It’s become something of a tradition for me to put together an end-of-summer post to document the work and events that happened here at Round Hill. I do this mainly for myself as it’s proven useful for me to be able to look back and see what was accomplished each summer. This year was particularly notable for the type of projects completed. I’ll get to that below.
I think it’s good to do this kind of photo documentation as I tend to forget just how much I have done each year. In fact, just looking for some representative photos for this post, I kept thinking, “Oh, yes! There was that project too! Oh, and that one as well!” I know I would otherwise forget all of this stuff in short order as the years really are running together lately.
The first thing to mention is that the old house sustained some fairly extensive damage to the roof during the late winter blizzard that hit Nova Scotia in March. Upon my arrival here in early May, I was dismayed to find torn up shingles strewn throughout the front garden. Even before going indoors for the first time, I wandered around the property inspecting the roof from different vantage points. I soon spotted a couple of badly ripped up sections where the roof planking was exposed. This did not bode well for the old place. Upon entering, I went straight upstairs and, not too surprisingly, found some areas of major water damage where the plaster ceilings and walls had been become soaked. These were sections of rooms that I had already finished replastering during past summers. Big mushy heaps of plaster lay on the floors or slopped over objects directly below the spots where water had entered the attic and come down through the ceilings. I wasn’t much amused. However, I’ve become quite adept at dealing with chaos and disappointment, so I wasn’t overly upset by the sight.
The weather didn’t give me much of a break upon arrival. There was a heavy rain within a day or two. Water immediately seeped through many areas of the upstairs ceilings – including two spots in my bedroom. Armed with about a dozen buckets and plastic trays, I climbed up a ladder and through the attic hatch and set to work locating the worst of the holes in the roof. I did this during a heavy rain. Quite a depressing sight to watch streams of water splashing down onto the attic floor. However, it was also the best way to locate the hot spots that required a bucket to catch the flow. I soon realized that finding a good roofing company was job #1 on my list. As it happened, I spotted some fellows working on a roof up the road from my place. I liked what I saw (they were meticulously cleaning up the ground after completing the job). I emailed them and arranged to have someone come out to inspect the roof and give me a rough estimate. I already knew it was going to be an expensive job as I’d checked the planking while up in the attic and many of the heavy planks on the east side were soggy and rotten. We agreed on a price and then I went into “waiting mode”. Unfortunately, this area got hit with the tropical storm tail end of Hurricane Arthur, so the roof sustained even more damage. Fortunately, one of the roofers had done some minor patching to see things through until they could begin the job, so things weren’t quite as terrible as they might otherwise have been.
Finally work began. The roofers ripped off all the old shingles and replaced about 20 big planks. There was one nasty surprise — the wood siding on one of the gables was a water-soaked mess from improperly installed flashing at some point in the distant past. That added a lot of extra cost to the job. Ho hum.
From 3 to 5 fellows worked on the roof for almost a week. The house is high enough and the roof steep enough, that scaffolding was needed in order to work safely. The work was done well and looks quite neat. I spoke to the roofing team fellows a couple of times a day. The fellow who did the pyramid-shaped tower roof told me that he was pretty nervous when he started the first side. The angle is quite steep, so even with a wide plank on roof jacks, he didn’t feel very secure. By the time he got to the fourth side, he said he was hopping around without any trouble. Anyhow, at last it was completed. They had to remove the whale from its perch for a couple of hours, but it’s back in its familiar spot now and spinning freely to indicate the wind direction.
As most of you probably know, almost all of the work on this house has been done with my own two hands. However, when it came to the roof project, that was totally out of the question as I am pretty much terrified of heights. That said, I did take on one “high project” this summer. The entire 30 foot soffit and fascia of the west side of the house was totally rotten and needed to be replaced before the roof could be done. I got an estimate for the work, but decided that I could handle it myself during the time while I waited for the roofers to begin the job. It was, to be quite frank, a rather shitty kind of job as I don’t own scaffolding and the section of the roof was about 12 feet above the ground, so at just about the very limit of my comfort zone for working off the top of a ladder. However I managed to get it all done. The wood itself did not cost all that much, so this was a job well worth having done. It turned out well and I didn’t fall and kill myself. I should mention that when one of the roofers found out that I would be doing this alone, he asked if I wasn’t nervous in case I fell. After all, who would know and come to my rescue. I showed him where I set my cellphone while working — down on the ground right below wherever I was up on the ladder!
