Tuesday, January 2, 2018

RIP: David Lee Andersen, Architect, Author, Friend (1951 - 2017)

Eulogy for David, delivered at the Willow Creek Church, Rogers, MN  January 2, 2018
DAVID LEE ANDERSEN AIA

Thank you all for coming today, and sharing your warmth and friendship for David on this sad occasion, but I assure you, David would not want us to be sad.  One of his dear friends wrote, and I quote: You also have experienced David.  And you each experience your feelings and stories of loss.  I should talk about celebrating his life, which we all do and will continue to do.  But right now, all I can think of is missing him.”

I am honored to have been asked by Carolyn and Eric to celebrate David’s life today, and also honored to have been named by David, quite to my surprise, as the executor of his estate. 
The most important thing I can share today, is addressed directly to you Carolyn, and you Erik:  David loved you more than anything else in the world.  He spoke of you often, to so many people.  He would never want you to forget that, as hard as life has been and will be for you.  He has bonded forever in your heart and soul.  And I pledge to make this transition as smooth as I can for you – it is what he wished for.

I am Peter Hilger, and have known David since 1983, when we were thrust together as two young professionals, he an Architect, and me an Architect and Assistant Construction Manager on a complicated building project called Renaissance Square at 5th and Nicollet downtown.  

Who knew that, as a result of that meeting, I would be standing before you today, with a long history that I could recite, but will not.  For this is not about me, this is about all of us, with unique and distinct memories that are crying for release at this time, because we miss him already.   So, before I share some of my memories, I wish to extend a few of the numerous remarks and remembrances I have received over the last several days from others that could not be here today, so their extended voices can be heard to give you all the glimpse of the man we have known and loved.

As many of you know, David had a huge global footprint.  His love of travel,  of the earth, of nature and beauty and the spiritualism derived therefrom is well known.  

This, from Rick MacLeod Farley, a consultant from Ontario:
“I have many, many fond memories from working with David on various ecotourism and Indigenous tourism projects across Canada over the last two decades.  He was a brilliant architect, and he had an incredible gift for connecting with Indigenous communities and peoples and translating fundamental aspects of their culture and heritage into incredible project site plans and building designs.  The shock waves from David’s sudden passing are rippling across the planet that he cared so much for and did so much for, including the Bahamas, Japan, Malaysia, Jordan, Kenya, [Vietnam, Central America, Canada], etc.”

Echoing similar sentiments, from Mike Robbins, a long-time client with the Tourism Company in Canada
David was extremely talented at his work and was a lot of fun to travel with. David’s curiosity about the world, his immense creativity, his love for nature and his respect for indigenous peoples and their cultures inspired many of us.

This from Kelly Bricker, Professor in the Outdoor Recreation Education and Tourism Lab at the University of Utah:
“. . . he has been an inspiration in creating what is possible to help others experience the wonders of nature and protect the planet—he was a kind, positive, gentle soul and will be missed by the ecotourism community and the planet—his work and inspiration will carry on with each and every project and through each and every person who had the pleasure of meeting David.”

From Karen Lewis, founder and Owner of Lapas Rio lodge on the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica, one of his earliest eco-tourism projects that launched his global reach:

David, un poeta visionario, coined the 25-year old Lapa Rios Vision Statement: No matter how you cut it, a rainforest left standing is worth more. Thanks to David, Lapa Rios offers an alternative to socio-environmental exploitation.

Our first day in the Osa (January 1991), seeking sites suitable for building, together David and I walked previously slashed/burned hilltops. We chopped head-high grass, avoided snakes, and ran endless measurements. Then, with limited language skills yet armed with confidence, new friend David discussed traditional building designs with local builders, held and examined available renewable materials, tried to discuss roof slope—untrained builders show angles using hands not discuss “degrees of pitch.” So grabbing his sketch book, David drew a main lodge, then a cabin, and garnered great admiration and approval. His design used little wood yet bundles of cane, bamboo and palm thatch—materials utilized for centuries. David’s patience with unrefined builders and local suppliers deepened our relationship with the community and increased cooperation. David helped demonstrate working collaboratively can both re-inform traditional design and improve building skills.






From Dr. Colleen Scanlan Lyons, Co-Director of the Laboratory for Energy and Environmental Policy Innovation at the University of Colorado:
“I traveled to Costa Rica with David, and have great memories of him “getting to know a place and its people” that would, in time, inform his design work. David would rise early morn, sit on his porch, listen to the birds, observe the start of the day, and sketch. It was clear that he gained inspiration from the natural world, and that he used this inspiration to fuel his work. I was always impressed with his quiet presence, observing, listening, learning, and then transforming this all into a beautiful structure laden with meaning.

