Images of Acadie cont'd
"Things that might have interested us were in the rear view mirror before either of us had fully understood what we had seen."
When the poor ate lobster
There are other things that say Acadie, like lobster traps that have washed up on shore. Jeannette Deprés, a friend of Elaine's, told us many stories recently about her youth and "the days when the rich ate bologna and the poor ate lobster", back when lobster was three cents a pound. She said on Sundays in the summer she and her friends would go out and pull up any trap they wanted and fill a huge pot and boil lobster over a fire on Cocagne Island.
Elaine and I finally made it to Cocagne Island last summer. She bought a little rowboat from our neighbor and I rowed her and her daughter, April, over. We made our way through the oyster cultivation operation to the swampy shore on this side of the island, but the only ones having a feast that day were the mosquitos and we were the entrée. To be sure, we were driven away, but we’ve now discovered Cocagne Island, which has been sitting in front of us for eight years and we’ll go back, next time to a more hospitable shore. And to take more photos.
Journeys in our Echo
So this is what Elaine and I do now, head out in the Echo whenever we can and discover the things that have been there all along which we have somehow missed, mostly because we wouldn't stop. Things that might have interested us were in the rear view mirror before either of us had fully understood what we had seen.
This shell of a fishing boat has been on blocks in Cap-de-Cocagne for as long as we've had a cottage in the area. Why wouldn’t we stop? For one thing, we were always headed somewhere and the momentum of having that destination in our minds prevented us stopping so we were satisfied with “saw it, saw it, saw it” which is a variation of “been there, done that.” But maybe stopping the car on an obscure stretch of road and getting out to stand and watch something seems nosy, maybe even a little cracked, or, worse, “touristy.”
But now we stop. Now we get out because getting out to take a picture seems legitimate. We don’t pose in front of things like tourists, at least not often, but we study them, we get fascinated, and then we can’t wait to get back to the cottage to see how the photos came out and then we write about it all. Sometimes it's hard to get down to the writing because writing makes us think of things we'd like to go photograph. Fortunately, however, as I write this, winter is not far off and going out to take photos of the coast may not be so urgent, giving us time to get down to the writing, which is yet another way to know Acadie.
Maybe not, though. Elaine and I are already thinking of shots we'd like to take when the trees are bare and the snow is down and the water along the coast is frozen. After all, Acadie is still Acadie even after the leaves fall.