Buy the Yard.

'Axe' questions at Rumford Visitors Center.

South Burlington, VT – At every turn, the roads through New Hampshire and Vermont were littered by signs advertising ‘yard sales.’

And they were not referring to the term more commonly used by skiers in the region.

One has to wonder about the depressed nature of the economy in certain areas of these states, given that yard sales appear to provide a livelihood for a significant portion of the rural economy. It has not mattered what day of the week, or time of day it is – garages rest with gaping maws and storage lockers have been raised like Levolor blinds unto another world.

Deal finders even flocked to a funeral home parking lot onto which items had been spilled onto blankets under garish, marker-scribbled signs. I guess it’s a venue familiar with goodbyes.

It also continues to astound me how many abandoned homes dot the roads. They lean, creaking with windows falling out – their curtains still wrapped around the frames as one would cling to the ghost of a former love.

By contrast, however, we have landed in South Burlington for the evening and the area’s splendid vistas are home to a bustling population, packed patios and cute, manicured shops.

After a long day driving, though, finding a scallop and bacon wood-fired pizza at Folino’s and four free samples at Magic Hat Brewing Company (try the #9) made for a great way to cap off (pun intended) the day.

Not a Ferry Good Day.

Tide you over: the Hopewell Rocks, at low tide.

Calais, ME – Actually, it wasn’t that bad.

Here’s a pro tip, though: when travelling through time zones, be sure to change the clock in your car, lest you err on the timing of something important.

Like a ferry schedule. (Bonus points: especially after a long day of driving.)

Having just driven through mountains cloaked in fog, we pulled onto the ferry at l’Etete, NB. We had planned to catch the next ferry to Campobello Island after the half-hour trip to Deer Island – while hopefully seeing some whales and seals along the way.

As we settled in between a truck and a bus, we were told the last ferry was to leave at 7 p.m. – a couple hours earlier than anticipated.  The clock on the dashboard flashed 6:30.

The keen reader, of course, will have already figured out it was really an hour later locally.

Thankfully, the ferry back to L’Etete was free – but we saw no whales or seals.

As waves of ink spilled across the sky and bright sparks forked to Earth, we finally pulled into the border town of Calais, ME. Pathetic fallacy, methinks. The Calais Motor Inn seems stuck in a 1950s time warp – and that may also be the last time the floor was cleaned, too. But, it's home for the night.

Despite the later setbacks, however, our morning flowed with the timing of a tidal schedule. Literally.

Several hours after leaving our home base in New Ross, we stopped at the Hopewell Rocks and its distinctive flowerpot rock formations. As with other sites along the Bay of Fundy, the region is home to the world’s highest tides, leaving miles of red clay-filled mud flats stretching out in front of you. Six hours later, they are covered by more than 50 feet of water each day.

It was a day filled with good times, just not always accurate ones.

Trying Not to be a (Tidal) Bore.

Home on a hill at Hall's Harbour.

Wolfville, NS – This evening has been all about family. Well, that and a substantial lobster feed.

A basket filled with 28 lobsters, bowls of various sides and a table surrounded by family that does not get together all that often made for a wonderful time to say the least. I am grateful.

Throughout the day, we made our way to various spots around the Bay of Fundy, where we experienced its famous tides. Hall’s Harbour was overcast, but quiet as fishing boats leaned against the wharf, their hulls resting in mud.

We continued to the Blomidon Lookoff, which offered a really neat perspective as we looked down on a storm that had formed over the Bay. From there, we finished at Cape Split, wandering out onto the red clay and finding the remains of a very old wooden structure several hundred feet out into the muck.

It was definitely the scenic route to my aunt and uncle’s orchard.

Roller Coaster.

Fishing for compliments.

New Ross, NS – Heavy rains settled into ruts etched into the highway by logging trucks heading into the forests of the Balsam Fir Christmas tree capital of the world.

At each turn, the high-arcing waves our tires carved threatened to send the car spinning off the road.

But, we continued on to Peggy’s Cove, where we stood alone as a bagpiper played mournfully beside the iconic lighthouse. The rains had scattered the few tourists in the direction of the gift shop, leaving us alone on the rocks. Despite the day’s rains, the skies held off long enough for us to spend some time loping over the giant boulders as I have each time since first coming as a child.

Taking the heritage coastal trail along the ocean, we visited the two Swissair 111 memorials and various fishing villages, but stopped short of Lunenburg, where the Bluenose II is being rebuilt from the ground up. The rains were simply too strong for it to be an enjoyable experience, and the city was flooded this afternoon.

It was not, however, enough to put a damper on the lobster sandwiches (on raisin bread) we had brought along for the ride.

Brevity.

Paying the piper.

the sea claims another
The waves rolled in
like a throaty growl
of passion from your tongue,
nibbling at my feet.

Kissed by the mist,
the fog falls over me
and I am pulled asunder
by your love.

Miss Direction.

Like in my brain, fog fell fast in Halifax.

New Ross, NS – Sometimes, the GPS lies.

After breakfast at Becky’s Diner in Portland, we set our course and marvelled that there were fewer hours to go than anticipated.

On second look, I noted the GPS had us crossing the Bay of Fundy. While this may indeed have been the shortest route, there were no ferries to be found and I had not set the directions for an amphibious vehicle. I shook my head and recalculated. Somehow, we still made it.

Climbing into New Brunswick, I kept my eye out for the ever-elusive (to me) moose. At a distance would be fine. A blurry vision of a head poking out of the trees would do. Alas, my quest to see one of these big, dumb animals in the wild remains unfulfilled.

Thankfully, though, the coastal air has finally cleared the allergies that plagued me for most of the drive. We’re still so exhausted, though, it feels like the fog that rolled in over Halifax harbour tonight has settled into my brain.

I will, at least, use that as an excuse for my confusion at the toll bridge leading into the city. It turns out that when you seek change from the attendant, you will actually receive the full amount back – just in smaller denominations. I had not realized I was still required to drop the toll into the bucket.

As I pulled forward, the bar bounced in the breeze, but remained lowered authoritatively across my path – as though it were wagging a finger at me. The lane was too narrow to open my door and run back, and I eyed the motorcycle cop idling behind me.

The bar finally rose in a shrug.

I blame the GPS.

Feast of the East.

I 'sea' food, in Portland, Maine.

Portland, ME – My lids had lifted even before the ball of fire that would eventually prick at my bleary eyes as we drove east this morning.

It was 4:23 a.m. and sleep had already sped off down the highway.

Having left Toronto, the sun rose like a fist of fire, throwing darts of dark rays that jutted at right angles. Soon, the city crumbled into the Canadian Shield and the road before us unfurled with the rhythm of a sonnet. Or, perhaps, an epic poem.

We finally stopped in the quaint and quiet town of Brockville, ON, but were surprised to not find anywhere serving a decent breakfast. A&W was not what I had in mind. Thanks for nothing, Brockville.

The St. Lawrence hemmed in our tracks as we took secondary roads through New York and, as we circled Lake Champlain, watercolour marinas and crimping shear backdrops filled our windscreen. It was a beautiful drive, if not for the incessant need to slow for red lights and tractors.

We eventually made it through the Green, White and Appalachian Mountains – through Vermont and New Hampshire – before ending for the night in the coastal city of Portland, Maine. The ferry that used to run from here to Nova Scotia has been shuttered for a few years now. So, more driving tomorrow.

Exhaustion poured itself over my first lobster roll of the trip; however, the table-full of seafood at J’s Oyster on the wharf was really all I was looking for after a day of following my nose in the general direction of sea air.