Bonjour Beckwith...

Well, today we go to the lawyers to sign the final papers, and tomorrow we pick up the keys
for our new home.

It’s all been kinda really crazy, from start to…well ‘finish’ won’t be until we’re moved in I guess, but thus far it’s been exciting, crazy, fun, worrying, stressful, relief-filled, etc.

Perhaps the craziest bit of all is that we found the place by accident.
We had an appointment with an unknown agent to see four houses – we arrived early, drove around the area a bit, and saw a nearby house for sale that had, at the end of its long lane, some nice looking log barns. We couldn’t clearly see the house, but were pretty sure that with barns like that the place would be out of our price range. When we met the agent at house #1, we asked if it’d be cheeky to phone to find out if we could even look at the outside of the nearby place. She rang, and discovered that the house was empty – and the selling agent gave her the code so we could go take a look.
Our ‘look’ was sufficient enough that we cancelled the other 3 appts.
(We have also since decided that our agent is, without question, the world’s best real estate agent. She’s a marvel: the work she’s done, the impossibilities she’s pulled off, even the cranberry scones she makes….)

As we drove up the lane, Greg & I both just started to laugh: we could not believe that such a beautiful place was within our range. Even until the ‘thorough inspection day’ (during which all sorts of specialists were crawling about poking and prying for various faults) we held our breath, thinking there must be some hidden horror. There definitely is some work to be done: the thirty-yr old addition needs a new roof, new windows, etc. However as for the original part, the inspector said that in 20 years of work he’s not seen a century stone home in such good condition.

‘Century stone home.’ Yup, that’s what they’re called, these old Ottawa Valley houses built by the early settlers. We don’t know the exact date of ours yet, but either late 1840’s or 1850’s; we may have moved back to the New World, but even though we’ve lived in stone homes in England, Scotland, and France, it’s the Canadian home that is the oldest. ! Interestingly enough, it seems it was built by a family of Perthshire settlers, from the parish of Blair Atholl – not so far away from where we lived in Scotland, and a place we enjoyed stopping at to eat, on trips north to visit our Gaskellian friends!

The barns are likely as old as the house, and are made of huge old cedar logs – amazingly some of which, on the inside, still have the ancient bark attached. It’s incredible to look at these logs and think that cedar of this size once grew here, for the early European settlers razed most of them for the lumber industry and to clear the land for farming.

It is not Pré Borel: there are no kiwi vines, fig trees, or alpine views. But when we left France we had accepted the fact that we might never again live in a place quite so special. And yet, completely different as it might be, this farm in Beckwith Township has already lodged itself in our hearts. We find it hard to believe that we’ve a place like this to call Home.

Since childhood I’d dreamt of one day living in an Ottawa Valley stone-house, one with character-filled log barns to accompany it. (Not that I ever thought I would.) This one is actually located in the very county in which I grew up. The property, the locale – for all its faults as well as its strengths -- is vintage Ottawa Valley, the home of my youth and of my heritage … the place I’ve longed so long to share with Greg. For though he spent his teen years in Ottawa, when we got married he knew very little of the surrounding rural land and culture – land and culture quite different from that in the Nation’s Capital (even the accent changes once you leave the city). Recently Greg said to a stranger: “My wife grew up in the Ottawa Valley; and the Ottawa Valley…it’s growing on me.” It has already – even before the most vibrant seasons of summer and autumn – grown enough on him that his colleagues have asked if his wife really liked the potential new home as well as he did, as I didn’t seem to be enthusing as much as he! But, as much as I didn’t want to get too excited about a possibility that might not work out, I also didn’t want Greg to feel pressured by my own immediate love of the place. It was some time before I confessed how many of my ‘dreams’ seemed to be wrapped together into this place-of-potential.

