Mayor McCallion Under Investigation

After decades of ruling the city of Mississauga and intimidating anyone who would challenge her lengthy sway Attila the Hen is being challenged for her bullying tactics once again. Having balanced her books for years on development fees she has nearly run out of new lands to pave and been rebuffed in her efforts to seize more land from Halton and Oakville.  Perhaps it's past time when she should have retired gracefully before she reached her senility:

 

Mississauga mayor facing judicial inquiry

Last Updated: Wednesday, October 28, 2009 | 10:01 PM ET

CBC News

Mississauga Mayor Hazel McCallion will face a judicial inquiry into whether her involvement in a development deal involving her son represented a conflict of interest.

Town council voted 6-4 on Wednesday to go ahead with the inquiry.

McCallion has come under fire for attending private meetings with her son and the developers of a multimillion-dollar hotel project. Peter McCallion's company, World Class Developments, tried unsuccessfully to buy the land for $14.4 million.

McCallion has maintained she declared a conflict of interest when the matter came before council last May and that the council minutes support her.

But a video record of the meeting does not show McCallion declaring a conflict, leading to accusations that the minutes were changed.

McCallion loyalists in council and many Mississauga residents have voiced opposition to the inquiry, saying it would cost too much at a time when money is tight.

The inquiry is expected to cost $2.5 million and last 40 days.

But Coun. Carolyn Parrish, who has led the calls for the inquiry, said more transparency is needed.

"I want to find out how the minutes got changed … I want to know what other deals have been going on in city central like that," she said in council Wednesday.

 

 

 

What Americans Know

I am continually astounded at the ignorance American's show of their own history and geography let alone their awareness of the world outside their own borders. I have already related the tale of the uneducated preacher who held forth for over an hour and a half about Revelation One and then met me and admitted complete lack of any knowledge of the existence of Toronto Ontario. That was nearly a year ago now.

 

You may remember that when two former presidents of these United States met in Toronto they expressed surprise to learn that we now require passports to cross the American Border though one signed the enabling legislation and other was in office when it was implemented.

 

My hosts on Cape Cod had no knowledge of the Halifax Explosion of 1917, the largest blast to occur until the first Atom Bomb was dropped on Japan in 1945. Here on the Jersey Shore the gal on the campground desk admitted no knowledge of Cape Cod even though it's just 500 miles up the coast.

 

It would seem that unless it occurred in my own backyard it isn't important and I don't need to know it. If it didn't take place in America or American's didn't do it, then it didn't happen or isn't worth knowing. Such historic insularity and isolationism is at odds with America's current position as the world's policemen and sole remaining super-power. No wonder policy-makers felt safe in attacking Iraq on the pretext of their having weapons of mass destruction. Should it surprise us that so few Americans exercise their democratic right to vote.

The Bible as Poetry

Sometimes modern translations pale by comparison with the poetry of the King James Version of the Bible. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the poetry that is the Psalms as in Psalm 46 today:

(Psa 46:1) A song of the sons of Korah. God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him.

(Psa 46:2) We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake,

(Psa 46:3) Before the rush and roar of oceans, the tremors that shift mountains. Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, GOD of angel armies protects us.

(Psa 46:4) River fountains splash joy, cooling God's city, this sacred haunt of the Most High.

(Psa 46:5) God lives here, the streets are safe, God at your service from crack of dawn.

(Psa 46:6) Godless nations rant and rave, kings and kingdoms threaten, but Earth does anything he says.

(Psa 46:7) Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, GOD of angel armies protects us.

(Psa 46:8) Attention, all! See the marvels of GOD! He plants flowers and trees all over the earth,

(Psa 46:9) Bans war from pole to pole, breaks all the weapons across his knee.

(Psa 46:10) "Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God, above politics, above everything."

(Psa 46:11) Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, GOD of angel armies protects us.

