SEA-COAST HOMES OF THE MARITIME PROVINCES.
_The open-door...._
The open-door to an understanding of the sea coast life, its
enthusiasms, its joys, its sorrows and its toil, is by way of the little
sea-coast homes edging the ‘long-shore road in out-of-the-way coves and
harbours, remote from towns, cities and the big sea-ports. These little
houses are as a voice in the land; as soon as one heaves in sight by a
turn of the road or a dip of the land we instantly feel their
personality. Their dimensions may be small, roofs low, windows few,
doors narrow--all these things are overlooked because they all fit in
with the whole, to make a sweet, lovable little place, where we might
easily fancy ourselves living happily--the big world far away, the
horizon of our wants satisfied by the vision and tang of the gray sea,
and the fishboat putting out in the early morning, to come again with
the sinews of the evening meal. There are many ways of approaching these
sea-coast homes, but the preferable way is--afoot. The man or woman who
takes to the open road and puts up where he can when dusk comes down
over land and sea, is the voyager likely to have the best adventures and
to make the most discoveries. He discovers, primarily, that many tongues
are heard in these little sea-coast homes--English, Gaelic, Breton and
Acadian-French, and should he go far north enough, some “Huskie”. He
will even find little colonies of Jersey Islanders in the midst of the
English-Gaelic-French stretches. Even so, the traveller coming to any of
these sea-side doors in the evening light will never have to beg a place
to lay his head. Hospitality is part of the unwritten code of these
parts. An additional mouth to feed brings about absolutely no confusion.
It matters not which language the housewife speaks. You may not be able
to employ her Gaelic or she your English, but her heart is kind and
friendly and the sea has taught her to be cosmopolitan. Her door is ajar
to visitors; a small matter like languages will never close it. There
are many common grounds on which to meet and always “sign” language and
a little latent ability on both sides to “act out” any situation going
beyond the combined vocabularies adds spice. Indeed I think the “acting
out” one of the chief charms particularly in the little French homes.
The interiors of these sea-coast cottages in which we have frequently
found ourselves guests, not one but many summers, are in every way as
individual and winning as their exteriors are attractive. All the
furniture is hand made, with odd “bits” here and there salvaged from
wrecks, or which have otherwise “washed in with the tide”. It is fitting
that as the house is home-made--it shelters homemade things. On the
floors are round, plaited rag rugs--pretty spots of colour but not so
brilliant or so highly prized as the rough, hooked rug showing large
patterns designed from nearby objects or some treasured association--the
family cat, the dog, the flowers from the wee garden. In some of the
French shore homes both the plaited and hooked rug give way to the
_Catalon_. Having duly examined and admired those on the floor, Madame
takes the visitor up into the garret to see the ponderous loom that
holds another in the making. Scattered about are her wools, spun and
dyed and perhaps previously sheared by herself. Catalons furnish
material enough for hours of conversation and if the visitor is
fortunate enough to be a guest under Madame’s roof the chest of floor
rugs and homespun _couverts_ may be opened to view. Some of these
_couverts_ may be old, the work of Madame’s or M’sieu’s mother. Oh, many
are the stories woven into the _couverts_ of the Magdalen Islands and
the Gulf of St. Lawrence shores from Quebec to Cheticamp--stories in
detail more than one summer long.
In the Gaelic homes conversation is made easy if the visitor is
interested in old-time China-figures. The Gaelic woman warms to you at
once if you notice her “Highland Laddie” in kilties or the wee “lambie”,
or the faithful sheep-dog that stands upon the shelf. These all have a
story too. Some of these China-pieces are very rich and handsome both in
the quality of China and in colour, to say nothing of design--“Mary and
her little Lamb”, “The Sailor Boy”, “The Lovers”, “A Victorian Lady”, in
hooped skirt, poked bonnet and blue shawl, etc. A few of these figures
are heirlooms. Others were bought by their present owner from some
travelling salesman chancing into the glen half a century ago, when she
was young. Sometimes the figure came from a wreck and was salvaged by
the skipper in his little fishboat--fragile figures that survived the
fury of the storm which smashed the great ship, which carried them, to
kindling.
This tale of wrecks brings into the story of the little sea-coast homes
the men whose handiwork the houses are. The vikings of the Maritime
Provinces are home-builders! In their turn wrecks and brave men
introduce another type
[Illustration:
WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME.