The land on which it sits is very typical of the region; it was not an easy go for the first farmers, nor is it now. In front of the house, on either side of a very long lane, are damp but tillable fields. At the very front, between the road and those fields, is a small bit of wetland with a small pond (with turtles we hope!) and pussywillows. (Across the road from us is more wetland, stretching about 3kms to the rather large Mississippi Lake [perimeter is 60km].) The house sits on bedrock, and the land stretching out behind the house has a bit of ok pasture and a lot of typical ‘brush’, or scrub-land: soil that is so shallow that the rock sometimes breaks through, and on which little other than juniper bushes, dogwood and willow-bushes, a bit of sumac, and scrubby cedars and birch will grow. This sort of brush is terrible for farming, but wonderful for wildlife. In fact, on every single visit we have seen at least one new critter: muskrats, pileated woodpeckers, white-tailed deer, porcupine scat, ruffed grouse scat, beaver chewings, red squirrel, chipmunk (remember you North Americans: they are a novelty to Europeans!), turkey vultures, 6 big fat wild turkeys, and – both fascinating and a wee bit worrisome for the cats – Greg has even seen a fisher (sort of like a giant weasel on steroids). It is, again, the land of my youth. Flora and fauna I know well (with exception of those fishers, which have only returned to this region in the last couple of decades). It reminds me so much of my grandparents’ place, riding across such terrain in the summers, with the hot smell of junipers wafting up. Nostalgic, ya, I know. But there it is. ;)
There too will be the mosquitoes, the black flies, the horse flies. It all comes together!

There’s something I haven’t mentioned yet about that long lane. Greg & I love the long lane. It was something we had really hoped for; we did not want a house right on the road. In fact it was one of the first items mentioned to a real estate agent who had asked for our ‘ideal list’ (a list, btw, which he said we were pretty unlikely to see realized…and yet, with the one significant detail of the commute being longer than Greg had hoped for, everything else on the list is there). So we have our long lane. A very long lane. And what I haven’t mentioned yet about that lane is that our nieces, while undoubtedly loving some aspects of its long-lane-edness, will not be so enamoured with its length when they have to walk down it to catch the school-bus. It’s the stuff of nightmares for all of us country kids: being late for the bus. [oh, the stories I could tell…] Now why, you might ask, would our nieces be walking down that lane to catch a schoolbus? Because they, their wee baby brother, and their parents too (!) are coming to join us in this Beckwith Township adventure! We will write more on that in the blogs to come, but you know now that you can rest assured that there will definitely be another ‘Pond that Bruce built’ and plenty more tea-parties on the lawn, insect-&-critter hunting, and with my brother’s camera about, more photos than any blog could possibly support! And we new-Beckwith folk will be bombarding my sister with repeated reasons for her to make as many visits North to her batty country siblings as is possible.

For now I’ll close with a few photos, some taken by a cousin (as was the lovely ‘intro’ shot of the well), the rest by Greg (including my fav ‘barn-light’ shot). It’s the worst season for seeing a place -- after snow, before the greening – but you might still be able to see why we have fallen in love, and see too how the place is brimming with ‘potential.’ We look forward to discovering the adventures it will bring.

and that lane....

[photos by: R.McLaughlin, G.Johnson]



(p.s. Papers are signed!)

A bit of an Update: health & ice

It is incredibly difficult to believe that we have been in Canada for three months. The snow is almost gone, and here and there one can see glimpses of bulb leaves pushing through the dirt. A wee bit behind the flowers in Britain and France, but they *are* coming!

The months have vanished into a flurry of work for Greg, administrative and medical appointments for us both, and a bit of a druggy haze for me.
To be honest, the reality is that -- laughter-filled visits and escapades with friends, colleagues and friends notwithstanding -- my health has been pretty lousy. Obviously the move and Christmas were full times that used up lots of energy, but it seems like the real issue is that I’ve reached the end of the efficacy for my ‘superdrug.’ Both it and the chemo drug appear to have a limited period of effectiveness, after which most bodies become too used to them. It seems like my body’s reached that stage. Aside from fatigue and general pain issues, this has manifested itself most ‘impedingly’ in my bad foot/ankle. That foot has given me occasional trouble on and off for years, but around Christmas it was getting much worse -- some days I could barely walk, others I was fine for a few blocks. However, not long after New Year’s the foot went completely on strike, and I’ve been pretty much dependent on a walker in the house or a wheelchair on the street ever since. For a while we were going to medical appts up to four and five times a week, which was pretty crazy. Greg’s darn good at making sure we have some fun in there somewhere, regardless, so we still made it out to the canal a couple more times, even onto a lake once, and we had a marvellous weekend with some friends we hadn’t seen since most of them were born (!) [Pictures below should explain that one….] But I’m afraid I really don’t remember much of the first part of this year! [I do remember that my mom came up and, along with my second cousins, helped unpack a whole bunch of stuff for us! As did a few good friends here in the city.] The long and the short of it is that the doctor’s upped me to max dose on all my drugs (with the Methx that meant 2 wks of nausea as my body readjusted, and my hair is thinning out again…and covering all of Greg’s shirts again!), and put me on a high long-term daily dose of steroids – until a better solution can be found. X-rays have concerned the doctors as RA doesn’t seem to explain everything going on in my foot, so I’m now scheduled for an MRI. I finally see the hand surgeon at the end of this month.