. . . he helped my family think through the redesign of a family cabin that had tragically burned to the ground. He brought his trademark quirkiness and creative mind. One of the central elements of the house that David proposed, was a “flying stove,” none other than the only remaining element of the home that had burned, an iron stove, hanging from the ceiling in the new home. Though my parents didn’t ultimately decide on the flying stove option, this idea of David’s helped them in another way – his insight reminded them of the memories that had been created in the former cabin and encouraged them to build a new place that could be a haven for both old and new memories.”

From Mercia Whitehall, Executive Director of the Fontenelle Forest, the site of David’s last piece of planning work, and much of his recent inspirational writing:
“His inspiration and enthusiasm did not end upon completion of the plan. He has sent so many kind notes and expressions of appreciation and enthusiasm for Fontenelle Forest and the important function we serve for all life throughout our community. In September, as he worked on Fontenelle Forest’s master plan David was inspired to write a poem that he shared with the task force at the final presentation of his work. I have attached his poem, The Oaks, for your enjoyment. Through our work together we will forever feel his inspiration in the forest and hear his voice through the trees.”

(I have printed that poem for you to take with you [see bottom of this post], for he has joined this towering oak, watching down on our collective passing journeys, reflecting on his journey, this day.)

We can state emphatically that David was a “character” – witty, funny, creative, smart and sincere.  Consider this wonderful epistle from his good friend and recent business associate, Judith Brodnicki, from Omaha:
“So much of David was endearingly "old school."  I mean, he adapted to some new technology (such as email and using voice-to-text when dictating letters or reports), but he wasn't comfortable with things like word processing software.  For example, David liked to write notes and send them through the mail.  When he had a client meeting, he wrote and addressed the notes ahead of time so that he could mail them on the last day of his visit.  He would send booklets, clippings from newspapers and magazines, notes, sketches, and anything else he could fit into an envelope.  Most of the time these items were related to projects that were in development, but sometimes he sent cookies, squirt guns, and other tchotchkes.  If a package or envelope appeared on my desk bearing David's broad calligraphy, I opened it as if it were a Christmas present!

Did you hear what happened on his trip to Vietnam this past summer?  He had trouble making or receiving calls from his cell phone while he was in the country.  We think it had something to do with his cellular service provider because I have a different cell phone service and my calls and texts always went through to him.  He'd texted me the contact information for his daughter, Carolyn, and asked me to let her know that he was OK.  I ended up screen-capturing his many texts and sending them to her.  And then, as if his problems with phone connections wasn't enough, he managed to drop his phone into a bay!  If I recall correctly, he said the phone fell from his pocket as he was wading out to a boat.  It was like he was a magnet for mis-haps!

One of my favorite memories of David in this past year was that we would talk on the phone when I was on my way home from the office. We talked about so many different things:  philosophy, society, politics, family, work, mindfulness, acceptance, and random silliness.  One of the things I remember was his motto: "Let God Win."  He said it was what he and a business partner used to say to each other right before a presentation.  It was a philosophy of admitting that they had done as much as they could, and now it was in God's hands. 

I've also told a number of people (quite honestly, of course) that there were times when I was angry with David, but only in that way we get teed off by someone we care about.  I think we worked well together because we had complementary skill sets.  It was like he was the right-hemisphere of the brain and I was the left.  On a project we completed this year, I was working furiously to finish up a PowerPoint presentation that David was to deliver to a client in the afternoon; David came over to my desk with a new sketch for the project.  He was so proud of his accomplishment that I couldn't bring myself at that moment to scream at him that I now had to re-adjust the entire presentation in order to account for this late addition (which he'd never told me was coming.)  It illustrates what it was like to work with him:  Creative and inspiring, maddening last-minute additions, and always great fun!  (That late addition, by the way, was for a wrap-around tree house at Fontenelle Forest.  When it was presented at the meeting, one of their major donors fell in love with it immediately.)

Someone once told me that we feel sad when someone dies because we can no longer make new memories with them.  I am grateful that I have so many memories of David to fill up this gaping hole in my heart now that he is gone.  He spoke kindly and charitably of people in nearly all circumstances; he was unwaveringly proud of his children; he was sometimes stubborn but more often generous; he was the brightest light in the room for enthusiasm and ideas; he was at times the dimmest bulb when it came to technical gadgets like phones and laptops.  He was a good friend, and very much like a brother.”