Balmy Air Goes to My Head

It's taken me two days to figure out that I've been sweating at night because I've got a heavy quilt on top of a heavy bedspread, blanket, and flannel sheets and it no longer freezes outside overnight. In fact I had the air conditioning on for a while after I got in camp today.

 

In the news is the fact that I'm not the only one who is letting things get to my head. Seems a certain Canadian Vice-Regal appointee is getting too big for her britches. Head of state indeed. This from the same gal who raised eyebrows by eating parts of an endangered species. I suppose we can be thankful it's only a five year appointment. We must remember that she comes from the same province that calls their premiers Prime Ministers and their provincial parks, National Parks. Somehow methinks this can best be handled by ignoring these little pufferies and not giving them more attention than they deserve. For the record our governor general acts as head of state in the absence of the Queen, gets her appointment from the Queen on the advice of the Prime Minister of Canada. The position is largely ceremonial but for all that would you rather have Stephen Harper acting as Head of State?

 

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It would seem we owe the existence of Cape Cod to the last ice age and its alluvial action. However it was created in its present form it looks like the shoulder and arm of a man showing off his biceps with Chatham being the elbow, Truro the wrist, and Provincetown the clenched fist. The difference between National Seashores such as Cape Cod, National Parks such as Acadia, and National Reserves is somewhat lost on me but whatever else those differences might be there are no fees for entering a National Seashore. If glaciers served to form Cap Cod, the weather continues to reform it by way of the wave action of the ocean and sand blown by the wind. The contours of the dunes and shoreline are constantly shifting and being reshaped. To my way of thinking the Graveyard of the Atlantic will always be Sable Island but the waters surrounding Cape Cod have claimed over 300O ships and light houses and life saving stations have always been a feature of life on the islands though the shifting sands have forced their relocation over and over.

 

Provincetown's claim to fame is that of being the site of the first landfall of the Pilgrim Fathers on the Mayflower. Although they rejected this site and eventually landed at Plymouth a monument soars into the sky marking their visit. The rich marine life supported by these constantly churning waters has attracted fisherman and whalers before and ever since but it is the clean salt air, endless sandy beaches, and the refreshing climate of the place that has made it a haven for those seeking the restorative powers it possesses. That their sheer numbers threaten those qualities is another matter. Cape Cod has attracted the wealthy, the poor, authors and artists, bird watchers and oceanographers.

 

In a less charitable mood I decided that having depleted the soils with bad farm practice and destabilized the land by cutting down the forests to build boats; the farmers turned to fishing and fleeced the sea of whales and fish before turning their hands at fleecing tourists. The chief agricultural pursuits today on the islands are grapes—Martha's Vineyard has its own VQA designation and cranberries, 10% of America's production are grown here. I am also struck by the contrast in attitudes presented by Acadia and Cape Cod. Whereas the Cape is a sandbar constantly being reshaped by the elements and in danger of disappearing completely it is promoted in the most glowing of terms; meanwhile the dramatic rockbound coastlines of Acadia and its bald mountains are described in the most self-deprecating of terms, Mainites could almost be Canadian.

 

On Monday when I drove up to Race Point the wind brought tears to my eyes when I walked up to the cliff overlooking the ocean. The Provincetown Visitors Centre was open and the lanky park warden manning it seemed to know his stuff. In North Truro I was pleased to discover that not all resorts on the Cape are clip joints. I camped in the middle of a pitch pine forest. I walked out to the old Coast Guard Station Site by the shoreline and saw the lighthouse, now surrounded by a golf course. On Tuesday we actually got a sunny day. Remarkable how quickly the sea subsides here when the wind stops blowing. What was missing, I determined was the boom of the surf when I got up. Wednesday I drove down and took the North Shore Drive along the base of the Cape. The area is dotted with what has become know as Cape Cod Style homes, narrow winding roads and quaint shops, inns, and small towns. Fortunately for me there was not a long line up to get off the island via the under construction Sagamore Bridge.

