Monday, July 16, 2012


Ruggedly beautiful, simple, clean and wild. Those are the words I use to describe Newfoundland. My grandfather was born there, and my youngest son Evan and I journeyed out to St. Johns to see where I come from. It was an important journey as my dad had never been and I felt I needed to bring some of his ashes to be put into the sea.

As it turns out the city was all a buzz, getting ready for the George Street Festival- a festival that is all about music and the drink (as far as I could tell). While we were there we did get crammed into pubs while listening to some pretty fantastic Irish music. It was quite the experience, shoulder to shoulder with everyone trying to dance at the same time. It was kind of like hopping up and down with a crowd all around you doing the same thing- you move, they move. I rather enjoyed it, and Evan had a smile on his face the entire night.

 St. Johns seemed to be all about fishing (and shipping) {my grandfather was a commercial fisherman in Seattle- and most likely came from a long line of them}. I can imagine what a hard life it was here back in the day. I remember my grandfather telling us ghost stories about ships and being scared by ghosts (or parents dressed in sheets) in the night.

What a rugged beautiful place this is. We were there in August and while it was too late to see icebergs, it was still plenty cold, and damp. I don't think we saw the sun the entire time. But all that aside, we did plenty of hiking, lots of hills and all on rocks and cliffs and beaches.

famous Signal Hill (where Marconi sent his message across the sea)
and the whales were afoot

of course Evan had to go right to the edge of the ocean (making me very nervous)

for whom do they burn the fires (fishermen?)
loved this sign amongst the craggy hills

here's why I like that 'wear heels' sign

my beloved fireweed

 If you ever get the chance to take a trip to Newfoundland and environs, I highly recommend it. I know I plan on returning...