It’s the steroid bit that is really hard for me emotionally at the moment, because the dose is much higher than the one I was initially put on in Scotland – and *that* dose the doctors lowered even further, because I was gaining so much steroid-weight so rapidly. Even at the lowered Scottish dose I still gained over thirty pounds, which, when I stopped the dose 2 yrs later, I had to work hard at removing. And now I’ve started a much higher dose. Our bodies, our relationships with them, and how others respond to them, are funny things. I could write volumes on my reflections over the last 15 years on how people react differently – consciously and unconsciously -- in their body-influenced assessment of who we are. As Greg and/or I have morphed in and out of different physical-ability zones, had different visible and invisible restrictions, and fluctuated considerably in weight and wardrobe -- amongst strangers, acquaintances, friends -- I’ve become increasingly aware that while our bodies do not define us, they *are* an integral part of who we are, and – for better and for worse – a significant factor in how others relate to and with us. And while I – who have never had a model’s body, and am (now!) glad to not have had to deal with the trials that that itself brings – have perhaps been almost too proud in the past of not being “body-image obsessed,” I nonetheless think that neither a faith-shaped worldview (ie me) nor a non-faith worldview (many of my dear friends) cohesively allows for a “well, our bodies don’t *really* matter” perspective. Not if your belief system – Christian, atheist, or otherwise -- is thought through logically. Our bodies do matter. They are more than simply the vehicles that carry us through the day – yet even in that role as vehicles, how they do or do not function has great impact on our emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual engagement with the world. And so, within all that, while not being able to walk one block to get a coffee, let alone to do the shopping, is testing my frustration levels at the moment, I am also sad that I will once again be gaining a bunch of weight, not fitting my clothes, and even having to face up to the fact that my pride wishes that friends and old acquaintances who I haven’t seen in ten, fifteen, or twenty years were seeing me as I looked in November 2008, not as I will likely look in April 2009. (Oh Pride ye are a dastardly thing!)

On the positive side of the big steroid dose:
as of this week I have a new abundance of energy. I’ve even been able to make Greg dinner for a change! (seriously my knight in shining armour; he deserves full pardon for not submitting his blog-report yet!!)
And, I’ve had the umph to be travelling out to a potential new home, and all that comes with such a venture. (And while we would love to tell you all about this potential new home, we shall wait and see how things pan out…watch this space!)
And while my brain is sometimes zooming about like I am on a permanent caffeine high, at least it is functioning again, and I can go find my desk and my books and pick up my academic pen (another thing I had to grieve, for I had planned on these first three months of this year being highly productive ones – not academically non-existent. To be honest, that has been the hardest thing of all.)

So on to the gallery, showing the last of winter. Hopefully there will be spring shots soon, and even ‘new home’ shots…!
All photos are via a wee point-&-shoot these days, a gift from Greg for Christmas as, until the hand is fixed, the ‘real camera’ isn’t an option. But with such subjects as we’ve had, who needs a ‘real’ camera? ;)
And I hope too to soon have some shots that will give a sense of ‘the Valley’ to those of you who do not know it. As mentioned before, although we now live near Greg’s immediate family, it is my extended family that ‘extends’ throughout this region! I’m loving catching up with cousins and second cousins, being near Grandma, my aunt, my great aunt (who’s been a wheelchair warrior since she was 22) and sharing them all with Greg. But it’s really kinda funny: after being so far away from any familial roots for so long… Greg’s starting to think that I’m related to half the province -- even main streets in Ottawa are named after ancestors of mine! And when we leave the city precincts, and start down those rural roads, there is no question: I feel like I’ve come Home.
And Greg? He said to a complete stranger the other day:
“Kirstin, she grew up in the Valley….and the Valley, it’s growing on me.”





Greg lacing up.




And our good friends the Noaks at the beginning of a canal venture...
(last time we saw them the eldest still could perch easily on Greg's shoulders!
I am pleased, btw, to announce that after a wkd with us the four eldest are well on their way to becoming bonefide Rook sharks!)





and here's what a bit of Winterlude crowd-dodging can do to a family...!

My gracious chauffeurs!

And here are the full visuals: BeaverTails! 

Mr Canada!




During Winterlude it's not just skating and eating that occurs on the ice -- there's activity galore: historic re-enactments, history galleries, firepits, snow-carving, etc etc

Enough to tire out the most gung-ho. Here's our goddaughter's brother Josiah, on another day: taking full advantage of his dad's good will!

