Category Archives: Humor

Arn? Narn. nation.

24 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by in Humor, Newfoundland

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If anyone ever wants to move to another country and apply for citizenship of said country, there are myriad hoops to jump through, not to mention the legal fees involved. I know as I’ve aimlessly looked into it. Over the past few years, as Arn? Narn. became less of an idea, dream, and project and more of the book it became, I’ve wanted to share what Newfoundland in my eyes is all about. The book and by extension this blog is my take on it.

As the book has now been out just over three months and to unanimously good-to-great reviews, I’ve been imploring (well, maybe begging even) my readers to contact Jon Stewart of The Daily Show so I can share Arn? Narn. with a larger audience.

2178706189_8ed438e2fb Yeah, this guy.

You are, in effect, the Arn? Narn. nation. And what better way to express that than wearing the colors of our beloved nation? Well, with an Arn? Narn. t-shirt! You’re probably asking yourself right now, “Gee, how do I get one of those rare, limited edition, not available in any store or on TV commercials, fine, cotton, apparel-quality t-shirts?”

Simple, even though it does smack a little bit of bribery. All you have to do is send Jon Stewart at The Daily Show a note telling him how much he needs to have this book and its humble (!) author (me) on his show. There are three reviews currently on Amazon under the book’s title. If you would copy and paste any one of them and send to: guestpitch@thedailyshow.com with a note suggesting, maybe even imploring, him to do this and copy me at bmeisterman@comcast.net, then you can win a t-shirt complete with the really cool Arn? Narn. logo. As I mentioned early, this really is a limited edition, so the first three who do this, win. Yeah, it’s that easy. And you’ll be a t-shirt-wearing member of Arn? Narn. Nation.

Basic CMYK The really cool Arn? Narn. logo.

If, no, rather when, Jon capitulates, and it’s clear which one was the deciding suggesting e-mail, then you’ll also win a signed copy of Arn? Narn. Yup, it’s that easy. You too will now be a member of Arn? Narn. nation. And you won’t even need a passport.

A Newfoundland Christmas post-Christmas poem

26 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by in Culture, Humor

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I Just received this this morning from a friend of mine in Newfoundland. Sometime ago, I wrote about Mummering at Christmas time in Newfoundland. This little poem does a good job in describing it. Hope you enjoy it.

A Newfoundland Christmas by James Rogin

‘Twas a night after Christmas in old Newfoundland.
The fire in the place was blazing just grand.
I sat on the chesterfield holding the phone,
While the wife’s in the kitchen making a scone.
When all of a sudden there was a loud rap,
And someone was banging tap a tap, tap.

I went to the door and who should appear,
But a “Mummer” or two looking for beer.
They wore old pillow cases,
That well covered their faces,
And I knew our houses were part of their quests.
So I welcomed them in, these old special guests.

They spoke in strange voices,
Saying I had to make choices,
As to who was who in that strange odd pair,
And so I played a part in this yule time affair.
I quickly named a name that wasn’t quite right.
So they drak my drink and went off into the night.

I never found who my callers were that year.
But I’m glad they came with all that good cheer.
And I hope this tradition will never come to an end,
For this is good fun to have with a friend.
And I’ll remember this Christmas wherever I go,
For I love Newfoundland, this will always be so.

Report from the trenches.

13 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by in Humor, Media, Photo-documentary

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Now we all know Jon Stewart is busy with the last week of the show for 2012. And we also know there have been Jon Stewart sightings in NYC stores and New Jersey malls purchasing Hanukkah gifts for his friends and family. (Hey, Jon?! How about a few copies of my photo-documentary book, Arn? Narn as gifts?) From what I can tell, he’s a decent enough kind of guy and I wouldn’t expect anything less of him, certainly not around this time of year. He’s what’s known as a Mensch. For of those of you not steeped in Yiddish, please Google it. It’s something we all should strive to be.

Fort Amherstweb From the book, Arn? Narn.

So, one week into the battle and I thought I’d give all of you an update on the effort to bring Jon Stewart around to help me tell the story of Arn? Narn. Some of my trusted deputies have heeded my call and sent him one of the reviews the book has received. This far, we’ve not heard from Mr. Stewart. That’s OK. I’ve got plenty of good reviews to send plus more tricks up my sleeve. If you’ve e-mailed him once, well then do it again. I will ask you several more times to do this. If you haven’t, I really need your help. The more e-mails he gets, the harder it will be for him to ignore it. I’ve posted another really good review below that I would love for all of you to send to him. Please feel free to add any other comments you think would help the cause. And it is a cause. No one will lose their life or limbs, just a minute or two to send it. Causes take time and this is a good cause. If for no other reason than I’m a Jersey guy too and a landsman. C’mon already, Jon!

So here it is. As I said, feel free to embellish it with whatever praise you feel is appropriate or even damnation if you must and send it to: guestpitch@thedailyshow.com and don’t forget to sign it too.

Dear Jon,

I’ve been a fan of yours since you started hosting The Daily Show. And I especially like the segments you do on books. There is one author whose book I would love to see you feature. It’s called Arn? Narn. by Bruce Meisterman. In case you haven’t heard of it yet, here’s an interview I found on the web. Hope you like it.

