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Published: February 4th 2015
Beothuk Institute
Strolling through the quiet woodsWe left under a dark cloudy sky; happily the sun came out by the time we reached the
Beothuk Institute Interpretation Centre. The Beothuk are an indigenous people who were made extinct in the late nineteenth century, primarily because of conflicts with the settling Europeans and their diseases. Unusually, the Beothuk preferred to keep away from the Europeans, but they were quick to use materials, particularly iron, left behind by the seasonal fishermen.
First I took the path to the excavation site, now dormant, where settlement artifacts give present-day archeologists a good picture of how the Beothuk society worked. The path was well curated, especially the many discrete signs identifying plants and flowers. Boardwalks protected the damp areas in the lush woods. A vigorous stream joined a sheltered cove, which is probably why the settlement was established there, especially since herring are plentiful in the cove to this day.
We all enjoyed the 1.5 km walk, a welcome chance to stretch our legs. (Bus riding is starting to tell on us. The air was fresh, the sun dappled the trees, and the temperature was just below twenty degrees.
Inside the Centre were boards that repeated the information we had viewed on
Iceberg at Crow Head Point
Probably the same one we saw days earlier - they don't move fast a DVD on the bus. I was glad there were replica artifacts that we could handle, getting the feel of spearheads, sinews and stone tools. Working with the local
Mi'
kmaq, the Centre also offered a
Spirit Garden. People who wanted to honour someone in their life selected items such as feathers, mussel shells, ribbons, etc. and walked a ways down towards the cove, where the memorial items could be hung from trees. Benches allowed for private, quiet contemplation.
The next spell on the bus took us away from the highway towards
Twillingate. Along the way we stopped at a grocery store to buy lunch items. Food is definitely more expensive than in Calgary, by about a third. The sparseness of fresh foods, not local by the look of them, is distressing. Junk food abounds. For instance, today the grocery had no individual juices but had lots of cans of pop. I bought an orange and a thin turkey sandwich. In order to have a couple of cookies, I had to buy a whole package, which I “justified” by sharing with others at the picnic table.
But before eating lunch, we went to
Crow Head Point for the most dramatic views possible,
enhanced by a distant iceberg! The lighthouse dominated the scene. Walking along a short path we came to dark rocks with jagged vertical drops into the clear blue sea. With shining sun and high blue skies, nothing could add to the beauty – except the bright, variegated green low brush and grass adorning the cliff tops.
Finally visually satiated, we went back down the road to the
Twillingate Museum where lots of picnic tables and benches hosted our picnic. Right beside it is the
Anglican church, the oldest wooden church in Newfoundland at 169 years. (Wooden buildings usually burn down.) To our astonishment, our driver Barry and Michael appeared on the deck of the manse just behind the two buildings. Barry’s sister is the minister.
Exploring the Museum revealed a wondrous array of artifacts, most donated by local and far-flung relatives of local families. The building was originally the home of one of the founders of Twillingate, a substantial house displaying wealth and comfort, although in the winter nothing on the Atlantic side of Newfoundland is entirely comfortable. A close-up view of sealskin boots showed how finely they had been made a hundred years ago, or more. The toe-cap was
Michael Morton's home
Great fun in Small Harbour shaped with extremely fine pleats stitched into the vamp.
Some way along the country road around the Gander Penninsula, Michael “suggested” to Barry that we pull onto an even smaller road to “get lost and find ourselves”, and then that we park in front of a small yellow house in a little village. Continuing his “play”, he jumped off the bus and went to the house at the back door, only to come out the front door and invite us in. This was his house in Newfoundland. The village was Small Harbour, enchantingly picturesque. After scrutinizing his sitting room, kitchen, pantry and bathroom (where the new washer and dryer looked huge), we walked down the single street to buy partridgeberry and blueberry jam from his friend, Nina.
Now seriously on the road, we drove for about 1½ hours, mainly on the TransCanada, to
Gander. To my satisfaction, before taking us to the hotel, Michael took us to the
airport. His pride was evident in the airport’s history from its old days as “the largest gas station in the world”, where transatlantic flights all refuelled, to its modern history of enormous
">hospitality during 9/11. Airports don’t have much to
look at, but inside the terminal we looked at the collage of photos of famous people who had disembarked for a while and at an intricate, futuristic mural painted in 1958 that still covers one wall inside the building.
Dinner: garden and spinach salads, great bun, “fish and brews”, which I don’t particularly like but didn’t recognize in time, and Iceberg beer.
Theresa mckay
non-member comment
Great trip, great time
You and Barry are the best!