This is one of my favourite summertime posts. It features Vivian K. Perry and was shared in 2017. We still love and miss you lots, Viv! I also love the scenery of Barbour Tickle here in Newtown.
Welcome back for the Big Reveal.
On Sunday, I asked “What has gotten Vivian so concerned?”
Scroll down to find out!
On an especially gorgeous Saturday last month, Paul and I decided to go out for a row in the Serendipity, a lovely little punt built by our late neighbour, Ben Perry.
We came up with the ‘brilliant’ idea
to try to take Vivian along.
We did everything we could to coax her aboard,
but she was having no part of it.
In fact, she almost lost her mind that we were going,
with or without her.
She cried to break her heart as we left.
Bon voyage!
Your loss, Viv.
Rounding Perry’s Point…
…and down through the Tickle
Part of a wedding photo shoot.
You never know what you’ll see
when you’re out for a row.
Leaving the Tickle,
we set out for Bennett Island.
In case you were wondering why there are no lifejackets,
the water is very shallow here.
Vivian missed out,
but thank you for coming along!
When I first moved to Newtown back in 2010, my husband Paul told me how he used to play in “the farm” as a child. “Show me this farm!” I said. “Oh, it isn’t actually a farm anymore,” he chuckled. “But we used to play Cowboys and Indians, and climb the big rocks over there. Folks pick berries there now.”
In recent years, the farm trail has been upgraded and storyboards have been added.
The Farm: “In the late 1860’s and into the 1900’s, there were two ways to get from Perry’s Point to E & S Barbour’s and William Barbour and Son’s businesses. The long way was a semicircle past the Greens and Tulk’s houses, but usually when asked which way you had gone, the answer would be across “the Farm”.
“Uncle Ned Green had a long “hen’s house” . . . and in the summer, horses would gather to feed and were not driven away. This was the area where all young kids would play games, climb the rocks, and build mud and wooden huts. The Farm became their playground in the summer and a place for snow sledding in the winter. It was also a great place to pick berries in late summer.”
Did you know Beothuk children played here long before Paul and his friends did?
”Nature gives us so much: clean air, beautiful landscape, breathtaking views, fish, animals, and the list goes on. We want people to come, see, and actually walk the path where a tribe of Beothuk once lived with their children and took care of the land without damaging our environment. We need to show our appreciation to the first peoples by protecting and preserving this same environment for future generations.”
Well said and I couldn’t agree more!
*This hiking trail is part of the Wonder Shore Trails system which start in Greenspond and go all the way to Musgrave Harbour here in beautiful Bonavista North.
Thanks to two local photographers, you can see why Newtown has been nicknamed “the Venice of Newfoundland.” The community is like an archipelago, connected by a series of causeways and bridges.
Newtown:Tom Cochrane Photo, August 11, Facebook
Barbour Heritage Village, Newtown: Chelsey Lawrence Photography, Sept. 22, Facebook
I think it’s pretty cool that our house can be seen in both photos. 🙂
“To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it.” ~ Osho
But then, what of the following quote? Can a person who is low in spirit also be in love with life and create anything worthwhile?
“Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.” ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
Many have theorized that there may be a correlation between sadness and creativity. Great talents such as Van Gogh and Virginia Woolf come to mind. The romantic poets described suffering as a precondition to writing anything of literary merit.
Angst has a creative upside! That said, I believe joy, heartache, or any strong emotion can stimulate creativity, just as one’s mindset can influence the mood of an artistic piece.
To look through the lens of a somber, troubled mind, one may imbue his or her own state of melancholy onto the subject. . .
. . . whereas, if the emotional perspective and attitude is lighthearted or happy, one might frame it in an entirely different light.
Sadness and happiness are simply two sides of the creative coin.
Last week on December 7th, Paul and I celebrated our tenth anniversary of living here on Perry’s Point in Newtown. We had left the city behind in 2010 for the rural life and a new adventure.
Our house, which was newly built for Paul’s grandfather Perry in 1923, was in dire need of restoration and renovation before we could move in. The work that went into these first stages is clearly illustrated in these photos.
The beginning: gutting out the old
This one and the one below show the rot. We’d started not a moment too soon.
Yikes!
We chose to keep the original staircase and the three stained-glass windows.
Stripping down the old kitchen for new counters and cabinets.
On the left, a view of the living room through the wall where the old chimney had been removed. On the right is a view of the front hall from the dining room.
The old porch was dismantled to make way for a new one and a half-bath. Goodbye, old appliances!
Construction begins on the new porch and half-bath extension. Pictured: cousin and neighbour Wayne, one of our carpenters.
Wayne and Paul hard at work. Fun fact: Paul lost 25 pounds that summer and fall. That happens when you’re constantly working and running to the lumber yard and hardware store for new materials. He’s kept the weight off ever since.
“A little help from my friends.” Pictured: Paul, neighbour Ben (may he rest in peace ♥), Randy (our other carpenter), and my husband’s Uncle Harold.
Many hands make light work!
Three brothers (Paul’s cousins): Randy, Wayne, and along comes Winston to inspect. 😉
Getting a shot of the first new windows. Reflection of yours truly with the Atlantic ocean behind me.
The roofers came next.
Layer on top of layer…
Insulation, clapboard, and paint. Colour name: Dipped in Sugar. We’ve painted the house blue since then.
Getting there!
Back view. Looks bare before the deck was added. New backdoor window broke and had to be replaced.
Tons more to do, but getting hooked up to the internet can’t wait another minute.
In 2023, this old house will be one hundred years old, which coincides with our 25th wedding anniversary. Sounds like a great excuse for a party!
