June 27: Conquerall Bank Strawberry Supper!

I just spotted the sign for this upcoming supper, I can't wait!

Check out this guest review from last year for an idea of what to expect..

Guest Review! Wrasslin' in Lunenburg

Thanks to Ariel Marsh and Kevin Fields for this first hand account of the recent wrestling event in Lunenburg. Check out Ariel's work here. (There's a sweet Bee Machine graphic in her gallery!)

Wrasslin' at the Lunenburg Community Center

Kevin, Dave, Julia and I headed down to the Community center for Mainstream Entertainment's wrestling event. They are celebrating ten years of wrasslin' awesomeness. Many thanks to baroing for letting us know this event was going on. I can't even imagine how my life would be if I had missed this!

We had no idea what we were in for.

Ringside seats? Yes please! This brought about a whole new level of awesome! For $12 a person, how could you pass that up? I think at one point, Dave was up close and personal with one wrestler (ed: Mr. Clean) who sported a pair of specimen cups, filled with some kind of liquid. Now, I won't speculate what was in those cups, but I'm pretty sure you don't want a face full. Unfortunately, that happened to the other guy. EEEEWWW!

On our way to our seats we passed the table full of loots. Tons of prints of the wrestlers and t-shirts galore. I picked up a sweet Bee Machine tee and I promptly went to change. BEST T-SHIRT EVAR!

The wrestlers were wild, with over-the-top acting and their sweet moves. But, the best part of the evening was when I saw that Crabmeister come a runnin' down the aisles sideways! It's obvious he's skilled in the deadly arts of Crab.

One of my favourite parts were the delightful costumes. Bee Machine has this sweet yellow jacket, luchador mask and striped briefs. The real J.J.B. came out with his bright pink tassled pants. Josef Von Schmidt sported the eye patch, matched with an officer's cap and trench coat, decorated with medals. I wonder where he bought them?...

During the intermission, we got our pictures on. First up was Crabmeister. I regret not doing the crab with him, but there were kids present. Next up, my all time fave, the Bee Machine. I really had to work myself up to talk to him. I know what you're thinking, “he's wearing a mask.” That just made it worse. Who finds it easy to talk to a man in a mask? Especially one who makes all the lady flowers bloom.

And what sporting event would be complete without the fans? Oh man, they were nutso! You had the ladies heckling the wrestlers to no end. The big burly wrestlers telling old ladies and little children to shut up was pure gold. I almost wish I had Twitter so that I could tweet all of the taunts coming from the kids sitting behind us. “You're a fatty fat fat,” “you suck,” and some rather wicked profanities escaped their little mouths. It rocked so hard.

At last, we came to the grand finale. The casket match! All throughout the evening, Josef Von Schmidt let his presence be known by proclaiming how much Canada sucks. In the end, he got his as the 7 foot Giant Grimez handed out a whole case of pure, unadulterated Whoop Ass.

It was a night to remember.

From the news desk of Ariel, with a few colourful phrases by Kevin

I heart snow..

The woods of Lunenburg County looked like Santa's Village last weekend!

Sure made for some glorious XC skiing conditions!










Long live skiing!!!!

Pics kindly provided by Jeff Doran

Guest Post: Wind and Light

Here's another guest post from Jeff Doran, enjoy!

What are whirligigs without wind? There was no shortage of either at the 10th annual Whirligig and Weathervane Festival in Shelburne, NS, September 19. In fact, the exhibits had to be moved into the lee on Dock Street so they wouldn't take off.






I may have contributed to the gusts since I had come from breakfast at the Sandy Point Lighthouse Community Centre. It was also the 10th annual Lighthouse Festival.

I've always said September is the best part of summer.

I started at Sandy Point light just down the coast from Shelburne.
There were whitecaps in the harbour. The community centre has monthly
meals and a view which would cost you twice as much at a restaurant.
Rain showers cleared to a rainbow in the direction I was headed.
Baccaro light is stuck out at the end of a point of land past Port La Tour, next to the giant volleyball of the coastal radar station. It was windy and lonely out there. I saw one car leaving as I arrived and one car arriving as I left. The location blew us away.



Inland at Barrington, Seal Island light has been partially relocated and partially replicated. In 1979 the lantern was removed by helicopter from the island off the coast of Clark's Harbour. The lighthouse was recreated by the Cape Sable Historical Society and has been open as a museum since 1985. You can climb five stories to the Fresnel lens made in Paris.





