Monthly Archives: April 2012

The Queen’s Laundry Inspector and High Seas Confessional…

30 Monday Apr 2012

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My time photographing on Ramea has come to an end and I’m boarding the ferry Gallipoli back to the mainland of Newfoundland. It’ll be a couple of hours on the boat, disembark in Burgeo, then across the whole island once again to St. John’s. Gonna have to stop and get some chocolate covered crackers to sustain me on the trip back.

There’s not much to do on the ferry except sit and sleep, sit and watch the scenery and/or people, sit and eat, or sit and confess to the minister sitting next to me. This is the very same minister I met in church on Sunday on Ramea! She recognizes me immediately. Busted!

High seas confessional booth; doubles as a life raft… not really.

In all fairness, she’s a very nice person and from my point of view not a bad minister either. But, I was really hoping to be gently rocked to sleep by the boat’s motions, not get engaged in some ecumenical discussion of Goethe, Schleiermacher or the manichean view of right and wrong, darkness and light. (Just showing off here.) Thankfully, that is not what we talked about.

Instead, we talked about the plight of rural Newfoundland and the questionable future of communities such as Ramea. It confronts the same fishless future as all of the other outports with the added element of being an island dependent on sustenance and other commodities from the mainland. It is not a hopeful outlook. I agreed and told her that was what “Arn? Narn.” was to be about. She seemed to like the idea that this story would be told outside of Canada.

The Rev told me of some very small outports barely hanging on by their fingernails. How small? Try 8-10 people. Way too small for the government to provide services so eventually the fate awaiting them is of choice: the first is to resettle elsewhere; the other – die. Quite a template for survival and very depressing.

By and by, she told me I had created quite a stir on the island. It seems that within hours of my arrival, people were all abuzz of some guy wandering around taking pictures of laundry lines and things. (“Yes, ma’am, I’m from the Queen’s Laundry Quality Inspector’s office and your whites are quite nice really, but your colors…”).

The Queen’s Laundry Quality inspector.

It is after all a very small island. Everyone wanted to know who I was and what was I doing there. I’m sure that after my initial visit to Red’s Lounge, most fears were put aside by Gerard. Probably not yet by Jimmy.

So, when I showed up in church, they certainly wanted to know who I was and why I was there and what I was doing and where I was from and how I found out about Ramea. You know, the basic Journalism 101 questions: who, what, where, why, when, and how stuff. Now, when my new minister friend would report back to them at their next service, she could answer all their questions and confirm that she had dispatched me back to from where I’d come. Good minister!

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My own private Earth Day.

25 Wednesday Apr 2012

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Sometimes when you’re not looking or listening, the universe sneaks up and smacks you up alongside the head with a cosmic two by four. And then the realization occurs that you could have had a V8. Well no, not really a drink, but something that had been right in front of you all this time and you hadn’t even realized it.

Looks pretty much the same as it did 42 years ago.

One of these has just happened to me. As I prepare for the publication of “Arn? Narn.”, the news is filled with this being the 42nd anniversary of Earth Day. That holds a special significance to me. As a ridiculously young man, my first assignment for the newspaper I had just started working for, was to cover the very first Earth Day. At that time, no one thought that it would amount to much – just a bunch of liberal, pot smoking hippies protesting about something, again.

Little did I know or realize until just a day or so ago, how that was to affect my work from then on. Directly, the photography book “Arn? Narn.” is a result of that first assignment. That first assignment is also responsible for the next book I’m currently working on. See a theme here?

Something else of significance is that what people were sitting up and taking notice of on that first Earth Day is, to a large degree, what “Arn? Narn.” reports on. Twenty-years ago when the story I cover in “Arn? Narn.” first occurs, it was largely over-looked outside of Newfoundland, Canada. It has become a global cautionary tale which only recently has begun to get worldwide visibility.

Little is more important that preserving our world so our children, their children and so on, will have a home. I am not taking a political stand here. That’s too easy a subject with too many moving parts for me to comprehend. At the end of the day, I am nothing more than a photo-journalist hopefully reporting and recording life’s events honestly; my personal agenda (if indeed I even have one) would not be worthy of publication.

Jim S., a reader of this blog reminded me of something I recently wrote: “Be open to all the possibilities travel will afford you.” For this entry, I amend that: “Be open to all the possibilities life will afford you.” You never know where they’ll take you, but it will be worth the journey. Thank you Mother Earth and Jim.

A thundering herd of…one?

23 Monday Apr 2012

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As I would have done it. (chinamike)

My one-man invasion of Ramea is complete. I had taken the island by storm (yeah, right!) and it is mine…on film at least. There were no hostages taken except my heart to these wonderful people.

