Four
A private beach - 175 days on the road
How do I tell you about the beauty and splendor of nature that rolled out before us as we traversed
North America, or of the wonderful, warm-hearted people we met along the way who would not take no for an answer as they opened their homes to us in the sweltering 110-degree summer heat, or the blustering winds of hurricane Irene?
I could try and describe what you see as you drive around the twists and turns of the Gaspé Peninsula during a moonlit night – a coastal drive with dozens of tiny bays and quiet little fishing villages, the moonlight shining on the water like a million diamonds. Lake Louise early on a cool morning with its turquoise glacier-fed waters surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Or the sudden appearance of a large moose running astride us as we make our way across the ocean of colorful fields which stretch to the distant horison on the great Canadian prairie. Perhaps I should begin by telling you about the wonderful people who invited us into their lives and homes, who shared with us their stories of escape from communist Czechoslovakia many years ago; the artist who told us of a private beach to spend the night in Liverpool, Nova Scotia... well that is where our story will go today, this private beach in Liverpool.
It's the still small voice, inside all of us, that if we are tuned to, can lead us in a path of wonder. We had found ourselves on Canada's far eastern shore. The magical land of Nova Scotia. We had now been driving across North America for just over 4 months and today we were pulling into a community market for some needed food stores to last us a couple of days. Within the bus there is not an immense amount of storage, so often we would need to replenish provisions. Feeling a bit like Thor Heyerdahl, adrift on Canada's endless sea of expansive lands, we could not go for the thousands of miles in our Kon Tiki without stopping for refreshments on a regular basis. So, we popped into this store and stocked up.
Exiting the building there was a common site. A group of folks gathered around our little green and white time capsule. Our van was a small metal capsule that contained within it the stories of our past and unbeknown to us the destined future. Among the group of the curious was a local and yet well know artist - one Roger Savage, a water color wonderist. We enjoyed a brief conversation with Roger and he asked us where we would be spending the night? We told him that just down the road there was a quiet Provincial Park that we thought we would stay. This would not do apparently. Roger, a local in these parts all his life, gave us some wonderful information. That just beyond the entrance to the park, a couple of miles further down the road, was another entrance. Seldom used, this lonely road would end in a turnabout, but that if we looked closely, and if we were brave enough to venture with the bus, between the trees at the back of this turnabout, we would see and even lonelier road, or path rather. This pathway would lead us through potholes and overhanging limbs to the quietest of beaches looking out over the gentle waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
How could we resist such an adventurous invitation. After the warm handshakes and requests to visit him in his home and studio, we left to find our quiet beach. It had been early evening when we pulled away from the grocery store. Meandering down the twisty shore roads it quickly became dark and the couple of miles beyond the main entrance had turned into several. We were beginning to feel lost on these dark strange roads so began looking for any kind of turn towards the ocean. As it happened we choose the correct road in the dark and ended up in the turnabout, looking for a parting in the trees and the mysterious path to our sandy Eden.
Having made our way down the pot holed path we drove our VW onto a very small jetty branching out from the shore. Parking there we popped the top and began to set up for dinner. The top of our van is a unique Dormobile, which means that the whole roof is a fiberglass and canvass structure with twin skylights and air vents that raises like a clam shell from right to left, extending upwards until we can stand upright with our arms straight up and still not touch the roof. So we have loads of room and do not feel cramped or hunched over while we are cooking or cleaning up. After dinner and dishes our bus is once again spotless, and with such a small place it's important to keep things neat.
The night sky was filled with stars, the twinkling dust of an eternal black canvass. I take my tea for a walk into the dark a short distance from where we parked. There were some concrete pilings near the shore as if someone ages ago had poured a wall for a makeshift dock. Long broken by the relentless tides the large broken pieces made for a narrow pathway out into the waters. The air was fresh and the quiet was a warm blanket with just the lights of the universe to keep us company. We slept so peacefully that night and awoke to the sunlight breaking over the waters like a spilled can of paint, splashing the waters and sky with oranges and reds. The swelling ocean carrying the colors over the miles to our feet as we walked the small beach with our morning coffee.