I finally got around to another job that I’ve long thought of doing — and that was to tile the front entrance hall. I bought a carton of tiles that were about the colour of a sandy beach with streaking through it. The idea I had in mind was that the hall floor would be painted to resemble an ancient mariner’s ocean map with fanciful sea creatures and a compass rose – and the tiles would be the beach overlooking all this. The tile turned out quite nice, although shortly after it was finished, I dropped a heavy piece of metal on one of the tiles and cracked it. I have a spare tile that I will insert there — some day!
A lot of other things happened this summer. It wasn’t always work and no play. As some of you may remember, my poor trusty van sort of blew apart on the highway back in early August — one of the front ball joints gave out and the van suffered some damage. Fortunately, it could be repaired, but it was out of commission for several weeks. To tide me over, I bought a rather long-in-the-tooth little Jeep for not too much cash. The whole story of the van’s breakdown and the Jeep’s serendipitous acquisition may be found here. At first, I found the Jeep to be quite skittish and I thought, “Whoa! What I have gotten into!” but in time, we bonded and get along extremely well now. I have actually grown to love my little Jeep which wore a canoe hat all through August and September. It’s been fairly trustworthy and got me around – almost happily – while the van was being overhauled. And speaking of the canoe, it is finally “home” after being stored and used by good friends back in Ottawa. I brought it here this spring and its maiden voyage in Nova Scotia was made particularly memorable as I took Arizona friends, Tom and Helen, for a small canoe trip on an upper branch of Round Hill Brook (up on Barry’s Stillwater). I guess I should have included a photo from that trip, but I see that I already have more than enough photos for a blog post. I would have written this as a two-parter, but know I would never have gotten around to part two.
As you might guess, there was a hell of a lot of plaster repair work to be done upstairs in the wake of the terribly leaking roof. I used up several buckets of plaster, but all is pretty much back to where it was before the disaster. I also managed to get going on plastering the final room of the upstairs — yet another gargantuan job — but it’s almost finished! Not sure if I will get it done before I leave, but if not, I will surely finish it next spring. The above photo is of one corner of that room.
One of the really neat projects of this summer was the installation of a wood stove. Yet again, this was something I had hoped to see done some day. Don and I installed the wood stove in our farm house back in Ontario, so I had contemplated doing an installation on my own. However, the roof on this house is pretty high, so I decided that might be risky and stupid. As it happened, one of the roofers said that he could do the stove installation as he had done many in the past. He said that if I got absolutely everything assembled in advance, he would come and install the stove on a day off from roofing. It was a lot of running around, but the day finally arrived and the stove got installed. I love it! It’s beautiful and it has made such a difference to the comfort of the house. Should have done this ages ago.
Of course, with such a nice wood stove in the living room, I had to find some way of enjoying watching the flickering flames at night. I decided to move a bed in here and start sleeping in this part of the house. Hell, who cares if it’s the living room? I’m at the point that I just do what I like and this made sense, so I fixed up a little sleeping area and it’s really rather nice. I can look down on the river through the windows by day, and watch the wood fire by night.
This proved to be the summer of reawakening creativity for me. As many of you know, I’ve been struggling with a general lack for a very long time. It has been hard to feel very creative when I felt like I was barely keeping my life strung together with invisible duct tape. Anyhow, I began work on more painted floor projects — the above image is one of the figures on the ancient mariner’s map in the front entrance hall. I managed to finish painting all the rest of the downstairs rooms this summer. That felt pretty good.
I also made my first folk art carving in many years. I used to do lots of carvings each year and had studio shows and sales back at my cordwood studio building in Ontario before my world fell apart. I have decided to try to get back into art again. When I return here next spring, I intend to start making pieces once more. I’m really looking forward to it.
Another project was to start accumulating chairs for painted chair projects which I’ll sell along with folk art and other painted furniture. I watch for them at yard sales and thrift shops. These were the first three. Now there are a bunch of others – a veritable stable of them awaiting my attention when I return in the spring.