As I did do it. Sort of, but with a smile.

I’ve learned a lot on this little island. Who knew you could buy burial caskets at the supermarket? And they’ll store them for you until the ground thaws. Come springtime though, you’re on your own.

A song sung with enthusiasm (or very loudly) is just as good as a song sung well. Just sing it with conviction. An instrument helps too.

In the late hours of a kitchen party, you’ll be amazed that so much incredible and undiscovered talent can be found in one small room. And they get even more talented as the night wears on.

Buying drinks for strangers works as well in Newfoundland as anywhere else. Just don’t be stingy. And if you don’t understand what they’re saying, buy ‘em another drink. Before long, they won’t understand what you’re saying either.

I learned that one should never turn down a moose burger. It’s bad form. It’s not as good as caribou, but it won’t harm you. On the other hand, all your vegan friends will probably never talk to you again.

One should also never refuse a drink if offered. That’s very bad form. You will not be invited back and nor should you. There’s a reason why we’re told not to drink alone.

In Newfoundland, one should make every effort to talk with strangers. You’ll learn so much, you’ll probably make a new friend, and at the very least, they will invite you in for tea. Really.

Be open to all the possibilities that travel will afford you. You won’t regret it. Of course, if someone tells you not to go to a particular neighborhood, that’s probably a good idea. Let me amend something I just said, be open to most of the possibilities.

So the “invasion” is over. Tomorrow I leave…with a lot of wonderful memories and stories, a few new friends, and some great (I hope) photographs for “Arn? Narn.”.

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Fame! I’m gonna live forever!

19 Thursday Apr 2012

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Or so goes the title song from the movie “Fame”. It is still several months away from the publication of my photography book “Arn? Narn.”. Yet, even this far out, interrupting of what I’m sure for my dear readers is a riveting accounting of my travails in the darkroom, I am cranking up the star-making machinery (thanks to Joni for that!) in advance for the book.

Considering how early this is, I am meeting with some local success in planning my public relations assault on an unsuspecting world. The largest locally owned bookstore will do a book signing event. (Helpful holiday gift buying tip – these make wonderful gifts. If you buy only one gift this year concerning Newfoundland, this is the one to get.) To prepare, I’ll be practicing writing pithy notes onto the front page of each book for the wise, talented, extremely gifted, and good-looking buyer.

Also this week, the local NPR station has agreed to do an interview with me concerning the book. Now I’ll have to practice sounding lucid and to watch my language. After all, there might be children listening. I’ll be expounding on Newfoundland and the subject of this book. (If you read only one book about Newfoundland this year, “Arn? Narn.” should be it.)

And all of this has happened before any of the major world news outlets have heard about it! Wait, is that a film crew outside my door? (If you see only one movie this year about Newfoundland,…) What? Reuters wants to talk with me? Huh?, “Top Gear” wants to do a special with me in Newfoundland? OK, yes, I got carried away a little.

This whole process is entirely new to me. While it took me a year to do my initial research on Newfoundland before venturing up there, I don’t have the luxury of time in learning to do self PR. This is a make-it-up-as-you-go-along course. Ahhh, yet another skill I’ll be able to add to my resume.

And now we return you to the originally scheduled blog “arnnarn.com”.

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Billy Joel, I ain’t. Not even Tiny Tim! Or “Uptown Girl” meets Miss Vicki and hilarity ensues.

16 Monday Apr 2012

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Ah, the infamous kitchen parties with which I was to become intimately familiar and soon. Like now!?

I meet Gerard over at Red’s, of course and where else?, and we go over to his house and have a beer before we head to the kitchen party and start to get serious about this. If there is ever an Olympic event for partying, the gold and silver medals go to Australians and Newfoundlanders – and not necessarily in that order.

A kitchen party is a rather organic happening. They spring up quickly, not like a flash mob though, and everyone goes. It is a most democratic event. You come, you bring food and/or drink, you talk, joke, tell outrageous stories, sing, dance maybe, and have a hell of a good time. They start sometime in the evening, there is no official start time, just as there is no official or expected finish time. They’ve been know to go to 6 or 7 in the morning! That is a lot of food, drink, socializing, etc. This will be perfect material for my book. I’ll be photographing all night!

We arrive and a drink is promptly inserted into my unsuspecting but not unwilling hand. Toasts are made. Let’s get this party started!

What I did not know, or what my trusty “guide books” failed to tell me of, is that if one is attending a kitchen party, then they have the responsibility of singing a song, telling a story or jokes, playing a musical instrument, or performing any such sort of entertainment of which they are capable – inebriated or not! Inebriated generally makes for a much more lively performance, or so it seems.