From Mark Poirer, who is here today, Executive Director of the Armory Arts and Music Center in Duluth, a project David was working on of late:
“It was easy being with David. He was personable and always had a little joke that kept things from getting too serious. He was easy to talk too and didn’t have a big ego that demanded his way was the only way.  Maybe that was because if you gave him a few minutes there would be ten new ideas to consider.

I will always remember David in his white leather sports coat with a flower in his lapel at our Armory Dance Party, embracing the 50’s rock and roll theme of the evening (an outfit that won him first prize in our costume contest). I can picture him dancing with a big smile and sharing a good time with those that shared his passion for life.”

I guess he was an award winning architect!  

Now this from Alana Sunness Griffith, Godmother to Carolyn, a long-time friend of David’s, and over-all good listener when David needed to talk to someone.
“He believed volunteering and lending a helping hand was important for balance in his life. . . . he actively maintained his volunteerism with many activities, including the Ronald McDonald House as local Chapter President, as a school board member, and as chair of his community’s planning commission.  As a professional leading other professionals, his wry wit and listening skills were very well used while serving as the Chapter President for American Institute of Architects - Minneapolis.
Eulogies always need some behind the scenes stories. 

In case you didn’t know, David DID like to cook, although some of his menu selections were not suited to all palates.  The first time Grif and I were invited over for dinner we expected something tame, especially considering David’s Scandinavian heritage.  Unfortunately for us that night, he surprised us serving Jambalaya, with an exceptionally spicy burn.  To be polite, and in spite of our minimal tolerance of fiery seasonings, we took small bites, ate the Jambalaya, ate a lot of bread and rice, drank a lot of beer, and tried our best to finish our plates.  The ride home was miserable as we gulped Rolaids by the hands full.  Luckily for us, future meals prepared by David were much more tame and delicious using friendlier seasonings and flavors. Don’t get us wrong – David was a great cook! We were the ones with the tender palates.” 

From Jim and Cheri Ochetti, his long-time neighbors in Corcoran, now in Florida:
“Many a cold night around our fire pit we would discuss issues of family past and present, friends, religion and politics.  Dave would end the night telling me what his grandmother said about politicians: "they are all crooks" which gave him a laugh and then said “glad we solved all of the world’s problems tonight!!””

From his dear friend Carol Morse, here today, the “heavy lifter” of his books on poetry, and the self-described archivist of his “Friday Wisdom”;
“He was the Finest of fine men.  The Best of the best.  The Truest of the true.  And the Goofiest of all goofballs.  He was love personified, wearing it proudly and vulnerably on his sleeve.  There was never a question about where he stood.  And he always displayed his standing with ultimate intelligence and compassion.
His love and devotion for his children, Carolyn and Erik, is everlasting; it will continue through future generations.  Was he a good father?  No...not good. The best.   Perfect? No, as this would not have produced these great kids.  Look at them -- they will tell you.  He was the best.  He loved them, truly, totally, and with full devotion, with all that he was. What greater love than this?” 

Let me now digress just a bit.  I have three short memories to share, and then let’s hear from David through his own words.

As a practicing Architect as well, and especially as a young, developing architect in 1983, he taught me something that I have never given up: the magic of a felt tip pen, set upon a roll of tracing paper we architect’s call “bumwad”.  The magic his felt tip created on a blank sheet of paper was inspiring. I was too tight in my drawing, he was light, fast, and finished with flamboyance and flourish.  And the clients loved it.  My drawings did not have to be so tight – I learned to draw quickly, effectively and simply.  And I do so to this day.  So David, I leave you a roll of bumwad and a felt tip to wow the angels, and thank you for that inspiring gift!

Also, as a professor at the University of Minnesota, I frequently invited David into juries of my construction management students’ proposal presentations.  The project was fictitious, but the stakes for students – a competition to win the Golden Pen Award – was quite serious.  I coach my judges to “ask tough questions to make the student’s palms sweat”; it was David who memorably asked the most ridiculous, audacious, off-the-wall funny questions, with all due seriousness, just to elicit the students flummoxed responses!  This was of course good training for my students to handle these bombshells, but it was all we could do as judges to look serious while just wanting to burst out loud laughing at the hilarity of it!  He was notorious and memorable among the judges, and he clearly had fun at it.

But David, as we all know, had some pretty rough times, and nearly gave up all hope not quite 10 years ago.  I was called by a mutual acquaintance about his struggles, and went to visit David at his empty office, devoid of activity, of life, of the people and projects he needed to stimulate him.  He was lost and quite despondent.  We all have moments of deep despair, and I had my share as well. Armed with that experience, I met with David to help him restructure his business and set a course to continue his work, albeit under a solo practice.  I hired him to do some work for me over the years so he could provide for his family, coached him to rebuild his networks, and finally travelled to, and worked together on, a project in Honduras, because I needed his expertise in design for this type of environment.  I have just completed that project we started 5 years ago, wishing only he could have seen the constructed result. 