 

At the other end I discovered the only way to get where I wanted to go was to turn right, make a 'U-Turn' and come back. Next up was another staple of the area, a roundabout. Fun when there are more exits than the GPS knows about. Stopped for gas and to replenish my cash for the inevitable toll roads ahead. The coastal highway lacks level crossings and underpasses, instead locals get onto the highway and take the next 'U-Turn' or turnaround lane to get there. Guess it makes sense here. Settled on Fisherman's Memorial State Park in Rhode Island for my next Campsite. Getting there involved driving through dozens of small towns by way of back streets and along wooded pathways; what you get when you tell a GPS to get you there the shortest route. The shortest route took over 4 hours to go 150 miles. Somehow it's disconcerting to be dependent on a small electronic device that tells you to make a turn when you have absolutely no idea where you are and there aren't any road signs to inform you either. Somehow it got me there again as I've come to expect it to do. The 200 site Campground, when I finally reached it was near but not on the water at a point of land sticking out into the Atlantic. The campsites were all drive-through with a berm of grass and shrubs between each site, a female worker with a long shock of hair standing on end was out clipping the shrubs with a gas-powered clipper.

 

Thursday Morning I was on the road by 7:00 AM headed for New York City on I-95. Just short of the city I stopped at one of the service areas to use a MacDonalds Washroom and take a break before the challenge ahead. The highway never widened to more than 5 lanes with exits making the biggest challenge finding the right lane to be in to continue on the route I wished to take. Fortunately there were no collisions ahead and traffic never slowed below 20 miles an hour and then only in a few places. My GPS was of no assistance keeping me in the proper lane to stay on the Interstate where the third outside lane frequently became an 'Exit Only' lane creating the need to find a safe break in traffic to get left before I was forced off the highway. I'm happy to report that somehow I managed to avoid getting lost and made it across the George Washington Bridge and safely through NYC to the New Jersey Shoreline.

 

Alas the park I'd settled on for last night did not appear to have any campsites and I saw no staff to assist me. Allaire State Park does have a miniature railroad, an interpretive centre that was closed, and a large parking lot. Having gotten there I needed to get back onto the Interstate headed south again but easier said than done. My GPS is not always clear on which of the three off-ramps ahead one should take and when it tells you to turn right too often one finds out one has made the wrong choice and are faced with a 2 to 4 mile drive  up to the next interchange to drive back. When this happens three times in a row after a 300-mile harrowing drive patience can wear thin. I got to my first park by 11:30 but it was 1:30 before I reached Cedar Creek just north of Atlantic City. The place has a pleasant odour of cedar about it, a well-stocked campground store and canteen area along with a large well-stocked games room. And the showers are free! Figuring out how to make the water come on can be a challenge though. This single control tap required a forceful outward yank.

 

I am reaching more southerly climes. After arising to frost patterns on my picnic tables I saw the thermometer top 75 degrees yesterday and last evening saw stars, a crescent moon, and heard crickets again along with common night hawks. I took the quilt off my bed last night and slept the sleep of exhaustion.

Exploring the New Entland Coastline

I would point out to anyone deciding to stay at Salisbury Beach State Reservation Campground that their power supply is unpredictable; my 30 AMP supply regularly kicked out, at least the circuit breaker was available at my post. Saturday morning I paid for my stay with a credit card; the fee $22.00!

 

I took I-495 South to get to Cape Cod, it may not be a particularly interesting route but it does avoid the congestion around Boston adding 50 miles to my route. At the southern end of this route the highway curves east and then north to cross the Bourne Bridge over the canal. On Highway 6 I stopped at the Cap Cod Visitors Centre in its last day of operation and was regaled with a detailed travelogue of the area. From there drove up to the Cape Cod National Seashore Interpretive Centre to take in one of their movies, pick up information, and buy a guide book and DVD. At that point I still had 30 miles to go on my drive up Highway 6 to Provincetown. The going was good until the road narrowed to a single lane near Wellfleet where a regional oyster festival was taking place. After enduring a mile-long backup I finally got clear sailing to Provincetown.