Now this small exclusive section of beach was tucked in on all sides with shores of large rocky terrain making it practical inaccessible by anyone, securing it's seclusion. Yet on this particular morning, of all mornings for us to be there, I lift my eyes from a steaming cup of brew to see an adventurous couple and a black lab making their way carefully over the rocks along the shore. They were heading in our direction yet I was sure they had no idea they would have company soon. I turned and called to Tracey, who had returned to the bus for a moment, "We are going to have company".
The middle aged couple had made their way along with their furry and faithful companion. Rounding the corner and the last of the boulders separately us, they found our hidden beach and we shared a smile. Offering a morning beverage, which they kindly declined, we shared our stories with each other. A friendly morning conversation with strangers on this peaceful, sandy shore of Canada's eastern coast. With the beauty of whales breaching in the distant waters we listened intently as our morning visitors shared how they were on a retreat to get away from it all, while mourning the passing of her mother.
It's a tender time for all of us when we are facing loss. It can be profoundly sad and sometimes the sadness can overcome all other emotions, yet even in these times when we feel we are journeying within a valley of loneliness God is still speaking to us.
So four people shared a few moments on a tiny beach south of Liverpool, NS - a random meeting at an exclusively secluded locale, only to make a startlingly discovery. A heart grieving the loss of someone very close, seeking peace and closure, found it all in our little bus. The late mother's name was Olive. Olive is the name of our bus. Tears welled up in the eyes of our new friend as she shared the strangeness of this encounter. The oddity of their desire to venture down a rough stretch of beach and our peculiar chance meeting in a grocery store parking lot that led us to be there on this beach on that morning.
Healing can come in many ways. It can come through prayer or through touch. It can be expressed in a hug, a kiss or just a smile. It can come from meeting someone at the right time, in the right place and being that person who can listen without thinking about what you'll say next. Really listening to someone's heart. For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. If we listen long enough we will hear the heart of a person, and that is what we all want - to be heard. This is what God wants too. To be heard. When we are living a yielded life He has a way of putting us where we need to be, for us, and for those we will meet. We were blessed with a private breakfast getaway on this small isolated beach, but we were not just there for ourselves. There was someone we were meant to meet. Someone who needed to know that everything was going to be alright. That Olive was home and peaceful.
North America, or of the wonderful, warm-hearted people we met along the way who would not take no for an answer as they opened their homes to us in the sweltering 110-degree summer heat, or the blustering winds of hurricane Irene?
I could try and describe what you see as you drive around the twists and turns of the Gaspé Peninsula during a moonlit night – a coastal drive with dozens of tiny bays and quiet little fishing villages, the moonlight shining on the water like a million diamonds. Lake Louise early on a cool morning with its turquoise glacier-fed waters surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Or the sudden appearance of a large moose running astride us as we make our way across the ocean of colorful fields which stretch to the distant horison on the great Canadian prairie. Perhaps I should begin by telling you about the wonderful people who invited us into their lives and homes, who shared with us their stories of escape from communist Czechoslovakia many years ago; the artist who told us of a private beach to spend the night in Liverpool, Nova Scotia... well that is where our story will go today, this private beach in Liverpool.
It's the still small voice, inside all of us, that if we are tuned to, can lead us in a path of wonder. We had found ourselves on Canada's far eastern shore. The magical land of Nova Scotia. We had now been driving across North America for just over 4 months and today we were pulling into a community market for some needed food stores to last us a couple of days. Within the bus there is not an immense amount of storage, so often we would need to replenish provisions. Feeling a bit like Thor Heyerdahl, adrift on Canada's endless sea of expansive lands, we could not go for the thousands of miles in our Kon Tiki without stopping for refreshments on a regular basis. So, we popped into this store and stocked up.