Arn? Narn.
by Bruce Meisterman (John Gosslee 2012, Softcover) 165 pages $32 cover price
Well doesn’t it just figure that the most beautiful, eloquent depiction of the plight of Canada’s province of Newfoundland was photographed and written by a guy from Tennessee? I actually wonder how many of my fellow Canadians, at least those living from Quebec west to the Pacific even have the slightest idea that the Newfoundland fishing industry is gone? Over-fished and subject to God knows how much environmental damage, the former vast swimming fields of cod that ships could barely make their way through are now – gone. And my dear fellow, they aren’t coming back no longer how long a moratorium on fishing remains in place.
That might be a little hasty. I’m sure that given another 10,000 years or so the Earth will manage to repair the damage done to it by the ignoramuses who run our governments and carbon fuel-based industries. However, that sort of time frame isn’t going to do much good for the citizens of the island of Newfoundland unless one is a serious believer in cryogenics. ‘Pop us in the freezer luv, an’ be sure to be payin’ th’ electric bill!’
For those who do not know the place, Newfoundland is a large island off Canada’s Atlantic Coast which became a province by the narrowest margin of referendum approval in 1948. To this day there is a suspicion that the late Joey Smallwood, Newfoundland’s first Premier and the driving force behind the winning side may well have stuffed the ballot box with an urgency that the old bosses of Tammany Hall and Chicago politics would have heartily approved.
I have read elsewhere descriptions of Newfoundland as Canada’s Ireland, only with much more ice. Small villages, a harshly lovely landscape and a unique lilt of speech do bear out the comparison. The book’s title reflects on that lilt. As Meisterman puts it:
‘Arn? Narn.’ It is said to be the shortest conversation in Newfoundland. It’s also a prescient description of this culture’s future. Two fishing boats in a harbor are approaching one another, one departing, the other returning. The captain of the departing boat yells out to the captain of the returning boat. ‘Arn?’ The other captain’s reply, ‘Narn.’ Translated, ‘Any fish?’ ‘No fish.’ And that is the story.
The rest of Arn? Narn is an expansion on the theme as Meisterman takes his camera through the island and records the villages, the kitchen concerts, the colourfully painted mailboxes and the great white sheets of ice piled onto the winter shores. He is a magnificent photographer and given his other career as a cinematographer he has a sense of how to compile images into a silent narrative. Thankfully, he also shot the pictures on real film. For all the glories of the digital world, there is still something more tactile, more real if you will to a photograph captured directly onto film then developed by hand. It is much more the medium of the artist.
Textually, Meisterman is a faithful journalist in his observations. Perhaps he over-cooks his praise for the islanders generosity and welcoming nature, one starts to think of hard-boiled Newfoundlanders as lovable Smurfs, yet if one has to err that is certainly preferable to condescension or worse yet ignoring the whole culture.
I do wish that the book itself was larger and in hardcover to better show off the prints inside. If Arn? Narn proves as successful as it should (for one thing, no school library should be without a copy), perhaps a deluxe edition might be in the offing. I certainly hope so. In the meanwhile, Canadians owe a gentleman from Tennessee a nod of thanks for showing us a portion of our own country.
Be seeing you.
So, what do you think, Jon? Let’s learn more about this.
Thanks for your time.

I warned you, Stewart. But, noooo, you didn’t want to listen.

10 Monday Dec 2012

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As Sherlock Holmes was fond of saying, “Watson, the game is afoot.” And so it is, so it is. I am encouraging any and all of this blog’s readers to help me in my quest, not for the grail, but something equally hard to achieve: a guest spot on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. This is how it’s going to go down.

I’ve included a short note and a recent review of my book Arn? Narn. in an e-mail form. If you could copy, paste, and then send to Jon Stewart, we’ll see if collectively we can get this to happen. There will be no casualties. There will be no prisoners. There’s no fiscal cliff. It’s risk free. But, if we can get this to happen, we will have confounded the status quo and proven the masses have a voice. Are you with me? Let’s do this! My thanks to you in advance.

Here’s the e-mail to copy, paste, and send to guestpitch@thedailyshow.com:

Jon,

Have you seen this? It’s an incredible book called Arn? Narn. You’ve got to have the author, Bruce Meisterman on your show. Look at this review it just got.

Bruce Meisterman - Arn? Narn.

Gosslee $32.00
ISBN 978-0-9833655-2-5
This is Bruce Meisterman’s first book and gee whiz, I sure as hell will be interested to see what he is capable of when he gets warmed up. I have seldom been so impressed with an author’s choice of subject or his presentation of it, and if a read of this astonishing book doesn’t leave unsettling questions haunting the corners of your mind, then you lack imagination.
‘Arn? Narn’ is said to be the shortest possible conversation in Newfoundland and is a fabled exchange between two cod skippers. One, going out, asks, caught anything? The other, returning, says not. Fifty years ago, that reply would have been inconceivable, but by the 1990s, Newfoundland cod stocks had collapsed to 1% of the 1960s level and they have never recovered. Even when it had become clear that stocks were in free fall, nobody did anything more than form committees, which produced long, worthy reports instead of action. The consequence is that in 2012, rural Newfoundland is falling to pieces, the population has fallen by roughly a quarter and ghost towns are a reality. Worse is yet to come.
Does this matter to us? Fish stocks are doing the same thing all over the world and by some estimates the majority of species will be at unsustainable levels by 2050, but our current generation of politicians is so weak and venal that nothing is going to be done about it, despite the clear danger it presents to us all. The depressing tale of Newfoundland is no more than a matinee for what is about to happen next and Arn? Narn manages to paint the awful reality of this scenario better than any scientific report I have ever read. Why? Because the story is told in striking monochrome photographs that let you see what is happening for yourself. The text is sparse, but what it lacks in extent it makes up for in punch and the end result is a book you might just possibly flick through in 10 minutes, but which you will remember for the remainder of your life.

© fishingbookreviews 2011 – design by Jon Ward-Allen, words and pictures by Andrew Herd

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So it begins…

03 Monday Dec 2012

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If this were the 1940′s or some such bygone era, the newsreels would be filled with footage of countries arming themselves to the teeth in expectation of battle. Black and white images of soldiers marching off to confrontations yet unplanned, kissing their loved ones goodbye, and smiling innocently.

This is nothing like that. This will be guerrilla warfare as practiced by the Viet Cong. This will be hit and run. Graffiti artists leaving their tags for all to know they were here. Oh, yes. This will be a war with no end soon in sight.

Dramatic? To quote a former failed VP candidate: You betcha. Warranted? Perhaps only in my fevered dreams. But like in any other Southeast Asian war, I will pursue this doggedly. (Yes, that was A Princess Bride reference). So, please excuse the purple prose, but I’m just getting started. And I’m going to need all the help I can get. The line forms on the right for new enlistees. Come to think of it, I’ll skip the call for volunteers and just commence with conscription right now. If you’re reading this, consider yourself drafted. The wages are poor, the dangers are really not very great, but oh, the reward!