The Whirligig Festival was a frenzy of twirling, jigging, cranking and clattering works of art. Anyone interested in wind energy should consider the possibility of using whirligigs to saw dowels and churn shotglasses of butter. In addition to the usual miniature industrial applications, there were complicated cog and wheel inventions which spun dancers and circuses. Traditional rural life was represented by blacksmithing, wood chopping, milking, ox driving, hunting and fishing, not without modern humour. An angler baited a humpbacked whale. A brace of ducks took aim with shotguns at a hunter distracted by a bathing beauty removing her top. Domestic violence was represented by husbands getting thwacked and pummeled. Folk art seems to bring underlying feelings to the surface, perhaps a result of extended solitary hours in the workshop.

When I left, rigging was slapping a tattoo on masts in the marina. I had planned to stop at three more lighthouses on the way home, but I ended up pulling into the parking lot at Summerville Beach for a nap.

Must have been the big breakfast.

Guest Post: Fall Colours

Thanks to Jeff Doran for his guest post and photos...enjoy!

I took the round-about way to the Oktoberfest turkey dinner at the Forties community centre, but it was worth the wait and worth the drive.

I loaded my old VW van with camping gear and set out in search of fall colours inland, following the La Have River to New Germany, continuing on Rt. 10 with a stop at the Shannon River Canoe Access Park. The highway was in rough shape the rest of the way to Middleton and I made a mental note to return by a different route.

The forecast was clear but cold, so I planned to enjoy the luxuries of a serviced site at one of the many campgrounds in the Annapolis Valley where I could run my electric heater and even connect my laptop by wireless Internet for on-location Skyping. The only problem was that campgrounds advertising those amenities also offered karaoke, putt-putt and Greco pizza, not exactly suiting my peaceful and meditative mood.

The weather was so good I decided to venture to the Fundy Coast in hopes of finding a secluded spot in which to tuck the van for the night. I had two sleeping bags for warmth and a hand-crank rechargeable flashlight for entertainment.

At this point my directions must remain veiled in secrecy because I discovered the perfect spot and I want it to stay that way. Suffice it to say I landed on a dead-end road right at the water's edge. The wind was stiff and waves were spraying onto the road, but it was snug inside the van. I made chili watching sunset through the windshield.

Fundy Coast

Red sun at night... who made up that nonsense? I fell asleep to the sound of surf and woke to the howling of a gale through the weatherstripping. Wind was rocking the van like a street mob. The windshield was scummy with salt. I was pretty sure there was no hurricane in the forecast so I settled back to be rocked to sleep. A burst of light through the side curtains woke me this time. At first I thought my hide-away had been spotted by the authorities. Then I heard the thunder. By my count the lightning storm was far away. I fell asleep counting.

Then the rain hit. It came with the sound of a jet take-off. Pellets drilled the fibreglass roof. Maybe it was hail, I don't know. I didn't go out to check. I told myself some people like the sound of rain on a roof when they are sleeping.

I slept fitfully. I thought about surrendering and seeking shelter inland, but that would mean crossing North Mountain. I resigned myself to a long, sleepless night.

Sometime after 3:30 a.m. (the last time I checked my watch) the storm must have passed, because the next thing I knew it was 7:00 and I was awake and cold. I had looked forward to morning sun warming up the cab while I had a leisurely coffee. I had forgotten I was in the shadow of the mountain, so even though the sky was clear, I huddled in the dark, warming my hands around the butane stove, watching the shadow diminish with maddening slowness across the Bay of Fundy. It was high tide and the waves were higher than ever. Big flakes of scud blew like an explosion in a laundromat. When the sun did come up, though, it came right in my back window and warmed the back of my neck as I had my second cup of coffee.

I had a light breakfast because I was saving myself for Thanksgiving dinner which began at 11:00 a.m. When I left the shore, some locals were coming down to look at the waves. They must have wondered how I got there first.

Back on the Evangeline Trail I stopped at a farm market for Honey Crisp, Old Fashioned Cortland, Gravenstein, Jona Gold, Red Cortland and pears at a third of the price in Bridgewater. I kept a litre of sweet apple cider at hand to swig on my drive down the Dalhousie Road.