Of course, no summer here has been complete without a garden. The vegetable garden did wildly well. I grew watermelons that did really well — a first for me! This autumn, I planted a bunch of new seed garlic purchased from Rasa Creek Farm in British Columbia. I have always wanted to grow specialty garlic after buying a half-dozen wonderful bulbs from a grower at a farmer’s market in Grants Pass, Oregon, during one of my autumn trips long ago. That garlic made such an addition to many meals during my month long camping trip in the redwoods of northern California. I’ve long dreamed of growing such garlic here. Now it’s all planted and will hopefully be coming up when I return in the spring.
The sunflower patch did really well too, as did the gladiola patch that I plant and tend for my nearest neighbours who are not able to grow a garden anymore. I was able to keep vases of cut flowers going for them for several weeks.
Throughout all of the above, I’ve made time for some fun. I’ve played a lot of music, made many new friends, and enjoyed plenty of pilgimages to the terrific Saturday morning market in Annapolis Royal. In spite of the steady pace of work around here, it’s all been kind of idyllic. Sage and Shelby and I had a lot of fun playing around together between all the daily tasks of mowing lawns, weed whacking with the weed trimmer, cutting and hauling firewood, and all the other stuff that goes into life here at Round Hill. I am so thankful to have such a great place to live, work and play. In spite of some of the problems – like the roof – all in all, I would have to say it has been a wonderful summer.
This evening, just a couple of hours from now, it will be the sixth anniversary of Don’s death. Each year, I put up a few photos and try to write something that shares a few memories and also helps all of you to know what kind of person Don was. This is a really difficult task for me. Just looking through my photo library makes me very sad. Also, it makes me wonder why I didn’t take more photos of him — although actually, I did take many. I just wish I had more.
Anyhow, each time I write this annual post, I try to think of something new – something that I haven’t said before. This year, I would like to write about how things were in the last months of Don’s life. I feel that I need to write about that because it seems rather like I’ve woven a tapestry with a big hole in the middle — the hole that speaks of those last months of dealing with terminal cancer. In many ways, maybe those are some of the most important days in our almost 35 years together. Some of this will be hard for me to write, and perhaps hard for you to read. Of course, no one is obligated to do so.
As these first few photos illustrate, Don was a very strong, healthy man. He was a never smoker. He ate well — well, we both did. We hiked, snowshoed, cross-country skied, canoed, rode our horses, and were pretty much on the go all the time.
In November of 2007, Don became very ill. He had been coughing for awhile, but the doctors chalked it up to hay fever and asthma. They prescribed inhalers and other meds. However, his condition continued to worsen. A CT scan was scheduled and that revealed shocking results – a tumour in one lung, smaller lesions in the lung, and clear signs of metastasis in his spine and rib cage. Even the respiratory specialist he was referred to was shocked and perplexed. The CT scans and MRIs were showing terrible things going on in his body, and yet he scored about as high as a person possibly can on the respiratory tests even with one lung almost blocked by a large tumour. It was all very difficult to accept.
While waiting for further testing, Don became very ill in late November. I rushed him to ER one evening and he was admitted with extreme sepsis, caused by a lung infection associated with the tumour. It was touch and go whether he would survive. However, after a couple of days in ICU, he was moved to the cancer diagnostics centre and thus began a week of MRIs, bone scans, brain scans, blood work, a bronchoscopy and other tests. The results showed Non-Small-Cell Lung Cancer (NSCLC). The cancer was all over the place. As the radiation oncologist said, “There is no point telling you which bones have cancer – there are too many – so let me tell you which ones don’t.” Anyhow, I won’t go into all this — I think I’ve written about some of this before — but the results were so grim as to be almost impossible. One doctor after another came into Don’s room to deliver the latest blow. Eventually this struck us as hilarious in a bizarre way. It was like something out of Monty Python.
Through all of this, we held up remarkably well. In fact, almost every doctor made a point of telling us that we were really unusual — unlike almost any other couple they had ever met. We didn’t break down. We asked sharp questions. We didn’t give them shit or scream at them. We remained upbeat and optimistic in the face of the horrendous. Anyhow, it was an experience.
A few days later, Don was released. He had a PIC line to deliver very powerful IV antibiotics. During this time, he took a very heavy round of radiation on the tumour. He could not begin his first line of chemo (Cisplatin-Vinorelbine) until he was entirely recovered from the sepsis or the chemo would likely kill him. It was February before he could begin the chemo regimen.