 

Getting off Highway Six onto Bradford Street in Provincetown the first thing that strikes one is the crowded nature of the town. A two-lane road with parking on both sides the street is so narrow I needed both lanes to negotiate and people walked in the street as the sidewalks were too narrow to accommodate the crowds. Commercial St one block south is a one-way affair barely rating as a laneway. Backstreets look more like footpaths. Parking? You're kidding. Land it would seem is too valuable to waste of cars. When I found the only campground in town still open the crusty old proprietor put me off first with the price $47 a night, and then with the fact that their practise still embraced the Nineteenth Century, he demanded cash leaving me with one single dollar when the bill was paid.

 

After getting lunch I decided to walk downtown. Street signs in Provincetown seem to be an afterthought, most corners lack them. Commercial St is an odd assortment of high end antique stores, craft shops, art galleries, small malls, and the exotic—Toys for Eros? Dining establishments are multi-cultural and vary from mid-price to the skies the limit. There is a public washroom near the chamber of commerce next to the Marina where two wharfs shelter the boat basin. On the boardwalk are the small stands that shill the various tour boats available for hire. At the end of one dock is a Museum to a sunken pirate ship, the Whydah, and at the other the ferry terminal. Looming over all is the 255 ft Pilgrim Monument marking the fact that the Mayflower made its first landfall here before heading for Plymouth. After checking out various menus I finally decided to walk back to my RV and heat my own homemade soup. I made it just before the rains.

 

Sunday morning dawned blustery, cold and wet. Whatever the cause we are getting the kind of rain only the foolhardy go abroad in. It would seem I will be spending more time reading about the Cape than seeing it. The best I can hope for it would seem is that we don't get snow. I needn't have had concerns about finding a campsite in Provincetown, looking out my windows all I can see is the sand dunes beyond the fence line.

Entering the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave

Monday the 12^th of October was one of the few clear days I've seen since I entered New Brunswick. Spent the morning getting my rig set to travel, then took a bike ride up past the bar that leads to Ministers Island and Van Horne's castle there. It was low tide but the place closed for the season on Sunday. Oh well, I enjoyed the brews and salad I had at the Red Herring Sunday afternoon as well. Here's a summary I wrote of the history of St Andrews:

 

The port of St Andrews was founded by a cadre of shipping magnates who escaped America in the wake of the Revolutionary War as United Empire Loyalists. In the early years their enterprise benefited from a combination of restrictive trade laws and smuggling across the St. Croix River. As trade restrictions disappeared the setting of the Maine border frustrated an attempt to become a trans-shipment centre by building a direct rail link to Montreal. As their commercial enterprises began a rapid collapse investors decided to exploit the area's potential as a summer resort for the idle rich trapped in industrial cities of New England and Montreal. If they couldn't use their railways to ship goods, they'd transport tourists instead.

 

When the CPR took over the rail lines they built the baronial Algonquin Hotel and in its wake those who could afford such luxuries built private summer homes and entrepreneurs built a wide assortment of Inns and Resorts. The president of the CPR took over an entire island for his summer castle. People came for the season and departed in the fall. With the advent of affordable motor cars a growing middle class found shorter vacations within their means. Today even a working-class stiff such as myself can afford to stay in the RV Park here. Arriving by rail is no longer an option and nothing remains of Van Horne's Private Whistle Stop beside the Bar Road to his island estate. Alas, the road in remains something of an afterthought.

 

My last day there was spent looking out at rain, fog, and scudding clouds but the sea remained majestic.