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers (oops! – Shakespeare wandered in here!). we will be going up against a giant, a media giant: the great and powerful awesome Comedy Central and its minions, led by Jon Stewart.

OK. Wait a minute. This is starting to sound like some drug-induced dream. I apologize. I’m just getting stoked for trying to get Arn? Narn. on The Daily Show. In the next posting, I’ll be laying out the game plan to do this. Look, the story that Arn? Narn. tells is an important one and I think The Daily Show is one of the best outlets for it. But, I’ll need your help. Who’s with me?

Stewart, don’t say you weren’t warned!

We interrupt this blog to bring you… Halloween.

01 Thursday Nov 2012

Posted by in Culture, Humor, Local Art, Newfoundland

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Last night being All Hallow’s Eve, I couldn’t help but put something of a Newfoundland spin on it. At Christmas time in Newfoundland, in addition to all the normal festivities including the prerequisite kitchen parties, is the custom of Mummering. I’ve written about this previously, but I’ll recap. Complete strangers, oddly dressed, descend upon unsuspecting resident’s homes and demand food and drink, carouse, and usually stay until tired or their true identities are discovered and then they leave to repeat said mayhem in yet another home. It can get out of hand. Once the government even tried to outlaw it, but the Newfoundlanders were having none of that, thank you b’y.

This year, as we get ready to dole out the ritual baksheesh to the little and not-so-little ones, I got to thinking how cool it might be to dress as a mummer here in the US.

This is Alphonse.

This is a fairly typical mummer “outfit” and is not the kind of costume one gets in a store. No, this requires creativity or color blindness at the very least. These figurines are from a collection created by two Newfoundland women, Pam and Cara. They produce one new limited edition mummer every year and are usually quite funny. Yet, they are accurate and indicative of what one might have knocking on their door come Christmas time.

Nish from Merasheem.

Now, can you imagine someone showing up at your house on Halloween in this? You might be inclined to call the police or at least use some pepper spray. But generally speaking in Newfoundland, it’s usually just harmless fun. However, I would not suggest walking into a convenient store dressed like this. They do have surveillance cameras after all.

And of course in the spirit(s) of the holiday, a toast must be made. Have another one, Fannie?

Fannie from Fogo.

The other possible downside in dressing this way for Halloween is that you might get picked up for vagrancy. After all, I don’t think we’re in Newfoundland anymore, Toto.

And what calendar are you on sir?

27 Thursday Sep 2012

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For years, I’ve unknowingly been using the Julian calendar to plan my days, appointments, and whatnot to bring some order to my life. Until now, it’s never failed me. It’s orderly – seven days, always following the same sequence, starting on Sunday- ending on Saturday, only to do it all over again, fifty-two times each year. But at this point, I’m beginning to think it might be failing or at the very least conspiring against me.

Wonder if this one works any better.

You see, this week was supposed to be a big one. Arn? Narn. was supposed to be back from the printer. It isn’t. I was scheduled to do a live online webinar promoting the book. For what ever reason, I could not get in. My headset would not cooperate. It did on the test last week, but not this time. Interestingly enough, after we cancelled and rescheduled the webinar, I tested it again. Of course, it worked. And this week isn’t over yet. I must be working on the wrong calendar. What was supposed to happen on a given day, didn’t. My calendar must be broken.

I suppose I could try and use the Hebrew calendar, but then I’d have to reschedule everything and reapply for a new copyright date. That won’t work.

There are of course other options. The Aztec calendar comes to mind, but there are two versions of that one. Which one to choose? If I choose the 365 day version, I’d have to do a lot of rituals. Outside of the darkroom, I’m not big on that. There is the sacred calendar, only 260 days (maybe I’ve been on that one all along and things finally caught up with me) but then I’d have to learn all the different gods. That’s not going to work either.

There are also Egyptian, Egyptian Solar, Chinese, Roman, Greek – you name it, there’s one for every occasion except it seems for me this week. That is the only explanation I can arrive at to explain why nothing has been on time. Even my express packages aren’t arriving on the promised dates.

Time is running short. Publication date is only 4 days away and I’m getting antsy. I want that book in my hand now. Yes, of course I waited nine years to get to this point, hey wait, maybe I’ve been on the wrong calendar all along. That would explain so much.

Not the most portable but if it works…

But for now, I’ll just have to be patient and wait a little bit longer. Or I could switch calendars and blame it on the gods.

The New 3 “Rs” – Readin’, ‘Ritin’ and Rewritin’

02 Monday Jul 2012

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(phdinparenting.com)

As a writer, I’m a pretty good photographer. Conversely, as a photographer, I probably needed to go back to school, maybe even pre-school. I have always played well with others, but I didn’t like sharing. (Sorry for the digression.)

Put a camera in my hands and I’m pretty fearless. Not war photographer fearless, but once I did climb on a burning oil tanker to get the picture. But put a pen, in this case a computer, in front of me and expect me to write and, let’s just say it would have been a toss-up between that and a root canal with the dental delight in a slight lead.

Hmm, book query or root canal?. (ehow.com)

So, as “Arn? Narn.” took shape and form, it became apparent that it was going to require words, good words, not random words, words that complemented the photographs. If this book had been planned as an editorial endeavor by a publication, they would have assigned a writer to accompany me. But this was my idea. I was going to do it myself, not anyone else. (I told you I didn’t share well.)

A long time ago, I took a writing course which like most of my scholastic adventures left me cold. I couldn’t understand why one just couldn’t put the freaking words down and that would be OK. I was so young. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) And for many years after, I had no desire or need to write anything longer than a check. Maybe that’s from where my love of fiction came.

Unless someone else had been there with me and had become as familiar with the subject as I had, then that writer could have done the job. But it was only me.