It was good for me to assemble these photos today. The top bunch were all taken the summer before Don became ill. He looked and felt pretty good other than the persistent cough. The photo immediately above this paragraph was taken after Don had begun his first line of chemo. He continued to feel pretty good. We worked hard to develop a diet that would keep him very strong, healthy and retaining weight as lung cancer is a bastard for making people lose weight and become feeble. Don did all kinds of exercises each day – working out with weights, walking back and forth on the lane between the house and the barn. We actually got out and did a bit of hiking around when the snow was not too deep.
During this time, we both tried very hard to remain upbeat. It was difficult, especially when Don was taking prednisone (steroids) before and after a chemo treatment. He would become very emotional and cry at almost anything sad that came on the television. He loved watching the James Herriot “All Creatures Great And Small” television series, but I secretly cursed it because there was almost always some sad part that would trigger a terrible crying jag.
I contrived ways to surprise Don — like stomping out the “I LUV YOU” heart on the snow so that he would see it as we departed for a chemo treatment on a snowy morning. Believe me when I say that I probably pulled off some of the greatest acting performances of my life during that time – being cheerful 24 hours a day with Don, the doctors, the nurse practitioners, the home care nurses, and anyone else who touched our rapidly declining world. Again and again, we were told how extraordinary we were. We didn’t feel very extraordinary. I think we just wanted to try to help each other to get through what was, for both of us, a horrific time.
Don’s first line of chemo went so well that we felt some sense of optimism. However, as soon as those treatments ceased, the cancer began to grow very aggressively once more. It was decided to go on to a second line — this time, the drug, Taxotere, which is used to treat breast cancer. It totally bombed and after a couple of treatments, had done so much damage to Don’s heart that it was never good again and he had to take three different heart medications to keep him alive. It was all very devastating.
However, if you look at these photos taken in our living room, I think you’ll have to admit that Don looked pretty happy and cheerful. He was almost always this way — even toward the end. As I wrote above, it’s good for me to look at this photos once more — I never do as they hurt me too much — but good to see that he looked quite happy, well, and comfortable with Sabrina. All through this time, he could only sleep on a recliner chair and never in bed as the cancer in his spine made it too painful to lie down. I kept adding more and more layers of comforters to the chair, trying to make it softer and softer as the pain gradually became worse. We used to joke about how it was becoming rather like the story of the Princess and the Pea who had to have many mattresses to sleep on.
After the Taxotere fiasco, the last ditch effort was to try Tarceva – a once a day targeted therapy oral drug. Unfortunately, it was reserved as a third line medication which could not be tried until you jumped through the hoops of doing the first two lines. I’ve always been kind of furious inside about that because it was the Taxotere that really ruined Don’s health. Once he began Tarceva, he got all the horrid side effects — the rashes and sores in his mouth, but the pain in his spine began to clear up quickly. However, it was all too late. The cancer in his lung had progressed too far after not responding at all to the the horrible Taxotere drug. However, there was actually a period of about two days when the pain in his back was lessened to the point that he slept in our bed for the first time in months. I felt such relief. Unfortunately, that was short lived. He choked on a fruit smoothie one morning and I ended up having to take him to ER. His blood oxygen level had dropped off dangerously low (I kept a sensor to check it several times a day and saw the level tank suddenly). That day, I asked him if he wanted to just stay home or if he really wanted to go to the hospital as I was pretty sure they would keep him there. There was an unspoken message here. “You may never come home again.” He said to wait awhile while he thought about what to do. A little while later, he said he wanted to go to the hospital. We said goodbye to our dog, Sabrina, and I took him there.
The doctors in ER said he would have to go on a ventilator. That was the only choice. He would have to be sedated and they warned that he might never be able to come back off of it. I neglected to mention, but this is important — that Don had lost the ability to speak in more than a whisper about 4 weeks previous to this time. I leaned close to him to hear his wishes. He said, “I will try this. What other choice is there?” I nodded my head and told the doctors. They brought a clipboard with a piece of paper for Don to sign. He signed it and then they put an oxygen mask on him and began the process to sedate him and put him on the ventilator. I have a memory that is so vivid to this day. It is of Don smiling so bravely and giving me a big thumbs up as they put the mask on his face. Something about it always reminds me of some test pilot on an early super sonic jet, getting ready for take off. That was the last time that Don and I were able to communicate. From this point onward, he would be strongly sedated.