 

Wednesday Morning I left early stopping at the town's one gas station to fill-up before heading to St Stephens for the border crossing to Calais, Maine. My luck holds, I tendered my passport, supplied my vehicle license number, and related my travel plans and was sent on my way. Maine's Coastal Highway One to Acadia is great until you hit the unimproved sections; then the road becomes narrow, winding, broken, with crumbled edges. The route I took to Acadia was via backroads but I did stop in a small town called Milbridge for groceries at Shop N Save. A small-town store was well-stocked, had quality goods and an excellent selection. After, it was a short drive to Mount Desert Island. The staff being 'out to lunch' at my  first choice for camping I drove on to the park proper. Loads of tourist traps along the way. The chamber of commerce welcome centre was not welcoming, or the man who staffed it was rather dour. The park office I stopped at was apparently not the one I wanted. Finally I found the park Interpretive Centre up 52 stairs. Got the info I wanted from a helpful gal, watched the proffered 15 minute introductory movie, picked up the audiotour CD, and got my park pass. Drove down to Blackwoods Campground and decided to stay there the night, with or without an electrical hook-up. My neighbour's generator did not make for a peaceful afternoon but somehow I weathered 29 degree freezing temperatures to spend the night.

 

Thursday morning I got started bright and early to do the 27 mile Park Loop described on the Audio Tour. The views of the rockbound coastline were brilliant though the sun was blinding, but good to have nevertheless. Eventually the roadway enters the wooded interior and I stopped at Jordan Pond to savour the smell of popovers baking in the Tearoom there. I was too early to partake. The drive up Cadillac Mountain sees one gain an ear-popping 1000 ft in elevation to a height of 1532 ft above sea level. The view is indeed worth the gas it took to get there. The wind, however was cold. The gift shop was chilly but I picked up a park guide and a bottle of blueberry jam before I walked the loop trail around the summit. When people from the cruise ships in Bar Harbour began showing up in their tour buses it was time to make tracks. Drove back to find Narrows Too Campground and this time waited out their lunch date to stay the night.

 

Here's a summary of the history of Acadia:

 

Acadia National Park is unique in that it's land holdings were assembled by rich private citizens who then donated them to the government for the purpose of creating the park we have today. Rockefeller alone donated one third of the park and built miles of carriage ways and beautifully sculpted bridges along routes of his own design. The park then was a grass roots effort which has always enjoyed the enthusiastic support of its neighbours. On the other hand it also presents a confusing jigsaw puzzle of parklands and private property. The Schoodic Peninsula is 50 miles by car from Bar Harbor and the park encompasses all or part of numerous off-shore islands.

 

Aside from Cadillac Mountain, the East's highest peak Acadia's most significant feature is its peaceful shoreline habitat. Mount Desert Island and the Bar Harbor area have been home to a summering wealthy elite who have spent the season in massive summer 'cottages' since the mid eighteen hundreds. A forest fire following a dry summer swept away a way of life in 1947 burning 10,000 acres of private and public lands and destroying hundreds of homes in the process. Most were never rebuilt. However thanks to the foresight of the land trust which assembled the park it is available in a relatively undisturbed state today for all to enjoy.

 

If I were not attempting to outrun rapidly approaching winter weather I'd dearly love to hang around longer.

 

Began my day early this morning, Friday, October 16^th and set out for Salisbury Massachusetts 250 miles distant. Highway 3 was subject to powerline tree trimming for 17 miles but I-95 was brisk going. I detest toll highways and had only 3 of the four quarters I needed to pay the toll, the gal accepted them as payment. After gas, cash, and tourist information at a rest stop set out along small town byways for Salisbury Beach. When the staff were out til 6 at the first campground I drove up to used their high-speed Wi-Fi to catch up online, then drove over to Salisbury Beach State Reservation where the sign read camp and see us in the morning. I found a site with 30 AMP hook-up and called it good for the night. The campground is massive and the pounding surf a palpable presence everywhere in the park. The seagulls own the beach and the campground is sparsely occupied.

Thanksgiving Worship

Mat 6:25  "If you decide for God, living a life of God-worship, it follows that you don't fuss about what's on the table at mealtimes or whether the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body.

Mat 6:26  Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.

Mat 6:27  "Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch?