And here's Tasha & her grandparents, skating into the winter sun...





And here we are at the lake: what a trio! Greg's colleague Mike on the skis, Greg in his skates, and me wheeling it. Amazingly, all modes of transport worked (though for some reason the others were a little more tired than I at the end of it!)


How wonderful it was to be out on a lake in the wilds again....

Beginning again where once we were

We have been in Canada for a month now – for the first time in ten years. And the country has changed, and so have we – but not entirely.



In 1998 Greg came here to the province of Ontario for Christmas, and then escorted me across the ocean to his home in Oxford, proposing at about 2a.m. on the first day of 1999. Now, three countries later, we are back again, beginning yet another adventure. And glad to be doing it together.



It was very hard to say goodbye to dear friends in France. Neighbours old and new spoiled us with goodbye dinners and in giving us help sorting and preparing. The most snow we’ve ever seen at Pré Borel arrived the week the movers were there, impeding vans, making for very mucky work,

and undoubtedly covering various things on the lawn that remain to be discovered by the new owners.
The snow was actually so heavy that the 10+metre bamboo grove was bending right to the ground – and bending all that was beneath it.


The cats were less than pleased with all the goings on, and Percy, the French stray who somehow has insinuated himself into our lives (Percy is short for ‘Persistant’…) decided to pull a disappearing trick – after, of course, having visited the vet for all his shots and international paperwork. (After a sufficient amount of stress, and some frigid searching, he was re-discovered – twice. At least it was beautiful out -- here's our last views of Raymond's foals and Pappy's bee-hives).

We had a last wonderful fondue dinner with friends and colleagues, were pampered by good friends and were wowed with the beauty of fresh snow,

and then – much to the dismay of the cats – were onto the airplane.

We definitely fared better on the journey than our poor felines. The affable Pumpkin, well known to many of you, and well travelled too (she hails from Oxford, lived in Eaton, moved up to Scotland, took the ferry across to Belgium and drove down to France), had the hardest go of it. Perhaps due to medication, she seems to have suffered some type of seizure, and when she came out of her box in Ottawa she was blind and partially paralyzed – and we were really worried. Fortunately a friend and neighbour is a vet, and gave us good advice and hope, and the cat is now back to normal. Pumps is getting old – at least 14 apparently – but she still has enough umph to try to put Percy in his place.

Percy we *had* been worried about. He’s petrified of strangers, loud voices – especially of men -- loud noises, of being in a closed room, etc etc. Yet, for a string of reasons we still had decided it was better to bring him than leave him. Honestly, I did harbour fears of how the trip would affect him mentally.
And it seems it has – but bizarrely, in a manner that has made him much more social! He’s still shy, but far less of a scaredy-cat, and he is an absolute sucker for attention now – not only from us, but also from Greg’s parents and even the occasional honoured guest. The wild-thing has turned into a lap-cat (though wild moments definitely persist).

At the moment we are keeping them indoors – not only are the temperatures considerably colder than they have ever encountered, but we are close to a busy city street, and Percy knows naught but fields and walnut groves. So far so good – except Perc utilizes his extra energy by sneaking up on Pumps, much to her disgust (he is twice her size, but about 9 yrs younger). Poor guy desperately wants her to be his best friend, but he could use some relational counselling. Persistent he may be, but in desperate need of new methodology.

The cats aren’t the only ones needing to adjust to the snow and cold – while we are, for the most part, enjoying it, we definitely need to re-learn this aspect of being Canadian! Upon arrival we immediately began to Canadianize our wardrobe: Real winter boots, Real winter coats, Real mitts, Real hats….and darn good thing we did it right away: official records indicate that there has been over 125 cm of snow since our arrival (that’s on top of what was already here – and it’s still only January), and temperatures have even plummeted below -30C (-22F) – and that’s *without* the wind-chill factor! (it’s not that cold everyday! But the temps have regularly been in the negative teens, and not infrequently in the -20’s.) We have to re-adjust to the time it takes to bundle-up to go out, as well as to the time it takes to remove gear once one is back inside! …how to survive in heated shops when one has all one’s outdoor gear on; how to breathe carefully when first stepping out of doors, so that one doesn’t choke on the cold air, or freeze one’s nostrils together; how to enjoy frozen smoothie drinks quickly enough that they don’t become too solid for the straw – yet still not get brain-freeze! (Does any other country in the world keep its ice-cream and smoothie stores open in -30C weather – and still get good business??!) We need to reacquaint ourselves with the concept of plugging one’s car in, of, indeed, warming up the car so one can bear sitting still in it, and of always having spare anti-freeze fluid. So much to reach back into dusty memories and recall!

