The most beautiful beach we found on Prince Edward Island was this one: red sands and rock formations and a patch of seashore mostly our own. I appreciate that I always have space to paint when I’m out in nature with J. I’ve yet to experience a time when he’s not game to sit beside me and read or happily pick at his guitar, unwaveringly patient. These moments feel soft, easy, comfortable, comforting.
Our road trip to and through a bit of Eastern Canada made for a perfect and imperfect trip. It was a long expedition with a LOT of driving, and we both had obligations that kept us tethered despite being far from home. Periodically the tides changed and our moods would shift, but in a way that felt right. It gave us the opportunity to part and come back together, to accept the bumps and hiccups as part of the ride.
The day on the red beach was a near perfect one, and after we were satisfied with our wandering and painting and music and toe-dipping we went in search of one last supper on the island. We found a place not so far away where I could book a reservation, and when we arrived to the packed restaurant we were led to a table on the tiny back patio, breezy and with a sunset view of the bay. It felt picturesque and strangely fated, and the food was a bright spot too - salty mussels, a seafood poutine and fresh fish. And mocktails too, which while silly also made the mood feel positively celebratory. An older man fell while I waited for the bathroom, but even that felt bittersweet when he was lifted up by a few fellow patrons and settled back down to dinner, reassuring those around him that he was fine.
Later, the night ended with one last lighthouse sunset and a scary movie (the DVD purchased at a local charity shop) watched from an air mattress on the floor. I took photos of the sky and reflecting water from our bed, dreaming of how it would be to permanently live in a place like this.
The next day brought an early morning drive (I can still picture wind turbines materializing out of the dawn fog) to Nova Scotia and the long ferry to Newfoundland.
Before our ferry even touched ground, I was already wishing we had longer to spend on this strange, windswept island. The geography was breathtaking and otherworldly, rolling hills and rounded mountains covered in green, cliffs overlooking the expansive ocean. Our airbnb was at the end of a winding coastline overlooking Lark Cove, as far West as you could go without hitting water. We ate fish and chips at a small bar a few paces down the road and relished an early-morning inlet exploration in sea kayaks on a mission to get closer to the harbor porpoises (including one mother and her playful calf).
We were lucky to have a few breathtaking hikes close at hand and spent most of our time admiring seaside cliffs and vibrant wildflowers. We found a poetry collection called the March Hare, and later stumbled into an antique and bookstore that had an extensive collection of posters advertising the legendary event. We met our first Newfoundland (dog) here! And before we knew it we were back on the ferry again, preparing for a longer drive home.