Mat 6:28  All this time and money wasted on fashion--do you think it makes that much difference? Instead of looking at the fashions, walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They never primp or shop,

Mat 6:29  but have you ever seen color and design quite like it? The ten best-dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.

Mat 6:30  "If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers--most of which are never even seen--don't you think he'll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you?

Mat 6:31  What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving.

Mat 6:32  People who don't know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works.

Mat 6:33  Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don't worry about missing out. You'll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.

 

 

I don't normally use this venue to promulgate my faith but the verses above taken from e-Sword THE MESSAGE: The Bible in Contemporary Language  seemed too apt to not share. The pretext for reading this passage of scripture was today's devotion from the Canadian Lutheran Publication, Eternity for Today. Don't think I could add anything that would make the message clearer.

 

The morning I rode up to All Saints Anglican Church for Thanksgiving Service. The small Anglican Church was sparsely filled but I was met at the door and there an old wheel barrow was filled with pumpkins and a basket of fruit. The windows were stained glass with a set of three-sided smaller lights in the upper reaches. The chancel enclosed by a partial screen and on one side a pipe organ played with more zeal than skill. I was handed a tiny copy of the hymnal, alas without the music and a similar sized prayerbook along with the bulletin. The pews had a book stand and kneeling rail with hanging cushions. It was not meant for kneeling upright unless your waist is tauter than mine. The service was conducted with full pomp and circumstance and the order of service dates back 47 years to 1962. No shortcuts were taken with the liturgy. I was surprised to discover that here in this small community communion is still offered by means of the common cup. After worship I met the pastor's wife who happened to be seated behind me and the pastor himself who happen to have a summer cottage in West Lahave 10 miles from my home in Lunenburg County.

Surprises Abound

Good morning Mr. President, you need to get up and get dressed, the press will be arriving momentarily, we just got word that you've won the Nobel Peace Prize! Who knew that Obama was even nominated for this honour. With this award a man who has carried on his shoulders the expectations of America is saddled with those of the world as well.

 

Stephen Harper plays the National Arts Centre, who knew he had an artistic side. Look what his public music career did for Bob Rea.

 

Canada Post, the people who deposit my monthly pension are again announced as one of Canada's top 100 employers. For once I have to agree with the CUPW, our equally self-serving union, HUH¿ One of the criteria, it seems, is getting the most out their employees in this poll set up by MacLean's.

 

I'm still trying to get my mind around the concept of the provincially run park at Hopewell Rocks hiring as information officer a person from Saskatchewan, one of only two provinces in the dominion totally lacking in seashore.

 

I was just digesting the fact that my Brother-in-Law was leaving his job when word arrived that he and my sister are off down-under. And they just keep coming.

 

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The great thing about democracy is that it gives every voter a chance to do something stupid.

Art Spander

 

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Saint John, New Brunswick is a grimy city not even three days of rain could wash clean. Getting out of Saint John is easier said than done. Every road I took seemed to end in a cul de sac created by the building of yet another new highway. When I finally decided my GPS was lost and took my own head for it I found the road West. It isn't all that far to Saint Andrews from Saint John but the inland route winds up and down through uninspiring woods and rock past the roads to Blacks Harbour with its Sardine Factory and the ferry to Grand Manan; Point Lepreau with its nuclear power plant currently mired in the cost over-runs of refurbishment; and numerous other fishing ports and points of land on a crenulated coastline. There is no shore road as most of these points of land are accessed by a road that leads only in or out and so it is with St Andrews by the Sea.

 

Beginning life as a seaport on the Saint Croix River which marks the boundary between Canada and the State of Maine and accessed by Passamaquoddy Bay, itself ringed by a chain of islands which includes Campobello and formerly served by railroads the highway in appears to be an afterthought being narrow, winding, hilly and rutted by heavy truck traffic. On a day of torrential rain such as I drove the highway, if you can call it that, was inches deep in water and a treacherous drive. A haven for the idle rich the coastline is almost entirely in private hands and one does not see water until one reaches the point of land at the end of this peninsula where the Kiwanis Club has established an RV Park. Judging by the number of service worker's cars and trucks parked at the lots overlooking the Bay at noon time many of the town's less affluent residents can be thankful that someone had the forethought to keep this area free for the public's use.