But out of this meeting, and several check-ups to follow, came the “David Andersen Board Meeting: Gaining Perspective”, held on June 30, 2010.  I had asked David for the list of friends he wished to include on the invitation (22 total), and invited them to his house for a chat session, wherein we all would talk, and David would simply listen. Except for a brief preamble where we asked David for his strengths that he identified as: faith, family and friends – we advised David to shed his past, look to the future, work his traplines as he had so successfully done in the past, and perhaps most importantly, keep writing his poetry and get it published!  On this last point, he didn’t think he had the courage to do so, but we all know what happened.  Good At Being Me was published, finally, in 2016, the first in a collection of several.

I think many of the nine “Directors” that could attend are here today:  John Silbaugh, Roger Kipp, Chuck Malkerson, Dave Schulz, John Priebe, and Ron Prasek .  And several more not present: Alana Griffith, Jim Ochetti, and Etty DeVeaux.  You all helped David on this fateful day, as you shall soon learn.

So David, then under the email “riojones” (if you recall that old address), set 15 ground rules:
  • ·       no such thing as a bad idea,
  • ·       defer judgment,
  • ·       think outside the box,
  • ·       keep it positive,
  • ·       no Gail bashing,
  • ·       no looking back – no “I should have’s . . .”,
  • ·       look forward, where will you be in 1, 2, 5 years from now,
  • ·       collect “what if’s”,
  • ·       business (life) as usual does not work,
  • ·       consider doing something unexpected,
  • ·       failure is not an option,
  • ·       Gretzky – go where the puck is going to be,
  • ·       don’t assume anything,
  • ·       what’s next,
  • ·       and how do you measure success. 

Now, against this background, I think it is time to hear David’s own words, and see how we all did – by all, everyone in this room and around the world.  This is David’s Friday Wisdom, I believe his last, from December 18th, but nine days before his untimely passing, for I think he has written his own epitaph worth reflecting upon now:

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

As we rocket through the holiday season, we sometimes forget to slow down and be grateful for our lives as they are... not as we wish they might be...(sorry retail marketers) but just as they are.

This past week, I was blessed to have a "killer head cold" put me flat on my back in bed... I say "blessed", because I was forced to slow down to be grateful for the Crooked Road (title of my next book) my life journey has taken.

A number of years back, my life was unexpectedly disrupted by events out of my control. I really had lost my compass, and didn't quite know which way to go. It was like I was driving in a race with four flat tires!

At that time, an amazing thing happened. One of my best friends and colleagues stepped up to organize a "Board of Directors Meeting" ! He invited a group my closest friends and colleagues to my country home in Corcoran. (some of you were there - thank you) 

I sat, somewhat stunned, on my deck, surrounded by people dedicated to giving me much-needed direction and encouragement... So with flip charts and markers (in best "Board of Directors meeting style"), I had the unusual privilege of seeing my perceived value through the eyes of people who genuinely cared about me. 

It was a watershed event, that I will never forget, and I will be forever grateful for. As a result, I was once again out of the pits, and back on the race track with a new set of tires!

And so it only followed that it was just one year ago, in December, that I received the Louis Lundgren Award from the American Institute of Architects at International Market Square in Minneapolis, for dedication to the profession and contributions to the community. This honor, however, is nothing I feel comfortable resting upon. God willing, I have much more yet to contribute...

This past year, I have been blessed with meaningful and exciting work assignments for my "day job" as an architect and planner. I continued work on the Historic Duluth Armory; returned to work again for the Mississippi band of Choctaw;  evaluated resort sites in Vietnam; completed a 20-year master plan for Fontenelle Forest in Omaha... and completed a master plan for North America's largest Bison Preserve in Manitoba. 

Of course I've also continued my insane ritual of writing at all hours of the day, this past year. I have shared this with you regularly via "Friday Wisdom", and have benefited from all of the encouragement you have provided. Thank you for that.

And thank you too, for graciously looking past all of my typos and grammatical mis-steps. 

Finally, thank you all for your support of my book. As you know it was nominated for the Minnesota Book of the Year Award, but sadly, it came in as bridesmaid in the judging this past January. (I blame the French skating judges). Sales continue to be steady on Amazon.com and myriad other venues, although I don't intend to give up my "day job" any time soon.

