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It’s been over a month now on the road – and Kell asked the most obvious, but penetrating, question the other day.  He was lying on the sofa as we were getting ready for dinner and he just blurted out, “Does the road end?”  Miles and I looked at each other, stunned and perplexed, then with amazement at the perceptiveness of the question.  Out of the mouths of babes...  

Of course, the obvious answer, is yes, all roads end.  But on a much more absolute level, many of us realize that the road does not end.  No matter what we are doing, where we are living, what our jobs are, how old our kids are, and how we are feeling, the road never ends.  We are on the road whether we like it or not!  I was relieved in a way that he asked the question.  Because I think it signaled that he was really in touch with the timelessness of our journey together, but also because he was letting us know that this is hard for him.  And it has been.

As families left the campgrounds we’ve been staying at to start the school year, I felt a strong pang of guilt that he wasn’t going.  About what he’s missing out on in terms of being with other kids and whatnot.  But then I realized that he has also relished his time with us – and that having this much time together as a family (24/7) is a gift, though one he may not always want to receive.  And it’s unlikely that we’ll have another time like this again.  By and large though, I feel like we’ve all grown closer already, that we are bonded each day more than we were before.  That Kell is relishing the constant attention he receives from us, is obvious too, even when it’s not the good kind of attention.  

As for me, I’ve been holding up ok with all the moving about.  I have to admit to dreaming about settling down for a longer period of time this winter.  But even one week helps me find some peace and sense of place.  

On a more temporal note, we’re on campgound no. 13.  We left Nova Scotia on Thursday after spending two days in Baddeck.  We got in a few drives around the Bras d’Or – truly lakes of gold. 

And we managed a trip up to the historically recreated village of Louisburg (see Miles’ entry on that).  

 After having our truck fixed in Antigonish on Thursday, we left Nova Scotia behind and traveled up the New Brunswick coast to Kouchibouguac National Park, a beautiful seaside park with 60k of bike trails along the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and inland lagoons.  Very bucolic and quiet.  The lagoons here are home to many migrating bird species and the migrating birds we found here were mostly Great Blue Herons. 

 In one lagoon, I counted 75 all spaced out amongst the shallow waters competing for food.  I don’t think I’ve seen that many in my whole life let along gathered in one place.Occasionally, one would make a move to a different spot only to be fought off by the other herons around.  Lots of squalking and battling in mid-flight.  It was quite a scene.  We had a long bike ride and spent time on the pristine white sandy barrier beach.  

After getting our fill of Kourchibouguac, we left to travel the very long, lonely and bumpy road through New Brunswick to Quebec province.  This part of New Brunswick is completely lacking in any civilization, unless you can call the clearcut logging civilization.  It was brutally sad to see how the woods out there have been carved up and the wasteland that is left behind.  We drove through those woods for three hours.  When we finally got through the road, we were in the UPM town of Plaster Rock.  I guess the folks there are eternally grateful for the logging that feeds the plant that keeps the town running.  I have to admit though, the whole way down this single land bump ridden road all I could think about was whether the two glass bottles of grape juice in the fridge were going to make it without breaking.  They did.  

But unfortunately, my very precious Chinese jar that my mother gave me the week before she died did not survive the bone jarring road through N.B.  I had wrapped the jar in cloth and placed in a latched drawer.  Above that drawer in a small cubby, were the items for our altar, a bronze Buddha, and a bell on a cushion.  Somehow, the drawer unlatched with all the banging around and then the Buddha statue hopped out of the cubby and onto the jar smashing it into pieces.  The Buddha cutting my attachments.  

I was fairly devastated.  And it brought back all the memories of my Mom in that last week that we were together.  And how she was still looking for things that we might like and stashing them throughout her house, even when she was at her sickest.  She must have known she wasn’t going to see me again because she gave me that jar for no reason (usually she would hoard a thing like this until a birthday or Christmas) as well as other items of hers that she wanted me to have.  But despite the fact that I knew she wouldn’t make it at that point, I didn’t treat this time as my last time with her.  Despite my sense of being completely accepting of what was happening, I was still in deep denial.  So, parting with the pieces of this jar now is like parting with another piece of her.  And I’m sure this week will be full of moments like that as her birthday nears.  The only saving grace during times like this is Miles’ constant support and ability to just let me go through all this without judgment or trying to get me to move on – he just waits patiently and holds me until it passes.  

But life marches on.  On the other side of the long bumpy road to the St. Lawrence river and Quebec province was the town of Riviere du Loup and francophone territory.  I don’t think we realized how francophone it really is.  All signs are in French with little or no English translations.  Not such a problem for me but it takes getting used to.  And Kell doesn’t get it at all.  He goes on in his usual was, talking to strangers and kids at playgrounds left and right who now don’t understand him at all.  I tried to explain that folks generally don’t speak English around here, but he just doesn’t get it.  

We motored on down to this campsite, which we chose because it is nearest to Quebec City but not right on the highway.  But it’s bizarre!  Over 800 sites all lined up in little streets.  Most of the sites are seasonal, meaning folks keep their trailers here all summer, putting up little fences, and decks, and flowerbeds complete with rock walls and whatnot.  There’s a little train that is pulled through the campground by tractor so Kell is loving that.  But I was very unhappy when we arrived.  I realized that I just don’t  like to be where everyone else is.  I was much happier two nights ago at the park.  C’est la vie.  

Hopfully today we’ll make it into the old City and get maybe find a good market or two – decent food has been sorely absent from this part of our journey.  Despite being in one fishing community after another in Nova Scotia, there was nowhere to buy fish or local vegetables (there are no local vegetables in Nova Scotia!), as the local fisherman simply freeze it all and ship it off to be sold elsewhere.  Go figure.  

A bientot!