 

The town which began life as a shipping port for British entrepreneurs displaced by the American Revolution transitioned to a resort for the rich and hypochondriacal. It was CP who built the chateau-style Algonquin Hotel and promoted it as a spa for the well-heeled residents of East Coast and Upper Canadian industrial cities. When the automobile put travel within the means of a growing middle class the genteel summer residents who spent the season here became inundated by a lower class tourist. I would definitely fit in this class.

 

Despite the fact that I can afford to camp here and am not made to feel totally out of place the reminders of that genteel past are everywhere to be seen in the magnificent architecture, the six story hotel, the gracious dining clubs and inns, the golf course. It is interesting to note that All Saints Anglican Church has daily matins and evensong worship services.

 

My Oceanfront Campsite looks out at Passamaquoddy Bay and when the fog lifts sufficiently I can actually see the offshore islands. Yesterday it was worth being awake to see the sun rise over the bay and colour the breaks in the cloud-cover a brilliant scarlet. Pity the area sees so little sunlight. By the time I rode up to explore Kingsbrea Gardens the clouds had closed ranks yet again. This late in the season only a few things still bloom and the warmest welcome in the park was granted by one of the resident cats, Garfield I believe. I got home just ahead of the next shower. The gardens close for the season today, Saturday, October 10, 2009.

 

With a dependable Wi-Fi connection I have finally managed to empty all my E-mail folders of new mail. Now I suppose I should get back to my book which I've neglected since I got back online. Actually I picked up a book on St Andrews that I'll finish first. Put on my winter coat today to walk uptown to have a Thanksgiving Dinner. As the sky clear the temperature drops and white stuff is in the forecast for later in the week.

CBC News - Nova Scotia - Electricity proposed for campsites in Kejimkujik

Electricity proposed for campsites in Kejimkujik
Last Updated: Friday, October 9, 2009 9:53 AM AT
CBC News
Campers heading to Kejimkujik National Park in Nova Scotia may be able to take more of the comforts of home with them.
Parks Canada wants to run power to about 60 sites at Jeremy's Bay campground by next spring, and perhaps to as many as 160 sites over the next few years.
Currently, there are no electrical hookups at any sites in the park, known for its pristine wilderness and abundant lakes. Other national parks in Canada already have them.
But Kejimkujik officials say they are losing business and need to make campsites more attractive for recreational vehicles.
"In 2002, we had over 26,000 site nights of use here, and that had declined to 19,000 a year ago. So there has been an increased demand for electricity and we feel providing this service will help us build those numbers back," said Harry DeLong, park superintendent.
In addition to hooking up power, park officials plan to trim back heavy branches and cut down trees in order to widen entrances to some campsites.
Phil DeWolfe, owner of an RV repair company, isn't surprised a lot of RV owners avoid the park.
"The concern of actually damaging these rigs is great because they have rubber roofs on them," he said. "If you hit a stiff tree branch while you're backing up or driving forward, you can actually rip the roof. Some of these roofs can cost up to $6,000 or $7,000 to replace."
Under the proposal, campers would pay about $4 more for one of these upgraded sites, bringing the cost of a night up to nearly $30.
Parks Canada officials hope the proposal makes it through an environmental assessment this fall. If approved, they plan to have workers start digging trenches for the power lines soon after.

Camping Comments

Having just come back from a shower I would comment that the most significant thing a campground of any kind could do for its campers is supply a full tub bath. After a year of full-timing I'd pay good money for an opportunity for a luxurious soak.

The secret, I've discovered to making a bed in an RV with it's odd shaped mattress configurations that defy fitted sheets or otherwise is to start by placing at least 1 foot of bedding under the far end of the mattress, then reaching under to make sure it is stretched flat underneath. Once this is accomplished the rest of the bedding can be put in place and tucked under. The weight of your body on the mattress will serve to keep the bedding in place.