I was honored to hear from some of you that you actually have bought copies of my book as gifts for your friends. (Talk about risk-taking gestures) I take it as the ultimate recognition. Thank you... and I hope they remain your friends after reading the book!

All kidding aside, I want to sincerely thank all of you for your friendship, loyalty and support (and sometimes tolerance) of my unlikely life adventures over all these years. You've made it easy to be "Good At Being Me" !

God's Blessings and "Have yourself a merry little Christmas..."

David

David, from all of us gathered here today and thinking of you from afar:
Plow ahead to your eternity on four fully inflated tires! 
Rest in peace. 
Let God win.
Rest on the wings of eagles.  Rest in light. 
Rest in the love and the beauty and the joy you generously shared with all of us.






Sunday, September 3, 2017

Favorite Photo's From the Maritimes

Trip over.  816 miles. 13 riding days.  2 countries (but felt like 3 if you include Acadia).  And many an opportunity for photographs along the way.  Hard to pick the top pictures of hundred's taken, but here are some of my favorites (beyond those earlier published):


Geese are common, but rare to see from above, as captured here
from a bridge

So common to see deteriorating boathouses,  this along Rte. 331

The creek finds the sea, as does the fog - together.

Cemeteries were everywhere, overtaken in many cases by natural
forces.

Typical seen on the rocky southwest shore of Nova Scotia,
this a perfect ride morning (Smuggler's Cove on the Evangeline Trail).

Seaweed seems to have two lives - in the water at high tide,
and just hanging there seemingly lifeless at low tide.

Oh, the clouds.  The ferry to Deer Island.

Almost kaleidoscopic, the main vault at St. Bernard's Cathedral 

Herring Cove on Campobello Island - one of my favorite changing
seascapes - this late afternoon as fog mixed with sun and wind.

The same view the next morning.

The rocky Herring Cove beach at sunrise, like stepping on diamonds

The tide recedes leaving reflective pools on Bailey Island

The clouds seemed to swirl around this 1827 day beacon to
seafarer's, with a food cache in the bottom for any shipwrecked sailors.
Little Mark Island, Casco Bay

The ubiquitous lobster trap buoy - everywhere!  A record harvest
expected this year, but how do boats not tangle these up?

Oh, the clouds - again.  Casco Bay.

And of course, lighthouses - lots of them.  This on
Cape Elizabeth - supposedly the most photographed
lighthouse in the country.  I could not resist.
A tidal pool in Kittery - note the snail trail - like my trip!
Lobster boats everywhere, often not in the water, casually resting on
shore in Vogler's Cove.
The bicycle seems to hide among the buoys - a welcome stop for
chocolate milk.  (Deer Island)
Campobello and FDR's "cottage" - the gardens were more interesting
than the house!
The croissant in the landscape - soon departed.  From a bakery in
Upper Tantalon
I usually do not see much wildlife, but this porcupine blocked my way
and I had no interest in testing its nerves.
Seaweed everywhere - rubbery and faintly colorful.

The jetty at Kittery - a study in perspective, and a reminder of the
influence of tides seen during the entire trip.

But the real reason for the bicycle trip - call it an excuse, the fourth time I have done so - is to see the children and grandchildren!

Charlotte, Henry, Heather and Ryan
aboard the ferry at Bar Harbor

Monday, August 28, 2017

Crossing Paths

Oh, the people you meet!

It is always a consequence of travelling solo on a fully loaded bike that conversations are likely to ensue. This trip has been no exception, and so some tales of the people I met along my journey.

I had long been anticipating crossing the Bay of Fundy to St.Johns, New Brunswick.  The Fundy, as it is called here, has one of the highest tide swings in the world.  I arrived at the ferry dock around 4:30 for my 5:30 departure, just as the inbound ferry was arriving.  I parked my bike by a fence as I unpacked some clothes for the chillier transfer as I never like to be inside a ferry, preferring the deck view. I did take note of another passenger being dropped off near my parking spot, overhearing the well wishes of departing friends, and we said hello to each other as she passed by.  Did not take much note of this, as there were lots of people hanging around.  I also spoke at length with another gentleman from Riviere du Loup (on the St. Lawrence, a town I had passed through on my 2013 journey), also a biker with four bikes, comparing notes in broken French/English as best bikers can communicate, he quite jealous of my trip and inspired to visit his son by bike.

The Fundy Rose - awaiting boarding to St. Johns, New Brunswick
Finally boarded the ferry and found my way top starboard side behind the bridge to observe the departure, and hopefully see whales in the Bay during crossing. There weren’t many people up there, but that was fine.  I counted the rungs on a service ladder at 20 from what I could observe to be high tide and a presumed low tide.   That could be easily 20’ of difference.  Finally, we pushed away, my tour of Nova Scotia complete and the next leg to begin.