Exiting the building there was a common site. A group of folks gathered around our little green and white time capsule. Our van was a small metal capsule that contained within it the stories of our past and unbeknown to us the destined future. Among the group of the curious was a local and yet well know artist - one Roger Savage, a water color wonderist. We enjoyed a brief conversation with Roger and he asked us where we would be spending the night? We told him that just down the road there was a quiet Provincial Park that we thought we would stay. This would not do apparently. Roger, a local in these parts all his life, gave us some wonderful information. That just beyond the entrance to the park, a couple of miles further down the road, was another entrance. Seldom used, this lonely road would end in a turnabout, but that if we looked closely, and if we were brave enough to venture with the bus, between the trees at the back of this turnabout, we would see and even lonelier road, or path rather. This pathway would lead us through potholes and overhanging limbs to the quietest of beaches looking out over the gentle waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
How could we resist such an adventurous invitation. After the warm handshakes and requests to visit him in his home and studio, we left to find our quiet beach. It had been early evening when we pulled away from the grocery store. Meandering down the twisty shore roads it quickly became dark and the couple of miles beyond the main entrance had turned into several. We were beginning to feel lost on these dark strange roads so began looking for any kind of turn towards the ocean. As it happened we choose the correct road in the dark and ended up in the turnabout, looking for a parting in the trees and the mysterious path to our sandy Eden.
Having made our way down the pot holed path we drove our VW onto a very small jetty branching out from the shore. Parking there we popped the top and began to set up for dinner. The top of our van is a unique Dormobile, which means that the whole roof is a fiberglass and canvass structure with twin skylights and air vents that raises like a clam shell from right to left, extending upwards until we can stand upright with our arms straight up and still not touch the roof. So we have loads of room and do not feel cramped or hunched over while we are cooking or cleaning up. After dinner and dishes our bus is once again spotless, and with such a small place it's important to keep things neat.
The night sky was filled with stars, the twinkling dust of an eternal black canvass. I take my tea for a walk into the dark a short distance from where we parked. There were some concrete pilings near the shore as if someone ages ago had poured a wall for a makeshift dock. Long broken by the relentless tides the large broken pieces made for a narrow pathway out into the waters. The air was fresh and the quiet was a warm blanket with just the lights of the universe to keep us company. We slept so peacefully that night and awoke to the sunlight breaking over the waters like a spilled can of paint, splashing the waters and sky with oranges and reds. The swelling ocean carrying the colors over the miles to our feet as we walked the small beach with our morning coffee.
Now this small exclusive section of beach was tucked in on all sides with shores of large rocky terrain making it practical inaccessible by anyone, securing it's seclusion. Yet on this particular morning, of all mornings for us to be there, I lift my eyes from a steaming cup of brew to see an adventurous couple and a black lab making their way carefully over the rocks along the shore. They were heading in our direction yet I was sure they had no idea they would have company soon. I turned and called to Tracey, who had returned to the bus for a moment, "We are going to have company".
The middle aged couple had made their way along with their furry and faithful companion. Rounding the corner and the last of the boulders separately us, they found our hidden beach and we shared a smile. Offering a morning beverage, which they kindly declined, we shared our stories with each other. A friendly morning conversation with strangers on this peaceful, sandy shore of Canada's eastern coast. With the beauty of whales breaching in the distant waters we listened intently as our morning visitors shared how they were on a retreat to get away from it all, while mourning the passing of her mother.
It's a tender time for all of us when we are facing loss. It can be profoundly sad and sometimes the sadness can overcome all other emotions, yet even in these times when we feel we are journeying within a valley of loneliness God is still speaking to us.
So four people shared a few moments on a tiny beach south of Liverpool, NS - a random meeting at an exclusively secluded locale, only to make a startlingly discovery. A heart grieving the loss of someone very close, seeking peace and closure, found it all in our little bus. The late mother's name was Olive. Olive is the name of our bus. Tears welled up in the eyes of our new friend as she shared the strangeness of this encounter. The oddity of their desire to venture down a rough stretch of beach and our peculiar chance meeting in a grocery store parking lot that led us to be there on this beach on that morning.
Healing can come in many ways. It can come through prayer or through touch. It can be expressed in a hug, a kiss or just a smile. It can come from meeting someone at the right time, in the right place and being that person who can listen without thinking about what you'll say next. Really listening to someone's heart. For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. If we listen long enough we will hear the heart of a person, and that is what we all want - to be heard. This is what God wants too. To be heard. When we are living a yielded life He has a way of putting us where we need to be, for us, and for those we will meet. We were blessed with a private breakfast getaway on this small isolated beach, but we were not just there for ourselves. There was someone we were meant to meet. Someone who needed to know that everything was going to be alright. That Olive was home and peaceful.
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