Before a book gets published, but after it’s finished, there is still much work to do. There was much I had to learn. It has to be seen by people who make these decisions and if you’re not well known, (I’m not), no one is really looking to hear from you. So how do they learn of you? It’s now all about you.

The first step is to create a book query. This is a singularly important letter that goes out to agents and publishers in the hopes they will see the cosmic brilliance of your creativity. In this, you write a one page document that explains why this is a worthy book. If you’re a writer, than you can probably handle it easily enough assuming you know what to say. Suppose you know what to say but not how to say it? Enter me.

Ego says the photographs should be enough. Reality says  “Hold on Bucko, not so fast.” So while all the photographs had been taken, nothing had been written. And you want me to write a letter of recommendation for myself? I’m tall, like small children, never been indicted, – that kind of stuff? No.

I’ve got to write the book query, And I do. Over and over. Again and again. In the morning and before bed. I polish, correct, rewrite, rewrite some more, add and subtract, and finally when I can do it no longer, this tortured document survives. And that’s only the start of the process.

You know, that root canal doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

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I suck at math.

24 Thursday May 2012

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Frustrations taken out on an innocent calculator. Do not try this at home!

Math was never a strong suit of mine. Hell, why should it be? I’m right-brained and proud of it! Let someone else with a pocket protector do that work – Hey, I’m busy creating here! And truthfully and thankfully, there are people who can and do do that work well. If not, this book might never have happened. Never ask or trust a creative-type to do a business plan. You’ll be rewarded with a mildly bemused blank stare and a “Sure? Uhhh, you want fries with that?”

If it were up to us (creative-types), money, materials, time, balancing checkbooks, travel, all that stuff that requires some sort of record keeping would be unnecessary. Our tax returns of course might be of the same imaginative and fictional quality that landed Al Capone in jail, Jack Abramoff in jail and now on TV (Hmmm, maybe crime DOES pay!), and a whole host of others who regularly deal in financial fiction writing (Goldman Sachs, Lehman Bros., JP Chase Morgan, – you get the idea).

All of that stated, I did keep some numbers just out of some sort of OCD notion that once published, it might be fun to know what built this Cabbage Patch doll idea of mine. In a Donald Trumpian world, that translates to nothing spells success like excess.

For instance, in photographing “Arn? Narn.”,  I drove over 7,500 miles across Newfoundland. That’s equal to going back and forth across the US approximately 2.5 times. The good news is that I didn’t see a Newfoundland version of the Cadillac Ranch Art installation in Amarillo. There must be a god!

The Cadillac Ranch. This is not Newfoundland!

I shot nearly 200 roles of film. And I remember every single shot! Well, maybe not every one.

I used over 2,500 sheets of photographic printing paper to get to the final images used in the book. I can’t even begin to tell you how many hours that took. I told you I suck at math and record-keeping!

 I, like George Washington the illustrious Father of Our Country, slept around. I stayed in at least a dozen different places (and paid the bill every time) though no one left signs commemorating my short residences.

I sampled every beer (7-12 depending on what you count as true Newfoundland brew. Brewfoundland?) made in Newfoundland. Yum! I sampled vodka made in Newfoundland from icebergs. Not so yum. I’m a wuss. So what?

I ate countless packages of chocolate covered crackers along the way. An army does travel on its stomach and mine was now a bit larger for those travels. No, I didn’t measure it as part of my record keeping.

And as far as playing Newfoundland (diddly) music incessantly? Yes, guilty as charged and I lost count of the number of Newfoundland music CDs purchased.

Boring anyone who came near me to tears by recounting the wonders of Newfoundland. Yeah, very guilty. Again, a countless number.

Driving my wife crazy about how crazy I was and am about Newfoundland I was? This spans years! So, why don’t you just lock me up and throw away the key? Better yet, solitary confinement: that way no one else will have to listen to me prattling on about Newfoundland pr playing its music continuously. Or just ship me off up there and we’ll both be happy! Well, I apologize. Profusely. (Just not very sincerely.) It’s not my fault you didn’t come with me!

So, after all of this – do the numbers add up? Damned if I know. I’m looking for my next score on chocolate covered crackers. Hey buddy? Wanna help a brother out?

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Sometimes I feel like a mushroom, they keep me in the dark and feed…

21 Monday May 2012

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An artist’s rendering of the photographer in his darkroom, not quite. (farmflavor.com)

OK, the only part of that title that’s true is being in the dark. Some people supposedly near and dear to me would agree that I’m in the dark about most things. And I would protest…somewhat.

At this point, I’m spending a hell of a lot of time in the darkroom, so yes, I am in the dark, literally. But, I’m also very productive. (Sidebar – the book “Arn? Narn.” was shot on film before I made the switch to digital. Therefore the images were also printed the old-fashioned way on photographic paper in chemicals. Call me a Luddite but please don’t call the EPA!) Each time I process my film, I’m seeing anywhere from 24-144 more negatives of the several thousand taken. I plan to wait until all the film is developed before I make proof sheets. Making proofs is tedious and I want to get it done once.

However, over the years, I’ve learned to “read” negatives and from what I’m seeing, I’m encouraged that the second trip to Newfoundland is yielding the desired results. Where once there were just my nice photographs of Newfoundland, there is now a cohesiveness to them including the ones taken the year prior.

Imagine reading several thousand of these, but at 1/20th the size.

That cohesiveness will allow me to select the best ones to print. It gives me an idea of how I want the visual narrative of the book to go. So when all is said and done, I will have many proof sheets with multiple images, some various versions of the same scene, to determine which to print. I know going into this phase, I will edit to a manageable 200-300 images to print. From those prints, I will start the actual editing to a more manageable number for the book. I’ve edited my work before, but never on a scope as large as this. I have no idea how difficult this is going to prove to be. Ultimately, this will be the book.

But, un-ultimately, this leads to a whole new other phase and once again my learning curve will be steep and long. Why didn’t I learn accountancy?