Boat houses and the tidal swing most evident as we departed

But I was curious.  As we departed I observed the southern tip of the Annapolis peninsula as we were heading out to sea, and one could easily see the tide lines, but was this now low tide?  Or did it go lower still?  I had taken note of the same woman I had seen earlier, standing and contemplating the shoreline as I was doing a bit farther aft.  I was just curious enough that I walked over to her, said hello again, and asked her if she knew this to be low tide, hoping she was a regular, local passenger.  She thought it not actually fully low tide yet, and indeed was from St. Johns, but now embarked on her first ferry passage after having visited with her friend of 30+ years.  And so ensued a conversation with Patty that lasted the entirety of the voyage.  As we had similar interests and past experiences, primarily in the Canadian Rockies, we shared all manner of stories of adventures, especially as we were soon quite fog bound in the middle of the Bay, with no hope of seeing anything, yet in the cool chill we remained on deck, chatting away about kids (her four), careers (hers as a mother having left her older teenage kids for this trip – first time ever), and all manner of other topics that strangers can discuss.

Our view from the Ferry - no whales to spot!

Apparently, the fog in St. Johns is quite common.  Over the course of our conversation, Patty invited me to get a ride across the bridge since bicycles cannot cross, and further extended to an  invitation to stay at her home where she could get me back on the road in the morning.  But with some regret, she thought her kids would not appreciate it, (as she has done so for travelers before much to their chagrin), did not know the state of her house after a week – you get the idea – yet as tempting an offer that was, a hotel seemed best, but I did accept the ride.  St. John’s, when we finally arrived around 7:45 was socked in thick fog and getting dark – the last thing I wanted to do was ride my bike in a strange place, guided only by my GPS, in dark fogginess – that would be a frustrating and dangerous experience I cared not have.  So her son Ben picked us up, we stopped at Tim Horton’s for dinner, and then I was dropped off at a hotel along my way out of town in the morning. With a big hug, Patty departed, both of us richer for the experience.  Thanks for the lift, Patty!  

That fog became mixed with rain overnight, and the weather the next morning was miserable, including a persistent headwind.  But I had a ways to go to get to Campobello Island, on the Canada/Maine border area.  I slogged through three hours on the TransCanada highway - pretty, but not interesting, safe though, with a wide shoulder and rumble strips from which I could hunker against the wind, rain and fog.  And when I finally exited this freeway near St. George, blue sky and sunshine finally broke through, and following a quick lunch, I was again on quiet backroads, enjoying the scenery, and taking two connecting ferries.  The first was to Deer Island, run by the Transportation Department, including a large truck and a few vehicles, an extension of the state road.

Seems impossible that such a rig can work on these small ferries - glad mine fit!


The second privately run ferry, which  I spotted was shortly ready to depart as I rounded a curve, was a diminutive barge-like platform that could at most hold perhaps eight vehicles, but at this moment had only one, and five other bicyclists.  I sped across to reach the ferry just in time, and we departed. I was then chatting with the other bicyclists - whom I shall refer to as the Ferry Five.  All younger, fairly recent college graduates trying to find their way in the world, in some form of career transition from New Orleans, as a group of friends making a round-trip journey from Portland, Maine, around Nova Scotia, now on the return leg. Of course there is lots to talk about, and we covered much in that 30 or so minutes it took to cross the pristine bay to Campobello Island, site of an international park.  I was planning to encamp at Herring Cove but a few miles away (a fabulous spot) as  they were continuing on across the US border to a friends farm down the road, and so we parted ways.

The Ferry Five taking in the whirlpools swirling the sea around us

Following a visit to the "cottage" of Franklin Delano Roosevelt on the island, I crossed the border bridge in Lubec, Maine and headed through some very beautiful backroads, but a genuine roller-coaster of steep hills, causing an acceleration of fatigue, to where I took the chance on a rails-to-trails pathway that would potentially run flatter but be slower due to the gravel surface.  On this trail, I encountered Nathan, who had just this day, August 24th, departed Quoddy Head near Lubec for his transcontinental journey to San Francisco.  He too, was struggling against the gravel surface, and as we were heading to the same Sunset Point campground, we rode the balance of the day together, he suffering his first flat tire in the process.  In the toughest of situations, having company does seem to make the miles melt away a bit faster.  Nathan, a recent college graduate from Hamburg, New York, seemed eager to learn the tricks of a seasoned veteran, and I was happy to provide them, most especially since I found out that he had no food, stove, plate/bowl, fork, spoon or cup, expecting instead to get this along the way.  As there was no food to be had near Addison and our campground, I shared my freeze dried chicken gumbo with him, and in the morning, instant eggs served with a list of suggestions to make his journey more successful.

