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Newfoundland to Nova Scotia
Had a last supper in St John’s on Monday night from the Afghan Restaurant on Duckworth Street. A tiny place where granny literally cooks homestyle, on a home-sized stove in the back of a place that would be stretched to seat 12 people, the food is delicious. Not pretty, at least in my takeway, but the lamb was melt-in-your mouth, the rice excellently seasoned, and the naans stretchy and tasty.
And I confirmed that I was indeed experiencing a nouveau spring (after experiencing a record number of them this year: Victoria, London, Parma, Alicante, Saskatchewan and now Newfoundland) as the lilacs were just opening in St John`s.
Spent a last morning in The Rooms, which are big, but I didn’t feel they were terribly well laid out: everything a bit too chopped up with the art gallery divided between different floors. Still, some interesting things there, and some exciting sounding art to come in the galleries. I liked the Merchant Vessels functional pottery show, and in the museum there was a display of a couple of Innu caribou hide coats that blew my mind. Called pishakanakup, they were made of fine, thin hides: summer wear for caribou hunters, their designs intended to flatter their patrons, in colours intended to invoke caribou (the reds are to mimic caribou blood). According to the display only 30 such coats exist in Canadian museums.
In the seabird display, I was entranced by the story of the Razorbill, which is rare and the closest living relative of the now-extinct Great Auk. Apparently the chicks hatch and launch themselves into the ocean before they can fly, where they are tended by their fathers for the two months it takes them to fledge!
That wore me out and I went in search of food. The tomato soup with juniper berries was not good, but the salad was
and so was the view of the harbour (where I was standing the morning before is centre left at the harbour mouth).
Then it was goodbye Bond Street
hello Halifax cloudburst (right on our baggage as it was being unloaded!)
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Monday on Signal Hill
We had the best weather ever on Monday and after morning coffee, sensibly ascended the heights of Signal Hill
by taxi and had a wander round. Here’s how the city looked from up there:
We walked down to look at the Queen’s Battery Barracks
and though neither of us could see inside, my camera could.
Nice view of beyond.. looking out to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America.
After that, we walked down the hill, and parted ways. I pressed on down the hill to amuse myself at the Craft Council Gallery which had an excellent show on upstairs, and offered unbearable temptation in the shop. And after that, it was a perfect day for admiring colour in St John’s.
Saw some bleeding hearts.
And planned my visit to The Rooms for the following day. After which I could hardly walk because of all those hills, my knees complaining of their lost youth.
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Boreal poets
Sunday carried on being warm and sunny…
Even the birds get pretty houses on Signal Hill Road
and some more mailboxes.
The party bus was waiting and we all piled aboard
and had a photo op at Portugal Cove
before embarking on our Boreal Poetry tour led by Marlene Creates, who read poems in the places where they were composed
like this rock face
pointing out the wildflowers that inspired one poem.
Feels like another spring dawning for me. Fiddleheads and flowers…
A stream runs through it
we endured the blackflies – out in their fury – for the sake of poetry
and forest
and nautical knots in the rope handrails
And then we had a reading. In the garage, which was not entirely blackfly-free, but quite comfortable and atmospheric. Penn Kemp
Joe Blades, and then
And then it was back on the bus, back to the hotel (where food service stops early) so we wrapped up with some pizza we ordered in at the bar.
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In her latest collection, Rhona McAdam navigates the dark places of human movement through the earth and the exquisite intricacies lingering in backyard gardens and farmlands populated by insects and pollinators, all the while returning to the body, to the tune of staccato beats and the newly discovered symmetries within the human heart.
“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”
Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.








