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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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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Kicking back at Red’s Lounge, meeting the locals, being told where to go (in the nicest way possible, this is Newfoundland after all), and having my first beer in Ramea. Part 1.

27 Tuesday Mar 2012

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When traveling, one of the best ways to get the feel, the flavor, and the social climate of a new locale is to visit the local watering hole. And on Ramea. the best one is Red’s Lounge. Red’s being the best bar/lounge is not only my opinion, it’s also the opinion of all the locals and they should know. It wins hands down and the reason is quite simple – it’s the only bar on Ramea. And though it’s the only pub on the island, it’s not open everyday or all hours. The owner works at an oil company and that job comes first. Priorities – we all have them but I wish his matched mine better.

As in my trip to Fogo Island a week earlier, I needed to get to know the “powers-that-be” in Ramea. Since whoever wore the mantle of he/she-that-counts-as-the-big-cheese-or-poobah-of-the-island was not to be found, I did the next best thing. I went to Red’s. it was lunchtime after all and the light wouldn’t be good until 2:00 PM. Ahhh, the life of the photographer!

Certainly in an outport/island such as Ramea, a stranger stands out even if they’re not in a bar. As in the TV show “Cheers”, everyone knows your name and it wasn’t long before almost everyone knew mine. Hell, you walk into any place with cameras dangling all over you and people look up and take notice.

Before long, maybe at least two or three minutes(!), I was being “interrogated” by the locals. Actually, befriended is a much, much better description but not as humorous. The first of my “interrogators”, sorry,that’s friends, was Gerard. Gerard, born and raised on Ramea, was thrilled to have someone new to talk with. As in any bar anywhere, it’s the same people and the same stories, over and over again. I was going to be entertainment or least a source of new stories. Hey, their stories were new to me! That should count for something.

  So, over a beer or two, maybe three of the locally brewed Quidi Vidi variety, Gerard filled me on all the poop. Who was who in the bar, what people did, local color, etc. For me, he was a font of information – some of it was useful immediately, some not until later that day, but I was not to know that at the time. However, Red’s was to become my base of local operations for the time I would be there. In the meantime, I would need to get outside to photograph while the light was getting better. It turned out that they had a hell of lot more beer left than I did light.

Enter the Wanderer with apologies to Bruce Lee…

22 Thursday Mar 2012

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Sounds sort of like a bad Bruce Lee film, doesn’t it? But, there are no flying fists, no crouching tigers, no leaping lizards, none of that stuff…just good old Newfoundland and its’ people.

I’m now ensconced on the small island of Ramea and have started to walk around the island, it IS small, and photograph. One of the first things I noticed on the ferry on my way in, is a collapsed fish processing plant, a fishery. It collapsed physically, but it is as good as any symbol of what has happened to the fishing industry. I could not have asked for a better opportunity to illustrate what has happened here. But Ramea is so much more than that, though its’ fate remains so tied to it.

Rendering of a fishery.

As  I mentioned earlier, one passes through a beautiful archipelago on the way in. It was so unexpected as to create a disconnect. “Hello, that number you’re calling is no longer in service.” That’s how I felt. In my modest research over the years, I believed that one found archipelagos in Japan, Indonesia, Scotland even. But Newfoundland, really? Oh, yeah. Yes, Toto, this isn’t Kansas anymore.

Ramea itself is a small, quaint even, little island if not for the oil tank graveyard I was currently photographing. I’ll tell you right now though, there are no photographs of those in this part of this journey. While I tip-toed around the tanks, respectfully trying not to wake them, I came up on a local who in true Newfoundland tradition was more than happy to talk with me. He gave me a little current history of the island and some recommendations: there was an ocean walk to take – check; don’t miss the wind turbine farm – check; Red’s Lounge – check and double check (can’t miss that!); the Anglican Church – check, but on Sunday of course; supermarket – check; and other places that were meaningless to me at the time.

I was into my wandering big time now. As I’ve written earlier, there I was taking pictures of nothing and really loving it.

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Abducted by sea turtles AND the talk of the town.

19 Monday Mar 2012

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With all apologies to the bard (Ramea, O’ Ramea, where art thou O’ Ramea?), Ramea is a small island off the southern coast of Newfoundland and I arrived safely on the good ship (well, ferry) Gallipoli. For those who may be history minded, Gallipoli is the name of a horrible battle in World War I in which allied soldiers were brutally massacred because of an incredibly dumb decision. It was also a movie starring the then uncontroversial and better-looking actor Mel Gibson. And Gallipoli was the boat of which I just got off! Should I have read something into that? Time enough to ponder as I’ll be getting back on it to return to the Newfoundland mainland in a few days.

Approaching Ramea, one travels though a beautiful though unexpected archipelago. It was a wonderful greeting. The only thing missing were giant sea turtles, but for all I knew they may have been laying in wait to ambush me and make mock-Bruce soup. Hey, it could happen.

This was going to be very cool. Ramea is a very small island, populated by about 600 people. At it’s peak in the early 1970′s, it had about double that, but when the fish were gone, half the populace followed. Yet, it holds on. There is a music festival, like so many other Newfoundland outports, in August. And there are a number of outdoor activities in which one can indulge. The electricity is furnished by a small wind turbine farm. OK, so much for the Chamber of Commerce business.

As I’ve come to learn and appreciate and obsessively seek out, the best activity of all in Newfoundland is talking and partying with Newfoundlanders, everywhere! And that more than anything would define this part of the journey. Oh, the photographs would be taken. And with the certainty of only those of the pure of heart and who sleep like babies, I knew they would be good. I didn’t really, I hoped they would be good. But I’m rambling. The beer would be drunk, but not I, oh, no! Moose what would be eaten. Sorry, Squirrel. More on that later,

I checked into the B&B on Ramea, unpacked, and then started out on which was to be my newest adventure. Without giving too much away, must be frugal with my words here, I was to see clothes-lines, coffins, windmills, hand-painted signs, a bar, so much more and unbeknownst to me at the time, become the talk of the island.

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Bartender to me – “Would you like that on the rocks?” Not funny.