Lahave River

The colours had me saying "Wow!" and "Whoa!" at every turn. These were not the garish reds of calendar art. These were burnished golds and bronzes against a backdrop of evergreen. One hillside had me searching my memory for a Crayola box of names for yellow. The pavement went from good to bad to worse, but the worst of it was better than the best of Rt. 10.

At the turn to the Forties I started keeping a sharp eye out for the community hall. Still, I almost missed it because I mistook the crowd of cars in front of an abandoned convenience store for a used car lot.

The hall was hidden in back. I saw people coming out with sated expressions. It was noon. I worried I was too late for white meat.

But there was plenty of everything for $10. The room was barely half full, decorated in harvest colours. I had the works plus pecan pie.

I've had my share of Thanksgiving dinners at a variety of homes on both Thanksgivings in North America, and the Forties dinner put them to the test. My table-mates complained of the lack of squash, but then, they agreed, it was hard to make for a large crowd.

I left with no plan except to avoid Rt. 10 and find a warm place in the sun to lie down and digest. I took Rt. 12 and the Lighthouse Route to Mahone Bay where I parked facing the water with the sun over my shoulder, cracked open the cider, fired up the laptop on a whim, found three wireless sites within range (thanks, unsecured site -- you know who you are), Skyped my brother in Pennsylvania and used up all of my two-hours of battery power. He was planning his fall colour trip.

Then I went home and lay down. I heard on the news it had snowed in Antigonish.

Guest Review! Conguerall Bank Strawberry Supper

Guest review and photos graciously provided by my friend Kirsten Tomilson:


July 5, 2009

I must really like strawberries… What I’ll do for a feed of those luscious succulent berries…

Rosanne, Philip, Michael and I arrived just in time to wait a half an hour for the second seating. Bob was in charge of the seating and judging by the corners of his mouth he was working himself into quite a froth. Accumulating at the corners of his mouth was a wad of white sticky goo – it reminded me of Elmer’s glue the kind we used in school. How many times did I put that stuff on my hand watch it dry and then pick it off? I digress…

As usual, the people watching didn’t disappoint. Not to mention the thick Lunenburg County accents filling the air. This is what the community supper is all about in my opinion.

By the time we are seated I am ready to feast on my left arm. No more than 5 minutes later and the gal came around with coffee and tea, in the blink of an eye the hot coffee is now seeping into every crevice of my pants. Scalding hot coffee on your privates is not the most enjoyable way in which to begin a meal. It is at this moment that Rosanne decides to regale the entire table with tales from my last community supper. You know the one… I ended up passing out from the heat minus my strawberry shortcake. Awesome… Not only is my crotch a throbbing mess, but now I am completely red with embarrassment! Timing is everything. Who knew that the same server spilled a plate of beans on some lady who was sitting in the “danger zone” before me – not sure which is worse. Here’s hoping that next year she decides to forgo the serving and take tickets instead, less risky for us paying patrons.


Did I mention that Rosanne has an extreme phobia to eggs and mayonnaise?

The server brought her a plate with all the fixings; beans, potato salad, and ham. She immediately proclaimed that she can’t have any eggs and would he mind bringing her just a plate of beans. He went back to the kitchen scraped the offending salad into the bin and presented the plate again to Rosanne. She was onto him – and that just wasn’t going to do – there was still remnants on her plate a trail of egg sludge made her discerning palette scream out in terror. He quickly brought her back a clean plate with just beans no doubt uttering under his breath about the insane lady at table #1 – sitting beside the grumpy lady with stain on crotch. I am told her phobia developed as a small child who spent far too much time at a chicken farm - I myself prefer to live in oblivion and ask her not to share the details. Bring on the eggs is what I say!

I think the tea and berries were my favorite part of the meal. What exactly do those church ladies do to make that tea taste so good. Could it be crack from God? The molasses brown bread was also very fresh and delicious. I ate 3 pieces and completely ignored the fact that I am gluten intolerant. About a half hour later I really wished that I hadn’t indulged my craving! Molasses bread will always remind me of times with my grandparents – fresh baked bread was my gram’s forte. She was such an amazing cook. Well worth the discomfort… or was it?


I’d definitely go back to this community supper… Here’s hoping that next time it is uneventful – but what else would I write about then?