Aug 10 2010
Cocagne Island — A not so distant shore
We returned to the island last Sunday, Cocagne Island, that is, not Prince Edward Island. This time after rowing the 1.5 or so kilometres across from where our cottage is, we were not chased off by a hoard of mosquitoes because a breeze had come up on the trip across. That breeze, however, grew stiffer and, along with some nasty looking clouds, worried us before the crossing was over and even more on the way back. But when we arrived we were happy to be there.
This was our second trip to the island with the little 14 foot car top Elaine bought from a neighbour so we didn’t consider ourselves seafarers yet; but once we had weaved our way through the maze of oyster cages and landed, we were proud of ourselves as we walked along that distant shore.
We followed the shore for about a kilometre until we got to the marsh at the southeast tip. We might have gone further after a break, but the calm, sunny day we had when we got up that morning had turned grey and windy quicker than you can say “you’re such a landlubber” or “next time check the marine weather forecast.” We were blissfully happy for a while, though.
Islands Are Just Different
Despite the island being in our front porch view for almost ten years, the shore felt strange like only an island can. Everything was vivid — the rocks, the sand, the driftwood, the flotsam washed ashore. We saw deer tracks. And all the time we were aware that we could not just walk home, that there was a large body of water between us and the mainland. But it was beautiful.
Our first reconnaissance
On this first reconnaissance along the shore we saw many wonderful places one could camp. There were many small clearings in the birch and oak woods up on ledges eight feet above the sand. But hoping to cut across country on some future trip we were discouraged to see just how much underbrush there was; maybe there are more accessible patches elsewhere, we thought. The aerial photos from Google Maps didn’t have the resolution to answer that question definitively, but it didn’t look encouraging.
What we do know is that the island is, sadly, not remote. There were empty coffee cups, spent fireworks tubes, the odd lost shoe and other evidence of a nearby civilization that doesn’t value wild spaces as it should. Nevertheless we were happy with the little corner that we had discovered and explored and were already making plans for exploring the whole island.
When we shoved off we were none too glad to be on our way, the weather being what it was; but at the same time we were left wanting more. Perhaps there are other islands we can find and explore, we thought, once we were safely back on our front porch. We might need something bigger and steadier than an aluminum car top boat and a pair of oars, but other islands we’d seen in our travels seemed to be much closer now that we’d had one voyage to our credit. We were explorers now, true adventurers.
Sep 1 2010
A cottage for two
Our cottage has become so Elaine and me that I can hardly get up the energy to go without her. She was out of town this past weekend so there was none of the synergy that creates the momentum during our preparation: “we need the lawn mower this week”; “I’m picking some vegetables from the garden”; “I’ve got the tools for working on that shed”; “I’ve got the laundry…” So it goes on and before we know it we’ve propelled ourselves out the door, into the car and down the road, dog and all. All with the excitement of an annual camping trip. Listening to us on the way there, you’d think it was our first trip to the cottage.
Once there we fly into a well-rehearsed choreography of unfolding as the car is unloaded, things are unpacked, chairs set out on the porch, the dog taken for her first cruise of the ‘hood to check her pee-mail. Within a half hour we’re sitting on the porch with cold drinks on the coffee table between us, looking out at the water, happy to be together, discussing what we hope from the weekend. But what is there to discuss when you’re alone?
Phoning home
On Friday night I phoned my dad. I’ve been calling him a lot more often since my mom died last month. Conversations with my dad have always been lively because he’s so good natured and filled with life but lately there is the added richness that sadness adds to the soul. Conversations get taken to deeper levels. He worries that I’ve lost my mother. I worry that he’s lost his sweetheart, friend and wife. I’ve been at the cottage without Elaine before but this is the first time since my mother passed away which might explain why I felt like some kind of amputee. This weekend I understand a little better what my dad is going through.
The most alone place I know
Without Elaine there on the weekend, the cottage isn’t the cottage. It’s a half-empty little house with a half-empty bed, an extra toothbrush and one lawn chair too many. I’m often alone at the house in Moncton but with our student tenants there has always been so much coming and going there that alone is a relief.
But the cottage is us. It’s us being us alone together. We plan together, drive together, are entertained together. We go to bed together, we get up together. I feel slightly lonely when we do anything that’s not together, even if we’re in the same room. That’s what the cottage is to us. So this past weekend not having Elaine there was like not being at the cottage at all, but like drifting. I slept too much, movied too much, drank too much. I brought way too much stuff that I didn’t touch.
If I ever need to be alone, the cottage would be the best place, because without Elaine there, it’s the most alone place in the world I know.
By Archie • First Page, Florina Beach Cottage, New Brunswick