He was moved into ICU and received incredible care. I stayed by his side almost 24 hours a day, sleeping in a recliner chair by his bed. The staff were wonderful. I think back to all of them and still remember each and every one. I used to go home to feed Sabrina and be with her for a half hour twice a day — quite a drive as we were about an hour from the hospital. On one of those days, I dug up a folder of my 11×14 photos of dragonflies (left overs from a natural history museum exhibit of my work), and brought them in to give to a bunch of the staff. They were thrilled and asked me to sign them. Something about all this helped me to feel that this whole hospital thing is not entirely an inhuman machine. People really do care and the staff who work in these places are very special.
At one point, there was an attempt to reduce the sedation being given to Don, but he became extremely agitated. I happened to have left to go home to feed Sabrina. I returned to the hospital that afternoon to find Don tugging at the ventilator hose. His eyes met mine for a second and I could immediately sense the fear and fury. I stepped between him and the nurse and ordered her to increase the sedation immediately — which she did. He calmed down quickly.
A day or two later, one of his doctors told me that he thought Don was doing a bit better and that they thought they could remove the ventilator after the weekend. That seemed unlikely to me, but I was willing to believe anything. He advised that I go home and get some rest. I was pretty exhausted by this time and Sabrina was doing very poorly — not eating and growing weaker by the day. At midnight, I drove home and fell asleep on the sofa. About 9 a.m., I received a call from a nurse. She said that the doctors needed to see me right away. I asked why and she would not tell me. I told her to get a doctor on the phone as I wanted to know what was going on before I drove at breakneck speed to the hospital while still half asleep. I guess that must have scared them because a doctor came on the line after a minute or two. He said that Don had taken a turn for the worse and that there were matters to be discussed. I said I would be there within the hour. I called my mom and brother, Randy. They said they would meet me at the ICU.
When I got there, Randy accompanied me to the meeting with the doctor. He said he had done an emergency bronchoscopy to see what was happening. They also had X-rays up on a screen. He said Don’s lung was now full of cancer. They wanted to remove the ventilator because he was just getting worse and he felt it was wrong to carry on as his body was dying. I had actually realized that a day or two before. I could tell by Don’s appearance – the swelling in his legs and feet – and various signs on the heart and respiratory monitor screens. I studied the X-rays carefully and could see the extent of the cancer. There was no clear area remaining in his lungs. I spoke calmly, “There’s nothing left to do, is there?” The doctor replied softly that this wasn’t really a decision — that the cancer had decided all of this for me. I remember nodding my head and looking to my brother who looked distraught, but supportive. I’ve always been so glad he came there with me. I know it is about the last place he wanted to be, but there he was.
We went to Don’s room and I sat with him. In awhile, a respiratory technician came in and explained that the ventilator would be gradually stepped down. That’s what happened. I would not say it was uneventful. The machine had a ridiculous warning buzzer that kept going off every minute or two. I became greatly angered by it and my brother stood by ready to hit a reset that would stop the buzzing. I put my arm around Don’s head and spoke to him. I observed that as I spoke, his heart rate would increase and stabilize. I told him that when this whole mess was over with, we would blow this place and take off. His heart rate strengthened more. Then I would stop talking and it would drop down and become erratic again. This went on for awhile – me speaking and then going quiet. Finally, I said that he should just rest and sleep. Soon after that, he passed on.
I remained calm — sad, crying, but calm. I have seen all kinds of reactions in those ICUs – people screaming, yelling, falling to the floor. I did not feel that. I think I felt relief that this whole terrible thing was over with and that Don was now free. I spoke with his nurse – she gave me a big hug and told me that they would remove the ventilator and lines and then I could return. I went out in the hall and called my best friend to tell him what had happened. He had already told me that when Don died, he would catch the first available flight from Portland, Oregon, to come and help me deal with everything. He is a great friend – the one person who called Don every week to talk during his illness. Anyhow, when I returned to the room, my brother and mother were there with me. I passed my hands back and forth over Don’s arms and legs and body, memorizing how they felt to me. I still remember how he felt. Muscle memory never forgets these things. Then I noticed a pair of scissors on the bedside table. I suddenly knew what to do. I picked them up, held a large part of my hair out and away from my head, and chopped off a huge length. My glance fell upon my brother. He looked stricken. I coiled up the hair and placed it into the palm of Don’s hand and pressed his fingers closed over it.
