Earlier this month, we released the first of a two-part series of love letters sent to us from Ardeth Holmes, a talented writer, poet and proud New Brunswicker living in St. Andrews. In her second love letter to New Brunswick’s wonderful waterways, we join Holmes in the backseat of her little VW beetle where she explored the province as a young child during her family’s weekly road trips toward the unknown — eyes always open, in search of yet unseen beauty.
Enjoy this larger-than-life love letter celebrating the journey and the “old roads” that still lead us to New Brunswick’s hidden treasures!
Flume Ridge Covered Bridge Magaguadavic River # 7 Built in 1905, 60 feet long
The Flume Ridge Road Trips: Love of New Brunswick not just its waterways. Road Trip…day tripping…
Growing up in our family, our summertime ritual after haying season was taking a road trip. We got our first family car in 1959, a little VW beetle. I was six. Being nimble and wee, I rode in the cradle – the space behind the back seat over the engine.
These trips would happen on Sundays after early church – 10:30 in the morning. The car was loaded so all we had to do was go home, change and pack up the things from the refrigerator. Everything else – the metal red and white double-handled plaid picnic basket, the Coleman stove with its tank filled, metal teapot and blankets for sitting on were in the car. Then wagons ho – Destination? Unknown!
We were going on an adventure, somewhere in New Brunswick. Sometimes it might be sparked by something read in the paper that we should go check out or maybe a place we had never been before.
In those early days, there was no such thing as a provincial park, picnic tables or strategically placed convenience stores with indoor plumbing. The only public places with enough space to set up the Coleman were “dump roads”. That is correct, the roadway leading into the 60’s -style landfill.
We were usually away for two meals. The first would be sandwiches and cookies which travelled well. When insulated containers, cold packs and the Coleman stove came along with us, our food selection changed, a lot. Who needed restaurants? It was a day of breaking bread together at church and on the road.
When Mactaquac dam opened that was on our list. It was a history lesson, questioning the changing topography by man, the loss of farmland and a tour was a must do, too. I was fascinated by the turbines. To this day, I love the orderliness of things mechanical. My greatest wonderment was always asking myself – who thought this up? Where do you get ideas like this? I’ve seen the flower clock at the Beechwood power plant, the disappearance of Pokiok Falls, visited the tidal bore prior to its damming, rode uphill backwards at Magnetic Hill, and now I will give you the secret of planning your own road trip.
It is really about the true sense of adventure, the wonderment of learning about new – people, places and things. It’s taking an interest in what is right in your own backyard, your own community, your own province and actually SEEING things from a new perspective.
Destinations unknown is really learning about how to “Be…in this place.” It is about becoming engaged in the joy of everyday life. It is about – well, becoming observant and taking pleasure with what is before your very eyes. It is about getting in your car, making sure you’ve got a full tank of gas and then simply deciding that every corner you come to – choose a direction to turn and with our winding New Brunswick back roads you’ll find an adventure around every corner.
Dad we nicknamed “Chrissy” after Christopher Columbus. Dad had a hard and fast rule. You did not return the same route you went as there was nothing unknown about that.
Mum, a teacher, by birth and by trade and a storyteller to boot would lead talks on flora and fauna, the map would come out so we would know where we were and where we had been. (And map she needed for Dad would tell you if you covered Mum’s head with a wet paper bag, put her in the middle of her own driveway and turned her around three times she could not find her way home!)
And some places you visit on a regular basis like King’s Landing. A visit there with a Dad like mine meant he told us things like – I remember when my grandfather …and tell me a story of our family. I love to see the pigs wallowing in the mud to keep cool in the summer. That was one of my chores – to feed our pig. Pillsbury was the first and last one I named. That winter, I ate no pork. Returning to Kings Landing reminds me of my roots. Emerson’s have lived on the farm in Greenock since before Confederation.
And the year we did the Canterbury Road, which seemed to go on forever, we three kids were mesmerized by Mum’s explanation about the man who saw someone put something in the ground and hastened over to say CANT – A – BURY. CANT-A-BURY. ( Did I hear you groan? Heh, we were young!)
It seems unless someone tells us what to do, where to go that we – well, we never use our imaginations. We never had our nose in an electronic device. At 64, I close my eyes and remember road trips of days-gone-by. Mum died 24 years ago, Dad over four at almost 97 but my memory bank of joyful times is brimming.
To the day of Dad’s death he was still engaged in living. He read the daily paper, was intrigued by new things, and he could not wait to see the new highway and bridge to Calais. Whoever thought that to direct someone to the farm in Greenock we would have to say take the Lawrence Station EXIT off highway one instead of the Board Road, to McAllenan Hill and turn left, with our house a mile beyond Art Giddens Store.
As Dad aged we would still do journeys only they were not as long. Although Dad came to live near us in Saint Andrews we went every week to Andersonville Baptist Church. Moving from the farm to St. Andrews was one thing, but we would go to this little church to maintain his faith and be with his and mine. In good weather, we would take little road trips after Church.
One was to Flume Ridge. You take a right just after Hemlock Knoll Sanitary Landfill (back to those dumps) where we travelled down a little country road.
Dad would remark on the changes in the places — the farmland had grown over with alders and trees, land whose ancestors worked so hard with their backs and a horse to clear, yet we no longer knew who lived there now, or who used to live there. The real gem is turning left down another dirt road that brings us to a small covered bridge at the flume. Cottages are nestled along the riverbank of the Magaguadavic River.
We have come hoping — like other years — that the butterflies will have returned, maybe see another turtle, eat our picnic lunch with windows closed if the black flies are a little thick or open if there is a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and making the river giggle and gurgle over the rocks.
Memories flow through our minds and hearts of the times we came with family members in a convoy to enjoy the fall leaves followed by a potluck supper at our farm. We were not disappointed.
We turned left as we did not want to go back the way we came. Then at the end of that road another decision. Left means we go over Pomeroy, down Mike Carrey Hill and through to Bonny River. This means an ice-cream stop at Ossies. Or if we turn right it means we need to get home sooner via the Rollingdam road, through the Cathcart woods, to Waweig – where we have no choice but to travel those last few miles over the same road.
Destination unknown is the ability to take a trip eyes wide open, with no thought about the destination but learning how to enjoy the journey. It is about slowing down, taking the road less travelled, and knowing you may travel fewer miles but see so much more.
Destination Unknown – is about having a spirit of adventure. I never think about the word LOST – I am only ever so slightly misplaced.
Celebrate New Brunswick and our waterways. Take a road trip, hop on a bike, go walkabout –
and share your adventure with us!