I’m not Billy Joel by a long shot. (diggz.org)

I don’t really sing. Not even in the shower. I don’t play an instrument unless you count the stereo. I did not know these folks well enough to tell some of the jokes I might, though I suspect they would have appreciated some of them very much. From my previous trip to Newfoundland, I had picked up some CD’s of local music and had miraculously learned a few of the songs! “Do you know ‘Rant and Roar’? ” I ask. They respond, “y’mean the ‘Ryans and the Pittman’s?’ ” “Yes! That’s it” We both launch into the song, not really performing together, style is not as important as enthusiasm here, and we finish – both with appreciation: me for getting through it; them for me not singing any longer.

I’m not even Tiny Tim, but probably closer to him. (lyrics.wikia.com)

As the night wore on, some of the party’ers were asking if I was able to understand Gerard’s speaking. I told them yes, I was, pretty much able to. I did mention Jimmy, the suspicious drinker at Red’s, and I could understand almost nothing he said. This brought on tons of laughs as someone responded to me: “That’s OK. No one understands Jimmy!” And here I thought it was just me.

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Ah, spirit… after church and now at Red’s.

12 Thursday Apr 2012

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Filled with the spirit from the Sunday morning church service, I now wander, in search of lunch and additional spirit, over to Red’s to see if indeed they’re open. Indeed they are.

In the previous post I mentioned someone was eyeing me while I sat having a beer at Red’s, not necessarily with bad intent, but certainly suspiciously. He was mumbling something I couldn’t hear. If not a Jethro Tull fan, maybe he was a Monty Python fan, thought I was a witch, and consequently should be burned. Could be, right?

He turns around and mumbles something to someone who turns out to be Gerard, my new best friend on Ramea. Gerard laughs and comes over to me to tell me what’s going on. He says Jimmy, the starer, is concerned about me: I’m not from there; why am I there?; what do I want? Gerard assured him I was OK, (it helps to have friends in high places!) and that he should come over and Gerard would introduce us to each other. Gerard, the quintessential Newfoundlander, was just being nice and paving the way for open communications between foreign countries.

He signals Jimmy to come over and meet the tall, handsome stranger. (That was another stranger, not me.) Gerard does the introductions while Jimmy eyes me up one side and down the other. If you notice, Jimmy does a lot of eyeing. So, “Jimmy, this is Bruce. He’s OK, he’s a friend, don’t worry. Bruce, meet Jimmy.” So it went. I said hello, Jimmy mumbled something, Gerard left to talk with some others. Jimmy mumbled some more.

Wanting to put Jimmy at ease, I did what any self-respecting traveler should do in this instance, I offered to buy him a drink. Along with the drink, it would buy me a little credibility as well. Jimmy nodded and mumbled something again. Jimmy eyes and mumbles a lot.

Jimmy sits down, eyes his beer (there he goes again), eyes me, and mumbles something about Gerard. I pick up on that and answer that yes, Gerard is a fine man, loves his mother and the Queen, has never kicked an animal, some such thing because I’m not sure what I would say would even be comprehended. I could hardly understand one tenth of the words Jimmy was saying. This was not going to be easy. Jimmy understood me quite well and downed the drink quickly. I think he wanted another… all in the spirit of foreign diplomacy, I’m sure.

Gerard has obviously been watching this clumsy, bi-lingual (?) pas de deux in which Jimmy and I are involved. In any dance, there is the one who leads and the other who follows. In this case, neither happened as neither was possible. Gerard, our new dance master, came over to help interpret. It became clear that Jimmy and I went to different dance schools and the steps were completely foreign to us both.

This went on for a while until Jimmy was satisfied I was not going to lead an invasion of the island of Ramea. Thusly pacified, he wandered off to mumble something and stare at someone else.

Gerard was laughing and grinning through much of this. It was getting on to suppertime and he asked if I had plans for the evening. I told him nothing that couldn’t be moved – oh, like I have a lot to do here among strangers. He invited me to join him later in an age old Newfoundland tradition – a kitchen party. I had read about these so I had an inkling of what went on, but only an inkling! I was to discover that these people would be strangers no more.

Losing my religion… not exactly.

09 Monday Apr 2012

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It’s Sunday morning. I had my coffee, it’s just grey outside, too early for Red’s (do they open on Sunday?), too early for most things after a kitchen party.