I left soon after. I drove home alone to look after Sabrina. That night, I actually contemplated ending things. I had arranged it so that I could do so. However, when I saw how weak and pathetic Sabrina was, I realized that I’d have to kill her too. That seemed like a terrible thing to do, so I decided to hang around for awhile. My friend arrived the next day. He watched over me constantly. I have a funny memory. Interesting in a way.
The night after Don’s death, I fell asleep sitting up at one end of the sofa. I say “asleep”, but it was more like dreaming while awake. I felt a growing sense of warmth around me and pressure, like being hugged and held. It was a good feeling — a feeling of well-being. In the midst of it, my friend came racing down the hall yelling, “Where are you?!! Where are you?!!” He was in a panic. He’d fallen asleep and awoke, not seeing me around, and thought I must have gone outside to end things. I looked up at him – slightly sad that he’d broken whatever weird magic this was that had come over me for a short while. It was gone. But that’s okay. I’ve never felt it again. I sometimes wonder if Don dropped by the house to say goodbye. I’m an atheist, so that kind of thing seems a little out there, but it did seem real enough at the time. Who can say what things are real in this world and beyond.
Anyhow, I hope this post doesn’t seem too maudlin or bizarre. It’s just how things happened to two people who never really asked for or deserved such an experience. Even now, the whole illness thing seems impossible and unreal – almost like it happened to someone in another life. I still feel very close to Don – even at six years later. I keep a favourite photo of him next to his ashes. I speak to him briefly at least once a day, kiss my finger and brush it gently across his cheek. If that seems strange to some of you, well, then you probably haven’t experienced such a great love and such a loss yet.
Love to you always, Don.
Serendipity. Perhaps it will be Serena for short. Meet the new-old jeep purchased with a handshake a couple of weeks ago. Of course, there’s a back story.
About three weeks ago, I got to thinking that my trusty van which has weathered several winter trips to the southwest, was in need of some maintenance and repairs. However, how was I to arrange this? I live alone and have only the one vehicle. I have no one to ask for a ride anywhere — at least no one who would not be inconvenienced. And so I began thinking about trying to find a reasonably priced vehicle to purchase as a back-up and general run-about car.
I perused kijiji looking for something local that might fit the bill, but didn’t see anything too hopeful. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I noticed an ad on the bulletin board at the grocery store. It read, “2003 Jeep Liberty, good condition, $2000″ and a couple of phone numbers. I had no pen on me, so I committed the numbers to memory with the intention of calling that evening. However, after arriving home, the numbers had vanished from my memory. Too bad.
A couple of days later, I went to the local lumberyard to buy a sheet of plywood. Just after it was loaded, I noticed a silver jeep with a for sale sign in the window. The numbers jogged my memory. They were the same numbers as seen on the ad in the grocery store. I looked around for someone to ask about the jeep, but everyone was busy with customers, so I departed with the intention of returning in a day or two to find out to whom it belonged. A couple of days later, the jeep sort of forgotten due to so many other things on my mind, I was filling a gas can at the local gas station. I looked up and there was the Jeep parked behind my van, waiting for its turn at the pump. There was a young guy at the wheel. Someone was chatting with him about whether he would be playing fiddle at some local event that weekend. Hmmm… THE Jeep, and it was owned by a fiddler. Interesting.
I walked back to ask about the jeep, then went inside to pay for the gas purchase. I moved the van up alongside the Jeep over on one side of the parking lot. We talked for a few minutes. Me asking a few questions and the young fellow producing a wad of parts invoices to show me what he had fixed on the jeep since buying it a little over a year ago. He wanted to buy a full size truck now. I gave the jeep a quick looking over — under the hood, looked inside and sat on the seat to see if it was comfortable. Then I said I’d probably take it — that I’d think about it a bit more overnight, but that I’d probably be down to the lumberyard to put a deposit on it the next morning. We shook hands on the deal and departed. I did return the next morning to put a couple of hundred bucks down, and left instructions for him to deliver it to my place in about a week — after my yard was less jammed full of roofing company vehicles (the roof was being replaced that week). It was all pretty casual.
