Monday, October 14, 2019
Towards the middle of April jobs around the property could simply wait because it was time to grab the camera and head for some of the nearby fishing communities. Why? Because it was getting close to the first of May...
Pans of ice shunted back and forth through the Strait of Canso. It was the middle of March 1946. We were on our way to the Canadian-American border. We spent that winter living at my grandparents’ place in South West...
The season is almost over. Have you had your feed of Atlantic Canada’s best delicacy or are you one of the unfortunate few who have a problem eating shellfish? The season that began on the first of May on the...
A long thin ribbon of sand, gravel and rocks make up part of Cape Breton’s shoreline on the north end of the Strait of Canso. This gravel/rock bar of approximately three kilometres is quite a natural feature that can be...
The Cheticamp River originates on the northern plateau of Cape Breton and flows some 25 kilometres westward to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Beginning in peat bogs and barrens and small lakes on top of the plateau, it starts off...
Six o’clock in the morning on the streets of Venice, Italy, a strange sound coming behind me caught my attention. A man marching, carrying and playing some sort of bagpipe came into view. Under his arm, a large inflated...
Our flight takes us down the valley of the South West Margaree River. At Margaree Forks, the North East Margaree River joins in and we turn slightly westward, following the combined Margaree Rivers. We fly over the “Big Intervale” past...
The beach season is just upon us and what a season it should be. The heat is here and the swimming season is underway. The ocean is starting to warm up nicely (the Gulf of St. Lawrence) and will be...
Some years ago I started photographing old houses and barns wherever I traveled. After hundreds of photos, I realized that there were many different types, varying in size, shape, materials used, and the culture of the community in which they...
I stood on the old wharf below Babin’s Hill and waited for the setting sun to produce the image that I thought might take place. I wasn’t disappointed. There were just enough clouds to hide the sun at the horizon...
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