Whereupon nature conspires to make everything perfect

So, the Queen Parents left last Monday, which is why Queenie was upset in her last post (for those of you who are NOT PAYING ATTENTION closely enough due to the having of lives of your own), and last Friday Polly arrived for a little visit.

It was great. We went to the airport and Queenie jumped up and down in a fit for half an hour while the planeload moved slowly through Customs, and eventually Himself got Queenie sat down and calmed down a little, and of course as soon as he did the door opened and there was Polly. Much screaming and yakking ensued until eventually everyone was very tired and had to go to bed around two.

Next morning, after some blueberry pancakes and maple syrup, and an hour’s chaotic packing, Queenie and Himself brought Polly down to the island for a weekend’s camping, it being the Natal Day holiday in Nova Scotia.

And Shazz and her boy, who were making their first trip to the island, came too. Five people, five tall people, all their tents and sleeping bags and camping gear, plus all the food and all the drink, plus all the clothes and hats and coats, in one 4WD. We just about all fit in.

We got down to the island and unloaded all the gear and it was only then that the other passengers in the car realised that the cove where we were camping was quite a ways on foot down a rocky track from the car park. We let Shazz’ son spend a minute freaking out about it before we told him that Himself had transportation organised so while he went off to get his lot and to organise everything, we brought enough stuff to pitch our tents and make a cup of tea.

Everything except the propane and the water of course. Queenie always forgets something. So she had to hike back for those.

Anyways, we got to the cove, which I’ve written about before and which is quite the nicest place in the world bar none, and the first thing that happens is that a little minke whale buzzes into the cove for a blow and a breather. She came in every day we were there at the same time. So we’re standing on the flat green ridge above the cove that is perfect for camping, looking down at the beautiful rock formations that tumble along the shore, with the blue, blue sea twinkling and pushing gently against the rocks under the hot August sun, just admiring the beauty of the cloudless day, when we hear bbbsssccchhhh!!!

(Queenie’s version of a blow, doncha know).

WHALE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I screamed. And there she was, a smooth black shadow gliding through the water.

I thought Polly was going to burst she was so thrilled.

And that was the weekend for us pretty much. If I had sat down to write a story about the perfect weekend for a girl from Ireland to experience on the island, I would probably have left some of it out as being too OTT.

It would have been perfect weather until just after we left. And so it was. We had two days of hot hot sunshine, and when we woke up on the third morning, the wind had changed and was blowing hard enough to make dismantling the tents a bit of a challenge. By the time we got back to Halifax we were in the middle of one of Nova Scotia’s extreme summer storms.

Each night, as we barbecued our steaks and chicken, dusk would have stolen gently over the outgoing tide and a bulbous golden harvest moon would have risen over the ridge and slung itself lowly, slowly across a cloudless night sky, spattered with stars.

And so it was.

The first night, our good friends would have made their way down to camp on the shore with us, and all the children would have disappeared over the ridge to do whatever kids do on the shore, while us grown ups had a few beers and lit the bonfire and watched the seals coming in all nosy to investigate what the kids were up to.

Then later everyone would sit on the beach and watch the fire and laugh at the men and boys as they fed the fire and undertook those strange rituals that men have when they’re engaging in something as primordial as making heat from driftwood to keep everyone warm on an island shore

And so it was.

Polly would have had toasted marshmallows and wieners to roast over the fire (not too primordial), and lots of local boys to chat to, as well as getting to meet all the local women Queenie has met through Himself, who are just like the women at home in Springtown where Polly and Queenie are from.

And so it was.

Next day the sun glared down on us, so Shazz made an Ottoman-style tent with four tree branches and a fly leaf (red), and we lay under it and talked for hours while Himself brought the kids swimming in the swimming hole further up the track. Then we emerged from the woods for a barbeque at Tee’s house before heading back for another bonfire under the perfect moon, where Polly sang old Irish songs that made people want to cry (because the songs were sad, doncha know, Polly’s a good singer).

Then everyone went to bed and Polly and Queenie sat by the fire for a while and told each other all the things in their hearts that they hadn’t been able to tell each other for ages, what with having to be on opposite sides of the ocean for ever such a long time.

Queenie’s very glad she didn’t have to make the weekend up; that it just happened the way it did. We all deserve a perfect weekend once in a while.