In a fishing village like Newtown, you will often see brightly-painted buoys adorning fences, rails and walls, particularly in summer.
While buoys of all types are still used for fishing. . .
. . . many are adapted solely for decoration.
As fall approaches, most of the buoys will be put away until next summer, but some embellish the landscape all year round.
When creating the title for this post, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Don Henley song, The Boys of Summer.
“I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
after the boys of summer have gone.”
Of course, if you are from anywhere besides the U.S., my play on words makes sense.
All other English-speaking countries pronounce buoy like “boy”, whereas most Americans pronounce it “boo-ee”. I wonder why.
And if that’s the case, how do Americans pronounce “buoyant” and “buoyancy”?
How do you pronounce buoy?
Do tell!
(And can you tell I’m not
ready for summer to end?)
Alexander Perry, or Skipper Alex (aka Alec) as he was called by many, was my husband’s grandfather. For those that don’t already know, our home on Perry’s Point for the past ten years is the same home in which Alexander and his wife Mary Jane lived and raised their large family.
Alexander worked as a skipper on a number of fishing schooners. He made many trips to Labrador to fish for cod, which he brought back to Newtown to be cured before it was carried by ship from St. John’s to England and sometimes Jamaica.
Although I never met the man, I’ve heard many good things about him. Skipper Alex was widely admired for his seafaring abilities, his pleasant disposition and gentle spirit, and his flair for storytelling. Locals loved to visit with him—or he with them—to be regaled with colourful tales of his experiences. Of course, having a love of stories myself, I wish I could have known him back in the day.
Below is a letter from Pompano Beach, Florida that Paul found in a box in the attic when we renovated our house. It was written by John Maxwell Barbour, known as Max, the eldest son of Captain Alphaeus Barbour. I imagine the letter meant something to Alex for him to hold onto it like that. He would have been 81 when he received it, and Max, 69. I typed the letter out for easier reading.
Jan. 22, 1969
Dear Skipper Alex,
This carries to you and to your good wife my warm congratulations on your 56th wedding anniversary.
Seeing your excellent picture brought back many memories of my boyhood days in Newtown and of our many contacts, all of which were pleasant and helpful in shaping me for the years ahead. To put it quite plainly, during that period you were one of my favourite adults and without question your personality made a good impression on me.
To my mind’s ear the sound of the guns fired at your wedding still comes thru. I recall the happy occasion well altho I was not old enough then to be a guest.
My wife joins me in sending you and your wife best wishes for continued health and happiness.
Very sincerely, Max Barbour.
Many thanks to Lester Barbour for giving me some background on Max.
Photo credits: James Maine
Given the COVID-19 pandemic, I’m having trouble concentrating long enough to compose an original post. So today I’ll share a post from exactly five years ago, a nostalgic look back to simpler times.
When my husband Paul was six years old, he and his family moved from Newtown – the little community in which we live now – to live in the capital city of St. John’s. Their parents relocated so that Paul’s oldest sibling David could attend the Vera Perlin school for his special needs.
On the day of the big move, Paul crawled up under the house – the actual house we live in now – in a show of protest. “Everyone should be able to live where they were born,” he argued through tears, but the die had been cast. He was pulled out and packed into the car with everyone else.
On the very first day at their new school, Paul and his other brother Kevin, who is one year older, decided to walk home from school for lunch, despite being told to stay there and eat the lunch they’d brought. But when they saw other children going home, they wanted to go as well. Unfamiliar with their new neighbourhood, the two boys got lost, and Kevin started to cry.
Brave little Paul tried his best to console his big brother by distracting him. “Don’t cry, Kev. Look at the pigeons,” he said, pointing at a bunch of them as they waddled across the sidewalk, hoping the strange, tame city birds might cheer him up. It worked, and they ended up following a classmate to his house. Between the jigs and the reels, their dad had to leave work and go pick them up.
Let’s go back a couple of years when Paul was four and Kevin was five, to another time the younger boy displayed his wisdom. A new addition to the family of three boys had arrived, and this time, it was a girl! When their mom brought baby Julie Ann home, the boys crowded around to get a look at their new sister. Kevin’s eyes opened wide when her diaper came off to be changed. “Look, Paul,” he said, incredulous. “She ain’t got nar topper!” (penis)
“No, ya foolish,” Paul said, enlightened beyond his years. “She got whatever Mom got.”
Now before you think I’m beating up on my brother-in-law, I’d like to share one more tale. Okay, two. When Paul was about nine and enjoying his summer vacation in Newtown, Kevin saved him from drowning. Paul was diving with some other boys off of Burnt Island, but he tired in the deep water and panicked. Kevin grabbed him by the hair on top of his head and pulled him to safety.
Years later, when Kevin was just beginning his teaching career, he and Paul were driving along in St. John’s one evening. Without warning, Kevin pulled over, stopped the car, and jumped out. He’d spied two teenage boys in a fist fight near the local hockey rink, and he wanted to stop them. Paul watched as he parted the boys, reasoned with them, and ended the scuffle.
It was a day he never forgot. Where most people would just keep going and not get involved, Kevin stepped in and tried to solve the problem. It made Paul really proud of his brother.
Paul confessed there were other boyhood fights where Kev stepped in and rescued Paul himself, fights my husband started and couldn’t finish. I would say he’s grateful for those too. And so am I. 🙂
Thanks for tagging along!
In a fishing village like Newtown, you will often see brightly-painted buoys adorning fences, rails and walls, particularly in summer.
While buoys of all types are still used for fishing. . .
. . . many are adapted solely for decoration.
When creating the title for this post, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Don Henley song, The Boys of Summer.
Jennifer's Journal 