Nathan pushing down Hwy 1 - and San Francisco!
We did ride the next morning together, had a real breakfast at a local cafe in Milbridge, and followed US 1 until early afternoon, where I would part ways for Bar Harbor, and he would continue on.  As I was approaching my turnoff at West Sullivan, I noted a small food stand along the side of the road on which five rather familiar bicycles were parked.  It was here that I introduced Nathan to the Ferry Five, a reuniting if you will with "Professor", a crossed path once again, where we all shared some ice cream and stories.  Nathan departed on his journey with the best of wishes, and I rode with the Ferry Five near to Bar Harbor, where they were headed to a campground, and where I would cross paths with my sweetheart, Becky, and with Ryan, Heather and the grandkids, Charlotte and Henry for a weekend outing in Acadia National Park.

The Ferry Five + Nathan with the "Professor"
Crossing paths, and the stories they generate, keep me going.  But there were many paths I crossed - the countless cemeteries that dot the villages - whose story was only told in stone.  And of this story, cold and hardened to the truth of the seas that have claimed so many in this region, I could only imagine the toughness of these sailors and fisherman.  My journey is simple compared to theirs . . .






Sunday, August 27, 2017

Nova Scotia: North vs. South


August 17th to August 22nd, 2017

No, this is not the Civil War, or some worthless best-meets-best in a sporting event, I am writing of the stark and not so stark differences between the northern half of Nova Scotia, toured in 2013, and my present journey, just completed over the southern half of this great province.  I just could not help comparing the differences with every peninsula circled, every bay glimpsed, every wharf visited.

But first some trip details.  Landed in Halifax on Thursday August 17, without my bike.  Turns out it preferred the flight following my arrival, which delayed my bike setup and departure by several hours.  I was finally rolling to Peggy's Cove, some 35 miles away, having found my way out of Halifax in heavy rush hour traffic, travelling with the usual first day jitter-speed, chased as well by heavy traffic and no shoulder.  That is one thing not different about north and south – with rare exception, there are no shoulders in Nova Scotia.  Landed as desired in a “campground” – a euphemism for a parking lot for RV’s with maybe a few tent sites – in this case the tent sites fronting the water (so the RV's could look over us tenter's).  As  I arrived late, not much time or daylight to enjoy it, and dashed off to sleep before I could even appreciate the stars.

My campsite at dawn - you can't see the RV's looking over me!
This was followed by a long day down along the east coast to Lunenburg, an absolutely enchanting town, built by German and Swiss boat builders and of course fishermen.  The entire City is a UNESCO World Heritage site as one of the few remaining planned British colonies still intact.  But as my day was spent along heavy trafficked no-shoulder roads (again), I spun off on a few rails-to-trails segments until these too evaporated into well-rutted ATV trails, not suitable for my level of interest or endurance to sustain the aggravation.  As I expected to find a campsite somewhere in the municipally sponsored site (also an RV parking lot), I was advised they were quite full, and could not accommodate, but instead directed me to Donna at the Lunenburg Inn B&B, who had a single room left.  She was a wonderful hostess in a wonderful old mansion, followed by an equally great meal of fish and salad in the Knot Pub, conversing with a local couple providing bits about the City.


A particularly striking widows walk

On the subject of fishing villages, another comparison is in order.  The south has them – lots of them -  with colorful fishing boats of all sizes, seemingly in every little town.  Yes, the north has fishing villages, but my recollection is one of many fewer boats, and not just a few empty wharves entirely, beyond the rusting relic listing on its side on shore.  I know the north was decimated by the cod fishing decline, and the south is heavily into lobster. And with lobster comes a wealthier, more thriving sense of place than the north, whose general dereliction and sometimes poverty was striking.  Rarely did one see a boat building enterprise in the North, yet I saw many boat builder facilities in the south, small to large, often with the hulls protruding from the limits of the structures containing them.
A typical harbor scene repeated over and over, this in Digby

The next morning, Saturday August 19th, I was greeted by rain and wind – a true Nor’easter.  Donna did not believe that I would actually ride in this weather, and offered me another night.  But, I have a schedule to keep – seeing grandkids at the end of the line!  Perhaps I might have taken her up, for I spent 78 wet miles in the saddle, fighting hills, headwinds and near constant rain.  And in this stretch, the first similarity between north and south: "nothing". The towns stretching along the peninsulas I circumnavigated were merely a collection of very small fishing villages – a few houses and a wharf, and piles of lobster traps. I had my first ferry ride to LaHave, wherein a fine bakery existed from which a sweet and lunch for down the road was had.