08 Thursday Mar 2012

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Now, I’m not going to say I was feeling Like Leonardo in the movie. Nor was there, regrettably, a counterpart to Kate Winslet standing bravely by my side either. But, I was on a boat in the seas off Newfoundland and there was a lot of ice in the water. And it was in early April. Draw your own conclusions.

No, I was now leaving Fogo Island for the second part of this trip. Obviously being on this island meant I was going to have to take a boat ride back to the main and much larger island of Newfoundland proper. It was a ferry in actuality, a not very large one, and it took a couple of hours.

The ferry.

The Titanic – see any difference?

Earlier I wrote about the arctic ice pack that had come in and locked up the harbors. For a large ship as my hopefully sea- and ice-worthy ferry was, this would – should be an uneventful trip.

It’s pretty common knowledge that what you see of an iceberg above the surface of the sea is only 10% of it’s size. The remaining, evil, waiting to sink unsuspecting ships, part constitutes the other 90%. Remember, the ice pack, unlike a lot of doctors, is in!

An artists’ idea of an iceberg

So, me and a bunch of other intrepid travelers including their cars, (that’ll make the ship sink faster, won’t it?) drive on and take our places on the ferry. The driveway (?) pulls up, seals the then-open end of the ship and we shove off from shore. (Wait, I think I left my toothbrush at the B&B!)

I’m not normally apprehensive about sea travel. I’ve been on ferries before! But not through icebergs. Alright, they weren’t icebergs – more like a continuous seascape of floes, large, heavy, really white, and cold ice floes. And 90% of each one could not be seen! Yes, this was a steel hulled ship; and yes, it did this every year, but… Hey, wait, every year? How strong could this barge still be?

We plowed through the ice pack slowly; the floes grinding loudly against the hull; some so large that you could feel the ship shift from THEIR weight and mass. Oh, sweet mother… two more hours of this.

Not surprisingly, we made it safely. I got some good pictures. But throughout that whole trip, at no time did I ever want to climb up on the hull and yell “I’m king of the world!” Nor did I hear Celine Dion singing in the background. There is a God after all.

How did I get here?

17 Friday Feb 2012

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Sometime during this, my second trip to Newfoundland, I mused upon the events that led me there. Having previously written about how this whole idea came about, this is not to be a rehashing of that. I’ll probably indulge myself to do so though at some future time begging one’s patience. It’s also not how I physically got here – wrote about that as well in length. No, this is about a seminal event that did ultimately lead to this point in time.

A long time ago, (in a part of the country far, far away), I was sharing drinks with some college friends up in Boston. We were talking about careers and what we wanted to do with our lives. You know, the typical 3:00 AM college discussion. I was also trying to impress a young woman, Darla D., with what I thought was cool. I was an art major which is really, when you think of it, pretty cool, if not a non-starter on the economic scale. I wanted to paint. The underlying problem with that was I wasn’t very good. Being young and full of myself, I wasn’t about to admit it. What to do?

I blurted out, “I’m thinking of getting into photography.” Whoa! Where did that come from? Yes, I was trying to impress Darla D. and that did do it, but I had never thought of photography before. I would look at my fellow students with their cameras going around taking pictures of nothing and think, “Glad I’m not them, what dorks.” Truth is that as a teenage art major (Hmmm, that might be a good idea for a B-movie), we were all dorks already, but the photographers didn’t seem to care and were cool with that.

The more I thought about it, the more attractive the idea became. I have to believe my painting professor was relieved about the decision. So, I took some classes, worked with a photographer to learn more, and then courageously set out to wow the world. Uh huh, yeah, right. It wasn’t at all different from any other artistic discipline or business for that matter. Ya gotta pay yer dues.

So many years later, with any number of missteps and mistakes behind me and yet to come, I found myself in Newfoundland photographing this book. The big difference is that I’m that dork now, taking pictures of “nothing.”

“If the devil will take her…”

09 Monday Jan 2012

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Living Planet, St. Johns, NFLD  It’s all about the music – the only “weapons” in this picture are musical instruments.

Imagine driving around for several thousand miles in silence. You could sing to yourself – that’s an option but one that runs out of novelty real fast. You could also play license plates by yourself -either you’ll always win or always lose; it’s your choice. Or you could go get some CD’s of local music. In Newfoundland, there is a wealth of musical ability. Newfoundlanders love to make music even if it’s just for themselves.

Newfoundland music is perhaps some of the best I’ve found for driving (and partying). Take your choice of upbeat, funny, rousing, sad, tender, raucous, historical, whatever. Largely based on a folk idiom with a strong Celtic influence, it’s almost impossible to sit still while listening. That said, it can sometimes make you drive a little faster, OK a lot faster, than you or the RCMP* would like.

But like any movie, a trip must, absolutely must, have it’s own soundtrack. And whether or not you sing along, and I admit I did, it has to reflect the trip. So much so that when you later hear a particular piece of music, it transports you right back there to that very time and spot.

There is no shortage of very talented groups recording in Newfoundland. The most popular and famous group is Great Big Sea who tours frequently in the US and Europe. But that’s only scratching the surface. Musicians like Amelia Curran and Ron Hynes speak with their own unique voice. Groups like Shanneyganock, The Navigators, The Once, The Dardanelles, The Fables, and Eventide helped make the miles go by so much easier and are a wonderful backdrop to the land and the road.

Being folk music, everything is fair game for a song. From “Cod Liver Oil” to “The Fellow from Fortune” to “The Scolding Wife” and so much more, it’s all there. To quote “The Scolding Wife” a favorite of mine and the ringtone on my phone for my wife (much to her dismay):

“And if the devil will take her, I’ll thank him for his pain, I swear to God I’ll hang meself, if I get married again.” Love you sweetie! I think I’m going to have to buy some flowers for this one!

* – RCMP – Royal Canadian Mounted Police or Mounties.

Moose vs. World

02 Monday Jan 2012

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If you’re a bicyclist, you know that in a match-up of rider vs. car, the car always wins.