So I’m wandering around on a rather quiet morning and notice a small but steady stream of people walking towards something. To where? I’ll follow in my stealth photographer’s mode, trying not to let my cameras hit against each other too loudly and give my surveillance away. Why look, they must be god-fearing folks as they’re all going to church. Some turn around and see me. So much for being unobtrusive.

“How will you know them?” Courtesy Anglican Mainstream

So, hi-ho, hi-ho, I guess it’s off to church I go. A little church never hurt anyone, right? I follow them in and sit in the back as appropriate for a camera-toting reprobate such as myself. I did say it was grey outside. It was even greyer inside. This was looking like one of the older chapters of the Canadian AARP. It appears the younger Rameans have other things to do on Sunday morning. Like recovering from kitchen parties maybe?

It was a large, beautiful, old church, the kind one might find in fishing villages anywhere. But because of the lack of fishing and the loss of population, it was operating on a much smaller budget. In the winter, when I was there, they would close the main floor with the sanctuary in order to save money on heat. Consequently, they worshiped on a ground level meeting room. It was pretty standard Anglican fare. Nothing terribly unfamiliar, but none of the awe-inspiring trappings usually associated with a lot of churches. Come to think of it, it reminded me of many of the churches I’d seen in New England – plain, austere, and somewhat spartan.

The church members, being Newfoundlanders (obviously!), were all friendly but somewhat reserved. Q: Who comes to church with cameras on them? A: I do. That’s not exactly what people expect to find when they go their house of worship. (God is watching and he sent me to get proof!)

I stayed around a bit after the service and spoke with some members as well of the minister. She was a very busy woman. On alternating Sundays, she preached at the Catholic Church elsewhere on the island. I hope she never got her liturgy confused – might upset some of the folk, you know.

Like other times while in Newfoundland you would meet the same person again, I would run into her again, but elsewhere. It is a small world, but Ramea makes it even smaller.

Part 2: Kicking back at Red’s Lounge…

03 Tuesday Apr 2012

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The afternoon was spent walking around the island taking pictures of local signage, laundry lines, wind turbines, boats (mostly in dry dock as there was no fishing here either), and coves. If it moved I photographed it. If it stood still, I photographed it. Yup, there I was again, taking pictures of nothing! But really good pictures of nothing if I say so myself. It moved, it stood still, it was a wind turbine, I photographed it.

Sidebar -There’s a woman who paints all the house numbers and signs and mailboxes on the island; a limited growth opportunity indeed, yet the local art scene is definitely defined by her! And it was sort of like being in her island-wide showroom. She was that prolific. Certainly she had her themes down: boats, flags, fish, propellers, anchors, etc.

So the light was now fading and I wasn’t far behind it. I was in need of sustenance and it was too early to go back to the B&B for a formal dinner. Since I now knew the island like the back of my hand, it was back to Red’s. I was going to check out if they had any beer left. Photographing clotheslines creates a mighty thirst.

Lucky for me they had some left. I was welcomed back by Gerard and the locals (sounds like a perfect bar band!) whom I’d met earlier and introduced to some new (to me) citizens. Someone had gone hunting and brought back some fresh moose meat. They had the aforethought to grind it up, make mooseburgers, and serve them to customers. And that’s how I came to have my first (and probably last) mooseburger. It was OK if you don’t mind eating the inspiration for a cartoon, but personally, I liked caribou better. (Please don’t tell my fiends at PETA!)

As I mentioned earlier, I stood out. I was not from there and one citizen had taken note of that and his concern was quite obvious. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to the others, but the not-so-furtive and mildly hostile glances could not be overlooked. Hmmmm – what to do? It would clear soon enough.

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Holding my breath.

02 Monday Apr 2012

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When I started this photography book project, it (not unlike Newfoundland in the stamp above) seems like a millennium ago. The possibility of publication seemed like such a distant dream. Over time, each one of the goals had been met leading to last summer’s signing of my first book contract. My publisher, Gosslee, has now given me a publication date and it’s going to be here before I know it. Come September 1, 2012, “Arn? Narn.” will be published. It’s unbelievable.

And yet, unbelievably, there is still work to do. How will the world find out about it’s inherent wonderfulness, much less its’ existence? Where and how will it be available? What kind of promotional activity can I give it? Who will play me in the movie version? That last one’s a joke, really.

Though the publication is now imminent, there is still much to write about in this blog. If you’ve been following it, you know I’m still in Newfoundland on the island of Ramea, ensconced at Red’s Lounge. Much, much more to write about. I think I may only be halfway there on this accounting. My intention is to continue well after publication. There will be more stories to share: a new one on Tuesday as a matter of fact. I invite you all to join me as this journey continues.

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