheet anticipating the written word. It has been bitter cold; the blue sky affords no cloud cover to insulate or warm the snow settled ground. Skiers hurtle down the slopes behind us while a wood stove rattles beside us. I am bathed in warmth while the world outside crackles with cold.
Our days have been filled with family. Family that worked hard together, accomplishing the huge task of moving my mother-in-law from the family home into a lovely apartment where company is constant and chores are few. We sorted and organized, tossed and hoisted and heaved, completing the herculean task with little time to spare before Christmas. Though the job was massive, laughter predominated. Often, we were weak with laughter, faces wet with tears.
Our little grandson, Winston, kept us entertained, and helped us carry the “very heavy” things. Is anything sweeter than the littlest of hands, reaching to help and assured of their ability to lighten the load? There is not. Many hands DO lighten the load, no matter their size.
We have shared beautiful meals, beds (Winston is a kicker), drinks, stories, chores, but most importantly: Joy.
I have learned many things:
I learned that Lego remains the reigning lord of toys after all of this time. That Nintendo Switch can be called a “swish”.
That leftover salsa, vegetables and cheese from a Christmas Eve feast combines to create the most beautiful egg frittata for Christmas breakfast.
I have learned that couples whose relationships create an amazing son and later dissolve can still be spaces of laughter and respect, shared space and intense shared love of child.
I have relearned that step-parenting is just parenting without DNA contributions. That love exists no matter the parentage though perhaps with different boundaries and a slightly altered focus. It is still love. It is still abiding and fulfilling. My heart is endlessly grateful for all these children, adult and otherwise.
I have been reminded that Christmases where Santa resides in a child’s heart are miracles of joy and excitement.
That wrapping paper, beautiful, discarded flip-flappery, can fly through pine-scented air at an alarming speed when wielded by a thrilled little boy. Presents can be opened in the blink of an eye by a six year old.
I have been reminded that deep friendships can exist despite age or generation. That they are born out of laughter, respect and compassion, and solidified through shared love of a little boy and by inhaling much dust together.
Mothers-in-law are reservoirs of belly laughs. They have capacity for fun, are deep vessels of joy. They create the best pea soup despite not being from Newfoundland and they cannot navigate ensuite doors (a long story but trust me, a hilarious one).
That evenings where ALL members of blended families reside in the same room are rare gifts. That photo taking is then a necessity.
When we leave, I will carry many precious memories:
I will carry the eerie sensation of windless day after windless day. Days where the earth was completely still and not a branch upon a tree quivered. For this Newfoundland woman, this was a curiosity that felt just a little eerie and somehow wrong.
I will remember the coldest nights when stars glittered above in the most spectacular display, brighter than any night sky since my Labrador days. Piercing starlight.
I will bring to mind sunrises that painted the entire world in crimson. The light here at sunrise and sunset has a special quality - perhaps because of light reflected by snow. The transition hours are magical. They call me to “come out, come out and play”, a child at the door with singsong in its voice.
I will recall being covered in icy mist, my jacket encrusted as I walked, from snow-making guns atop the ski hill. These blanketed the whole hill in vapour and shivering cold.
I'll remember blanketed horses nuzzling noses above their feed.
I will never forget the bobcat that ran the trail just above me and how I didn't fear but experienced wonder instead.
I will recollect the intense friendliness and kindness of people: of preserves left on our doorstep, neighbours stopping to chat, strangers’ hands waved above steering wheels.
Most precious of all, home to Newfoundland I will carry these:
~Our grandboy’s belly laughs and dancing eyes, his never-waning energy and exuberance for all things playful and happy.
~His Momma’s unfailing friendship, her kind and accepting heart.
~Our daughter's animation and sweetness, her intense drive to work hard. Her delight in our presence.
~Our son’s steady, calm demeanour; his witty responses like unexpected, sniper attacks of mirth. His patient and steady hand steering his son.
Thank you, New Brunswick. We leave with joy. We return soon.
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