However, in the Newfoundland game of anything vs. moose, the moose almost always wins. These things are (sorry, Mr. Trump) HUGE! At the shoulder they are 6-7 feet high. Add the neck, head, and antlers, and well, it’s just big. Their antlers alone can span up to 6 feet across. Weight-wise, they are probably just a steak dinner lighter than a small Hyundai at 1,500 lbs. average.

Now why, I’m sure you’re asking, is this important? It’s like this – moose, like the younger of our own species, like to come out and play at night. They don’t have very good eyesight. And they’re a little on the obstinate side and can be mean-spirited. One more thing, they seem to like standing in the middle of the road just where you intended to aim your car. Oh, and to compound matters, they’re also dark-colored. So if you’re traveling on the Trans Canadian Highway at night and your forward progress is impeded suddenly, it’s entirely likely you ran into a moose. Usually at great damage and cost to your car. The road signs depicting and warning of such mayhem abound across the island and that in itself is a good case for rental cars and insurance while in Newfoundland.

Again, why is this important? Because as I started to head back to St. John’s from the Western Coast, I’d be traveling partly at night and am not particularly eager to make the intimate acquaintance of said creatures. I’m sure they’re lovely and interesting to study and good to their parents, but I’d try and skip that peculiar pleasure this trip. There are many more pictures to take for the book and this wasn’t in my plans.

Man Cave by the sea.

27 Tuesday Dec 2011

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New Year’s Eve in a shanty sounds a lot worse than it really is. Shanty doesn’t have the same connotation in rural Newfoundland as it does in the States. A shanty is the small building/house/cabin on the coast used by fishermen as a residence when going to and coming from the sea. It is for the most part a home-away-from-home. And oftentimes the subject of cute and quaint calendars and post cards of lands far-away.

But come the holidays and New Year’s Eve, all that changes. The shanty becomes the Newfoundland equivalent of a man-cave by the sea for the duration plus. And one can only speculate on behaviors conducted. The good news is that it’s usually far enough away from the children and pets.

Celebrations – oh, yes. Singing and dancing – yes b’y. Eating and drinking, why the hell not? Fishing – probably not much. But when it’s cold, windy, wet and/or snowy, and more, and the holidays to boot, why would you want to do anything but the aforementioned activities? Consequently, inebriation is often the result. A common comment then heard might be “Goin’ on a tear, me son?” translated as “partying with enthusiasm are we?” Count on it. After all, it is the new year.

“We’re not fulltime stupid.” Really?

22 Thursday Dec 2011

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One of the small pleasures in traveling is watching local television. Usually it’s some buffoonish weatherman trying out material for his audition reel. Other times it can be just the silliness of a marble-mouthed reporter unable to pronounce the name of a perp or a foreign town.

That said, I’ve nothing to say about Newfoundland TV. It’s pretty basic fare: comedies, which are actually rather clever and entertaining; the standard, low expectation cops and robbers shoot ‘em ups; news and weather; and of course the ubiquitous cable channels running infomercials for products of which no discernible need has ever been discovered.

However, because of cable and satellite TV, channels from other provinces can be watched. And because I was in Newfoundland, that was some of the electronic fodder to which I was subjected. I admit, I did it to myself, I was alone and the wine from the lobsters was gone.

So, on went the tube and down went my expectations until I stumbled upon a newscast on a channel from Hamilton, Ontario. It was nice, as Canada and Canadians are. This report had no stories of mayhem, political scandals, or even traffic jams. What it did have was a story featuring the mayor discussing a new curfew for teenagers. Apparently, there had been some problems and it had been decided by the town poobahs that a curfew would be just the ticket.

The reporter asked about certain things that might keep a teenager out after the curfew: would there be exceptions?

The mayor, straight-faced, serious as an IRS audit replied: “Of course, we’re not full time stupid.” Part-time, maybe?

Lobsters and a screw cap.

15 Thursday Dec 2011

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On the western coast of Newfoundland, I drive through such towns as Cow Head, Sally’s Cove, Three Mile Rock, (not to be confused with the atomic town in Pennsylvania), and Spudgels Cove. (Who was Spudgels that he was important enough to have a cove named after him?) Each one of these has it’s own personality waiting to be discovered by an intrepid traveler such as me. But not now as I’m on a quest. I’ve learned fresh lobster can be had inexpensively here. I make a short stop to see The Arches Provincial Park. This is a natural rock arch formation acting as a gateway to the ocean. I think however, most people probably just go around it to get there. But it does form a wonderful backdrop for new photographs.

The sea is starting to kick up into what will develop on the next day into a pretty fierce storm. Unfortunately, most of the lobster traps on the western coast will be lost.

But for this day, the lobstermen are making the most of their efforts. No longer permitted to fish for cod, they’ve turned to lobstering and crabbing. The lobstering season is very short, lasting only 5-6 weeks. In this time, the lobstermen will catch enough to deliver to the fishery and also help feed their family throughout the year. However, according to the lobstermen, eating lobster all year long gets old fast. When asked what they do the rest of the year, his reply was, “Well, we just —- around.” OK, sounds good. But in the meantime, I’m told if I go down to the fishery which is conveniently located near the cabin in which I’m staying, they’ll cook me up some lobsters fresh and really cheap. This is getting better all the time.

Down to the fishery I go and place my gluttonous order of two(!) lobsters to be picked up at 7:00 PM. Back to the cabin, drop off my equipment, get a bottle of wine from the market, and then pick up my lobsters. I go to the counter and pick up my dinner and am charged the princely sum of $ 11.00! Cooked and ready to eat! And the wine has a screw cap! I’m in heaven.

Screeches in the night…doobie doobie doo.

25 Tuesday Oct 2011

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There’s a saying that goes, “If you remember Woodstock, you probably weren’t there.” Now, I won’t say I don’t remember my first night in Newfoundland, I do, but there are one or two things I’m uncertain about. Well, only one thing. And that’s becoming an Honorary Newfoundlander.