Typical coastal scene
Though wet and tired, I did manage to make it to Thomas Raddall Provincial Park, a quite lovely park on the water where I had a walk-in site, pretty much to myself.  The rain abated long enough to set up camp quickly for it shortly continued to rain all night.  Luckily, they had an enclosed group shelter with a wood stove going that I could wait out the evening.


Thomas Raddall PP and the Nor'easter

The morning of the 20th was wet but not raining at least, a day that eventually changed over to welcome sunshine and warmth.  I was required to pass along Rte 103 – the heavy arterial which I was not looking forward to, but for the relatively short distance on a Sunday morning, it was not as bad as expected.  This day included an excellent stretch of road circling several peninsulas, including the Lockport peninsula, quite scenic and with low population and traffic.  Also passed through Shelburne, a "Loyalist" town, the first to profess their staunch British heritage, founded during the American Revolution by British ex-pats, called Loyalists. 

Typical estuary scene, where fresh water meets salt water

But also of interest, a few miles away, was Birchtown, a black Loyalist community of former slaves given their freedom by the British, and counted in the “Slave Book” by both the British and Americans (monitored by Alexander Hamilton),  all on exhibit at a small but striking museum on the site of Birchtown.  Sadly, many freed slaves, unaccustomed to the weather of Nova Scotia, were scammed into returning to Freetown in Sierra Leone, Africa, to set up their own country, and for many, only to have arrived to be sold into slavery again.  (Interestingly, this "solution" was also proferred by several of our famous founding fathers during the constitutional convention).

Floor display in the Birchtown Museum
on Black Immigration

After 82 miles, arriving in Barrington Passage a bit hot and tired, the self-proclaimed Lobster capital of the world, I did treat myself to my first whole lobster, including sheepishly asking for “lessons” on how to eat it from my server.  Well worth the days work.


Poor fella - tasted so good!


Rounding the southeast corner of Nova Scotia on the 21st, I had to spin out around Cape Sable island, this, a place called The Hawk, is the southernmost accessible spot in Nova Scotia.  Defined by a long, flat expanse of cobbly beach and inland marshes with few trees, the Cape Sable lighthouse in the distance stands like a sentinel in the flat and barren expanse.  This too is in stark contrast to the northernmost point in Nova Scotia – Meat Cove – were we camped – hilly, rocky edges cascading into the sea.  They couldn’t be more different, but in  their own way, both similarly beautiful.

The Hawk - southernmost point of Nova Scotia

In turning the corner to head along the south and west shores of Nova Scotia, I also entered a strong Acadian heritage area – des Cotes acadiennes - so strong nearly everything was in French with little English either spoken or written.  It was like I entered a whole new country, where names ended in eau or eault, and the French flag with the single star – the symbol of Acadia - proudly displayed everywhere.  According to locals, the entire south and southwest coast has the largest concentration of French Acadians, unlike the pockets we encountered in the north that were similarly well defined, but much less in number and population, and often overshadowed by the similarly situated Celtic and Scottish clans.  It was wonderful to experience this change in culture.


L'Eglise Sainte-Marie
This cultural change was no more manifest than in the magnificence of the churches.  Starting in Yarmouth all the way to Digby, the route is known as the Evangeline Trail, for nearly every small fishing village had a magnificent church - and in a few cases - cathedrals. The L'Eglise Sainte-Marie is the largest all wooden church in North America, where even the central pillars are a single spruce trunk covered in plaster.  The L'Eglise Saint-Bernard is a true cathedral, a gray granite monolith that can be seen for miles around, constructed over a span of 32 years of all granite, by local volunteers.  And here the comparison with the north is striking, for the churches were all very simple and much smaller, with the possible exception of Ille Madame, because generally the population is so much less, but the cultural pride just as abundant.


L'Eglise Sainte-Marie
L'Eglise Saint-Bernard



Completing my southern tour of Nova Scotia with a wonderful spin up the west coast to Digby, I caught the ferry toward St. John, New Brunswick on August 22nd, crossing with much interest the Bay of Fundy, the place in the world with the highest tidal swings, manifest at this crossing with boat houses sitting atop long stilts over a muddy stretch of beach.  This would fascinate me in coming days as I change course and spin down toward Maine and New Hampshire.



Smuugler's Cove - a 60' deep hidden cave ideal to stash bootleg
If the market demands a bigger boat - improvise!