Despite being kitted out in our new Canadian gear, it still has taken some time for it to sink in that we’re not just here on holiday. It’ll probably take some time yet to truly do so. But especially as we arrived at Christmas time, until recently it felt like we were just here for the holidays. Greg’s parents kindly put up with us and the cats, and even allowed the cats to hang out in their room when they (the cats!) decided we were too boring. Now we are in our great rental home though – a house that Greg has known since his teenage years, and one in which I too have spent many delightful visits.
So it’s starting, slowly, to sink in that the Christmas holidays are over.

Christmas was a good way to begin though!
As our decorations are all packed in boxes, various nieces & nephews, godchildren & goodchildren made us some *beautiful* ornaments! We were graced with a most stellar tree in our bedroom, and went to sleep many a night with the lights reflecting off of sparkles and casting silhouettes.


Stars came to us from Scotland and England, across Canada and the States, and were incredibly imaginative and memorable. Some filled the room with fragrances of apple and cinnamon, others were made of pine-cones,
acorns, twigs,
shells, and straw.













My eldest goddaughter Erin made a brilliant straw star -- which survived its trek across the nation -- to top the tree, and it was complemented by a grand Scotch-pine star on the facing wall, placed above the nativity scene, which had travelled all the way from Aberdeenshire.







We walked through falling snow to a beautiful candle-lit ‘Nine Lessons and Carols’ service, which included readings and carols in French as well as English.
We were regaled on Christmas Eve by our goddaughter Tasha and her family, who welcomed us in to share their meal and traditions (the tumbling of the tree probably should not become a tradition…but it miraculously survived, to be lit and remain resplendent!)
We shared Christmas day & dinner with my Grandmother and aunt and great-aunt, and friends – which brought forth many memories and stories. And through the snow we travelled that night, to be met at the end of an icy road by Greg’s dad and sister, who transported us down to the family cottage beside a snowy icy lake -- where, with the Johnson family, we feasted on roast and fondue.
By New Year’s Eve we were in Québec celebrating the fact that we *could* celebrate with old friends for whom two years ago on the same night we’d been baby-sitting as they travelled to a far-away hospital, Gina’s health in grave state.
This time Steven introduced Greg to the advancements in cross-country skiing (which unfortunately doesn’t include blister-prevention), and Grace introduced him to new dance moves and hair-do’s.






We were spoiled with wonderful meals and lattés, and were, for the second time in a week, forced to admit that there are now local cheeses in Ontario and Québec that truly rival our favourites in France. We sincerely did not believe this could be possible. It is.
The price differential is, however, quite considerable. Nonetheless, we look forward to sharing this new discovery when friends come from France.


During this visit we also had coffee in the world’s largest log building (with its incredible six-sided stone fireplace),


and took a snap-shot of what is surely one of the largest ever home-made snowmen (honestly -- this is real snow!)


Our last festive-fling before moving into our temporary home was a marvellous weekend at a secluded B&B in Québec, a wonderful Christmas gift.
(note the very Canadian home-made hockey rink on the lake ice in front of the B&B)

(lake, with iced-in raft & pier, and snowed-in canoe on shore)




The Gatineau area of Quebec is beautiful -- this is Wakefield, on the Gatineau river (unfrozen here due to the rapids -- but plenty of ice-fishing huts both up and down river!)



The signage cracked us up...














On the Saturday we took our Canadian induction one step further, and went dog-sledding!





I was bundled up in a big down sleeping bag and fastened into the lead-guide’s sled.

Greg, on the other hand, had to learn to drive his own dogteam!















Fortunately the morning temperatures of -32C (not including wind-chill) had risen 15 degrees by the time we went out, but the mid-way break for hot chocolate was welcome nonetheless. And we were incredibly grateful for my sister’s appropriate Christmas gifts of hat & muff!






Twenty kilometres up and down through snowy forest, in glorious afternoon sun – it was grand!



We highly recommend the venture! (though we were glad that there was a Parisienne in the group to help translate the Québécois accent for us!! *That* is an adjustment that will take us some time!)


(after the dogs were returned to their station, it was still a bit of a trek back to our cars. As I'm not so mobile, matters were taken out of my hands, my pride blatantly disregarded, and a team of cheery humans grabbed the dog-leads and pulled me along!)