How does one go about that you say? Well, it involves a ritual ceremony called a “Screech In.” Those who survive this ceremony will forever be known as Honorary Newfoundlanders. It goes something like this:

1. The “Screech In” can only be performed by a natural-born Newfoundlander. No pretenders allowed.

2. A real fish (traditionally a cod, but since these are hard to come by, any whole fish will suffice.)

3. A Sou’Wester – heavy duty fisherman’s rain gear, complete with head gear as well.

4. A bottle of Screech – a rather strong, inexpensive, some think vile, rum.

And now the fun begins, especially for the locals who good-naturedly enjoy visitors performing for them. The ceremony host, remember a natural-born Newfoundlander, will have the victim, wearing the Sou’Wester, stand in front of group of “witnesses” The host will then hold up the fish so the future honoree can kiss the fish on the lips! All watching will have the final decision on whether or not the kiss is sufficient to continue the festivity. Some times, multiple kisses are required!

Moving along, the host will pour a shot of Screech for the victim to hold on high before imbibing but not before reciting the following: “Long may your big jib draw.” Then a certificate may be issued to inform all that this person is indeed an Honorary Newfoundlander.

I was informed on my trip I was an Honorary Newfoundlander. I didn’t have a certificate, but I do remember having a “screeching” headache. Hmmm. More on the first night next post when I learn about the ballet.

Do you have a flag?

21 Friday Oct 2011

Posted by in Culture, Discovery, History, Humor, Newfoundland

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The very funny, British comedian Eddie Izzard does a wonderful bit about imperialism. In it, he talks about invading countries taking over foreign lands. It seems that if the occupied country has no flag, then it is fair game for the invaders.

Thankfully for Newfoundland, it has a flag and a unique one it is. Designed by Christopher Pratt and adopted by the province in 1980, all the colors and shapes have a significant meaning. White represents the snow and the ice, of which there can be a lot of in winter; blue equals the sea which completely informs the culture; red is for human efforts; gold speaks to the “confidence in ourselves”; blue is their Commonwealth heritage (the Union Jack); and the red and gold section signifies their future.

The two triangles outlined in red show the mainland and island reaching forward together; and the golden arrow points to a bright future.

The design of the flag is also symbolic. Featured in this design is the Christian Cross; the Beothuk and Naskapi ornamentation (vanished native North American tribes); the outline of the maple leaf (really!) in the center of the flag; a triumphant figure and their place in the space age. Also, the image of the trident is evident. This underscores their dependence on the sea’s resources (read this as fish). When it is hung as a banner, the shape of a sword is obvious as a remembrance of war veterans. It is a flag laden with complex meanings. But a handsome one. My thanks to worldflags101.com for the complete story.

What? You say you’ve never seen one before? Look for the bicyclist wearing a jersey with the flag as the main artwork on it. Be careful though and don’t get too close to Flags, look it, that’s me on the bike.

Joe Batt’s Arm… not necessarily a limb.

24 Saturday Sep 2011

Posted by in Discovery, Food, Humor, Language

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When I started my research for this book, as then yet unnamed, I wanted to get an idea of the geography and how people lived in Newfoundland. One of the first things I obtained was a map and that in itself was quite entertaining. It seemed like the Newfoundlander sense of humor had a lot to do with the names of the outports (fishing villages). The capital is named normally enough, St. Johns. There are the towns of Corner Brook, Marystown, Glovertown, and St. Lawrence – all whose names would not be unusual in many places.

Then came the names that were a bit different. Names such as: Bay Bulls, Frenchman’s Cove, Gambo, Burgeo, and Harbour Breton. And many more. Then came the names that were my first clue that this was going to be a special place. These included: Fortune, Witless Bay, Ireland’s Eye, Grand Bank, Twillingate, and Port au Choix. Further investigation led to: Seldom and Little Seldom, Tilting,  St. Jones Within, Leading Tickles, Cow Head, Nameless Cove, Farewell, Joe Batt’s Arm, Heart’s Content, and Dildo. Imagine the t-shirts you might bring back. In planning the trips, it was hard not to include all of them for the sheer pleasure of saying I was there.

But a map certainly would not be enough research for this project. All of the many books I read were invaluable to me, understandably some more than others. I had read Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News years earlier and enjoyed it immensely, but it had not created any interest in Newfoundland. Though, after I was well into my research, I re-read it, understood it even more clearly, and now with a small base of knowledge appreciated it that much more.

The books which were the most influential are: An Innocent in Newfoundland by David W. McFadden – a wonderfully entertaining and descriptive first-person accounting of his trip through Newfoundland; Tilting by Robert Mellin – a celebration of eastern coast fishing villages – Tilting on the island of Fogo in this case; Cod by Mark Kurlansky – an absolutely engrossing and funny historical tome complete with recipes (!) about the role cod played in the world; and Jim DeFede’s The Day The World Came To Town (9/11 in Gander Newfoundland), a joyous and heart-breaking account of the unbelievable natural hospitality and generosity of Newfoundlanders when 38 jetliners were rerouted to Gander, Newfoundland after 9/11.

OK, so now I knew a little about Newfoundland and my knowledge was growing daily. I read the St. John’s, Newfoundland newspaper, The Telegram, on line every day so I could keep up with current events. Truly, this entire project would have been a lot more difficult if it wasn’t for the internet. I’m fairly certain I could not have found those books locally.

As I mentioned, the book Cod has recipes – here’s one of them:

Cod Roe - Fed to Frenchman or to Fish:

        Roes of Cod well salted and Pickled are here neglected but are said to yield a good price in France to make Sawce withall.

        When the same are to be used, bruise them betwixt two trenchers, and beat them up with vinegar. White Wine etc. then let them stew or simmer over a gentle  fire, with Anchovies and other Ingredients used for Sawce, putting the Butter well beat thereto: We our selves on the Coasts use the Roes of Fresh Cod for sawce.                    Courtesy of: John Collins, Salt and Fishery, 1682.

Yum. I think.