Looking at a map of Chignecto North Campground at Fundy National Park makes me think that parks staff creating a new campground should hire a native artist to create the pattern that would project a native work of art when completed.

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Saturday, October 3, 2009

The sun is streaming in my windows and outside the sky is a cloudless azure. Seems a transgression to waste such a day when they are so rare this time of year but I just don't feel ambitious to wash dishes right now and perform all the other tasks involved in driving this vehicle to another point in this park and its hills preclude getting anywhere by bike. This park is Fundy National Park and outside the trees seem to have turned to full fall colours almost overnight, certainly since I arrived Thursday. Alas, the rains are predicted to return Sunday. Perhaps after my first coffee of the day things will seem different. Certainly life won't be as peaceful when I drive into Saint John tomorrow.

After three days of rain I finally made it down to Hopewell Rocks on Wednesday this week, the first day of sun I'd seen in some time. The park, operated by the province of New Brunswick is tastefully understated and I will admit that I wasn't expecting a great deal. From the few viewing platforms at the top of the 100 ft cliff one can see a few flowerpot structures:

But it is at low tide upon walking the 100 steps down to the ocean floor that the true extent of this wonder unfolds:

The formations continue along nearly a mile of coastline with new pillars rising from the bottom every time one walks around the last. Just imagine if this were Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls. But here on the coast of the Minas Basin the place was virtually unknown until a few years ago. Mind you it is refreshing to see a phenomena that could qualify as a wonder of the world that is not engulfed in commercial hucksterism. After my hike drove over to the Broadleaf Ranch for a deep-fried clam and fries dinner.

Next day it rained for my drive down to Fundy National Park and it continued the next day. The Bay of Fundy Shoreline viewed at high tide under a sullen sky loses much of its appeal. It was just as well I didn't hang around as the skies opened shortly after I got back in camp. I did learn a new concept from all this in reading the interpretive panels acidic fog can be ten times more concentrated than acid rain. Of course, I should have been out driving today when there isn't a cloud in the sky. I went to the evening campfire to find two young female interpreters attempting unsuccessfully to make a roaring fire with wet wood. If you're going to a sing a round with a large group you should at least beat time to keep the group together and if you're going to attempt it without a guitar you should at least have a pitch pipe. For this late in the season one would have thought these young people would have had their program better rehearsed, making hot chocolate with tepid water did not impress the young boy scouts group camping nearby.

Fundy Park, in providing campsites with electrical and water hook-ups added the service to pre-existing sites hence they are commodious and well separated from neighbouring sites by forested areas. Only the full service sites have the crowded suburban look of commercial campgrounds. Each section of the campground is serviced by a central comfort station, the one nearest me even has a single front-loading washer and dryer. Each has a playground, picnic shelters, and a separate kitchen shelter with stoves, sinks, and cooking areas for campers to eat inside on rainy days. I'm impressed with the facilities, even the group camping areas had washroom facilities combined with enclosed cooking shelters at either end. Even the internal walkways to the comfort stations are lit at night by unobtrusive glow-lites on posts.

Sunday Morning, October 4^th dawned overcast and rainy, the cloud cover swept in the night before. I wasted no time breaking camp and headed to Saint John an hour and a half distant. There I found Hope Lutheran Church where my former classmate, Tom Graham is still pastor nearly 40 years on. Somehow there's comfort in such consistency. Rockwood Park Campground in Saint John serves up a strip of crushed rock with electrical and water hook-ups and sites marked by painted strips along with decent but not ultra-high-speed Wi-Fi. Once one closes one's curtains on the pouring rain all sites look pretty much the same.

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Just heard on As It Happens of the demise of Gourmet Magazine. Given that there is an excess of magazines on the market at a time when more and more reading is done online it's still a shock to hear of the ending of such an iconic magazine.