Day 21
Last night it rained, answering the
prayers of probably all PEI-ers. There has been a dry spell here.
Campfires are banned, and, according to Keith the grocer, the island
isn't as green and lush as it usually is.
We sleep in until 9:30 because of the
rain. It feels good not to have to pack up all of our things today.
We slowly have coffee and breakfast. It's 1pm before we get the Girl
fired up and head out to explore. Today we are heading back to the
western side of the island in search of a ship building museum. It's
called the Green Park Shipbuilding Museum and Yeo House. It's in a
town called Port Hill, about halfway between Summerside and North
Cape, the very tip of the western side of the island. The drive is
really gorgeous, we pass farms and fields, lighthouses and cottages,
and sweeping views of the water. The museum turns out to be fairly
small, and so the din of the 35 children visiting that day was like
maybe the noise of the boiler room of the Titanic as it was sinking.
Loud. We toured the beautiful old home of James Yeo built in the late
1800's, and all the grounds where dozens and dozens of ships were
built back in the day. Everything was made on premise, the lumber,
the black smithing, the sewing of the sails, everything. No pallets
of manufactured Chinese pieces and parts for these folks.
Apparently, the PEI ship building business is responsible for kick
starting the island's initial wealth and independence. By 1920, it
was over due to total deforestation and loss of resources, and
economic crash.
The independence of these islanders is
pronounced. We learned today that PEI was very close to being a
sovereign nation. They ended up owing Canada a bunch of money for a
trans island railroad, and so they signed away their independence
because of debt. This independence, in my opinion, is coming forward
now with the local food movement. Even at the smallest drive-in
burger places you get all PEI beef, all ADL dairy products and you
better believe you get PEI potatoes. As you drive along the roads,
about every other household is selling something; lobster traps,
fresh eggs, sea glass jewelry, vegetables, shellfish, you name it.
It's very much like the Ohio Amish country.
Just so you'll be impressed, we also
went to the Acadien Museum. For one, I was totally confused about who
these Acadiens are. I thought they were a Louisiana tribe. Here's
what I found out: Some French folks sailed over the Atlantic in the
1600's and plunked down on the shores of the Bay of Fundy, in an area
known then as Acadie (ah-kay-DEE). They thrived there peacefully
until the British won the rights to their land, renaming it Nova
Scotia and relocating all the “Acadiens” over to the French turf
(what is now PEI). They lived there for awhile, and then the English
claimed that island too, thus starting the Expulsion, an
effort to ship every last Acadien back to France, where they had
actually not lived for several generations. A couple thousand
Acadiens escaped into New Brunswick and Quebec evading the
deportation. The ones who survived the journey back to France turned
right around and sailed to Louisiana. Eventually some Acadiens made
it back to PEI, where, after a shitload of struggle, they maintain a
thriving community complete with Francophone schools, teacher
trainings, newspapers and political officers. After centuries of
attempts at establishing lasting roots, PEI, New Brunswick and
Louisiana are now home to the Acadiens.
As a reward for all this studiousness,
we retire to the lovely outdoor seating of Carr's Oyster Bar in
Stanley Bridge. We have a beautiful view of the bay where they raise
all of their oysters, and where boats come in from the ocean. We can
also see the bridge, where youngsters are flinging themselves into
the water below. We have a martini made with local (of course) gin,
and a big old bowl of oysters, mussels, clams and quahogs steamed in
white wine and garlic. There is seeded bread to sop this up. It's as
wonderful as it sounds.
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