Thursday morning came and I dropped by the lumberyard to give the young fellow the all clear to deliver the Jeep the following evening. I went to a music jam that evening. The next day, while I was out and about and driving home along the highway that runs by my place, there was a huge bang from the front end of my dependable van. It swerved crazily as I tried to get it stopped without crashing in the ditch. Finally, it came to a halt. I sat at the wheel regrouping my thoughts. I looked up to see a man jogging quickly toward me. He called, “Are you okay?! I heard a huge bang from up at my house. Sounded like something terrible happened.”
I climbed down out of the van and we walked around to the passenger side. Indeed, something bad did happen. The passenger side front wheel was twisted around into a crazy angle and the van was lying sort of canted over in a huge rut dug into the shoulder of the road. I knew at a glance that it must have been a broken tie rod end or control arm.
The van was off the road enough that it was in a relatively safe spot. The man from up the road ran back to his house and called a tow truck. When he returned, he and I and an unknown but very nice woman who had immediately stopped to help, got my canoe unlashed from the roof of the van and carried it up the road to the man’s house. He offered me some apple juice while we waited for the tow truck. He asked if I would like anything removed from the van and offered to drive me and my stuff home, then backed his van up where we could remove several heavy pails of plaster, a couple of big pails of water, and a grocery order. Then the tow truck showed up. Unfortunately, the van’s size and the kind of damage would require a ramp truck, so the tow truck driver put some pylons around to make the van more visible. He said to me, “It’s all looked after now. I want you to get that worried look off your face. I’ll take care of the rest.” The tow truck departed and my newly acquired friendly neighbour drove me and all my stuff the 3 or so miles home to my place, helped me unload, then drove off after telling me not to worry about my canoe — it would be safe in his yard until I could come by and pick it up.
An hour or so later, the Jeep was delivered by the young fellow. He signed off all the papers on it and I handed him the cash for the Jeep. I couldn’t do anything about getting the licensing done until after the weekend, so the Jeep sat in the yard for three days. The next morning, I thought I should try it out — after all, I hadn’t even driven it around. I backed it around the front yard and it seemed okay.
After the weekend, a fellow widowed friend drove me to Digby to get insurance and a licence for the Jeep. I had made some phone calls ahead of time, so the whole process went very smoothly. We returned home, me with licence plate in hand. She departed and I stuck the plate on in readiness for driving to a kitchen jam at the arts centre that evening.
The Jeep and I have had a couple of days to get to know each other. Sure, it has a bunch of little things wrong with it. Yesterday, I epoxied the brackets for the rear lift glass shocks back into place. There will be other things to take care of, but basically, the little Jeep seems pretty decent for two grand. I’m happy. I drove it out to the garage that’s going to work on the van — if it can be repaired. A very nice mechanic who everyone says is the best and also a good, straight, honest guy – thinks the van can be repaired and that the damage probably isn’t as bad as it looks. I told him to take his time. I have my little Jeep now… Serendipity, that is.
This morning, I picked up a bottle of Gaspereau Valley wine and dropped by at the helpful neighbour’s house to pick up my canoe. He came up from working in the field out back. We tied the canoe up top on the jeep. He even found a good piece of hardwood to make a cross-bar for the roof rack. We had a good chat while we secured the canoe in place. As we finished, I presented him with the bottle of wine. He wished me luck and, once again, I thanked him as I drove off for home.
Serendipity. Not just with regard to the timely arrival of the Jeep, but with the van not crashing worse than it did, or in a really bad location. And for finding a good garage with a good mechanic and tow truck driver. And for all the wonderful help of a neighbour whom I’ve never met before. And a friend to drive me to the licence office to get the Jeep’s plates. All is reasonably well — in a summer that has been a little more stressful than it should have been.
I think Serendipity is a good name for this Jeep. And it wears its canoe hat very well. And Sage and Shelby seems to like lying in the shadow that it casts out on the grassy lawn.