This concept of bundling me up into a sled is one we're slowing getting used to. Last weekend we re-introduced ourselves to the Rideau canal – the largest skating rink in the world, which weaves through Ottawa.

(sites along the canal)

In addition to being a venue for leisure, the canal is a transit route: people use it to skate to work, school, church and the shopping mall.


And here I am in my increasingly well-practiced position of leisure, ensuring good exercise on the part of my increasingly muscular husband:
























Not often one sees folk queued up for food while on skates!
(This photo shows the access onto the canal which is closest to Greg’s parent’s house…the same entry point he and his groomsmen used when lowering in the canoe that they then paddled to the church for our wedding! )



As I’m not overly mobile at the moment (one foot is on holiday), we are grateful for the loan of an extra wheelchair – and we’ve given that a trial run on the canal too. Late at night, the smell of ice and Beaver Tails … it’s quite romantic really, and is giving Greg a regular work-out!
Beaver Tails…for you uninitiated, Beaver Tails are a decades-old Ottawa tradition that is apparently beginning to span the globe. (Our wee book on Ottawa informs us that they are now sold even in France & Scotland!) Deep-fried dough slathered with maple butter and/or cinnamon sugar and/or lemon juice and/or whipped cream – what’s not to like? That, and poutine, hot chocolate, and hot apple cider is available from kiosks up and down the canal, all day and late into the evening.
Poutine…that may be another new one for some of you: chips (aka fries) slathered (such an appropriate term) in gravy and cheese curds (and if you’re lucky, some vinegar on top). Excellent! Originally a Québécois fare, I imagine it’s still mostly just found in Canada…although I did discover a wee café in Huntly, Aberdeen that bizarrely had it on the menu. [I shouldn’t have ordered it though…]

So, you see, we’re settling in. Greg’s busy at work (more photos and descriptions to follow in the next blog – he *promises*!!)
(Here's a glimpse of his workplace, taken last week)


[Greg's also perfecting his latté presentation: pictured here, his first ever tiered latté. Ooh la la!]
I’m a little less busy just now, but hoping that that will change soon with a co-operating body.

(Greg & the Pros testing out my equipment)




We’re still living out of suitcases, thanks to communication errors between the French & Québec transport companies (that accent again…) -- but hopefully that will change in about ten days. We are missing France, and Europe in general, but are finding things to enjoy here too. Some days are sunnier than others. Good people help. A family funeral meant the sadness of not sharing a special great-aunt with Greg, but it initiated his introduction to some of my many great relatives that populate the Ottawa Valley.


(Greg with my dad's cousins, my aunt, my great-uncle, my grandma, her sisters-in-law....)




(Grandma and great-uncle Melvin, with me trying out grandma's walker/chair -- I get my own next week [maybe we should have races!])


We are learning how to navigate different administrative, government, and health systems…change driving licences, open bank accounts, update papers, etc, etc. The navigation may be a pain, but strangers occupying these offices keep cheerily welcoming us ‘back to Canada,’ which is nice. And we need to say that we are Very Impressed with Ottawa's branch of the Canadian Arthritis Society -- they are awesome. [And their on-line 'Patient Forum RA Presentation' lecture is by far the best thing we've seen for explaining RA to patients or friends/family.] While we can’t find satisfactory chocolate (how spoiled we were!), we do live right around the corner from a brilliant wheat-free café, that makes great bread, muffins, and the best chocolate brownies ever. We even have a local butcher who makes haggis! (photo: Kara carving up the Scottish beast...)


I will close this lengthy missive, however, with our greatest culinary travesty.
It concerns Greg’s wine cellar.

In the months before we moved, Greg had carefully assimilated an admirable collection of French wines, to be treasured and stored – and brought across the ocean with us – for future delectation. Some bottles were to be aged carefully for years. Some were rather valuable gifts from friends, from various occasions over the years.
Catch the past tense??
Last week we discovered that due to a communication error between customs & the transpo company, instead of going straight into a warehouse, our container had been sitting on the pier for about 8 days -- during the -30C weather. Greg drove up the next day to identify the stuff as ours...
...and found his worst fears confirmed: a significant number of his very carefully selected & specially-gifted 130 bottles of fine French wines had exploded (despite the wine-transport insulation), and the rest had frozen solid.
He was pretty gutted, to say the least. The customs officer was all sympathy, but there isn’t much that can be done. The few bottles that did not explode can be thawed and used for cooking and mulled wines, but they shan’t quite be what they were intended to be.

All condolences more than welcome!