SAMBRO, NOVA SCOTIA.]
[Illustration:
DOOR-WAY OF THE LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER’S
HOME AT CAPE SHARP, NOVA SCOTIA.]
of home common enough to these parts, a necessity in fact, but unknown
to inland Canada--the lighthouse keeper’s little nest with which goes
the white tower with its lamp connected with the house on isolated
headlands and far away on the point, by itself, in others. A chart of
the eastern coastline reveals hundreds of such lighthouses; and for
every lighthouse, followers of the piper know, there is a little cottage
tucked away somewhere. Great camaraderie exists between the unpainted,
weathered, shingled cottage of the fisherman and the home of the man
whose light and bell guide home through the fog the little dory to its
place. The one is more fixed up than the other having the government
behind it in the matter of paint, but both know what it is to crouch for
shelter among the boulders. In time of storm “the holdings is what
counts”, as Big John puts it. There is just one thing that the sea-coast
folk fear above the storms of winter, and that is--fire. There being no
fire-department in these parts, every householder takes precaution by
putting a ladder across the roof from eave to ridgepole alongside the
chimney. This fire “prophylactic” is a fixture built-in with the house
and looks like some “idea” in the architecture so universal is it.
In the long miles it is noticeable that groups of these sea-coast one or
two-roomed homes usually cluster together around some little harbour.
These are companionably drawn together by the little sheet of water
affording an anchorage or safe dry-dock in shelving shores for the
little fish boats--breadwinners of the family. Peggy’s Cove, on St.
Margaret’s Bay between French Village and Sambro on the south-western
shore of Nova Scotia, is such a little rocky haven--looking like a
miniature Newfoundland. The road fringes the shore for eighteen miles
after one leaves the railroad at French Village and one may make it
afoot and getting tired beg a lift in a passing ox-cart, or may engage
passage with the mail-driver. The mail-driver is an institution in all
these out-of-the-way regions, and one may cover most of the distance as
a passenger in his cart.
Many a little home we look into away “Down North” from Inverness to
Grand Etang on the one side of Cape Breton, and from English Town to
Dingwall on the other, whose open door we have been able to make with
the mail-driver’s, or the little coastal steamer’s assistance, or by
driving ourselves in a hired team part way, and walking part way,
regular pilgrims, staves in hand. But there are thousands of little
homes along shores where no roads go except that over the sea. One is
rewarded for “making” any of these, over the cliffs, carving out a road
for oneself, if it be possible, if not, taking to the boat. In fact, one
soon likes these most isolated homes best. Their originality and their
strength appeal to the pioneer latent in us all. And here dwell the men
and their families who have held “the line”, keeping alive the great
fishing industry of Canada. Here dwell in truth our much to be admired
codfish aristocracy. In fact, in all these little homes reside men upon
whose personality “United Empire Loyalist” is indelibly stamped. These
are people who accept the hardships of life with composure, relying less
on outside supports than we of the cities. No stores are here to run to
for supplies. The doctor comes not at all or only in summer. In the
Magdalen Islands there is no communication except by telegraph from
Christmas time till the following spring. Here, one winter, it became
desirable to get “a mail” to the mainland. The men interested prepared a
large cask, made it watertight, put the letters inside and headed it up.
They gave it ballast and a little sail and consigned it to a strip of
open sea, first painting on it a request to the finder to forward the
“mail” to the nearest postoffice. Those letters reached their
destination.
The Magdaleners are fisher-folk in the main, though of course in Havre
Aubert and Grindstone there are a number of business, and a sprinkling
of professional men. The homes here in these remote islands, being
French, have the French touch of thrift well developed. Paint is here in
most instances, and though the islands are bare of trees a little garden
is generally managed with the aid of a fence made of bits of wood culled
from sea-drift.
These real little homes may be a mile or a half mile inland among the
smoothly rounded Damoiselles--a little unhandy to the boats--so the
Frenchmen of Havre Aubert have built themselves a little row of summer
cottages right on the shingle, so close to the waters of the Gulf on
each side that they could almost step out of the boat into the front
door, did it not happen to be on the second floor for safety from the
waves in time of storm. Such a cottage has the double advantage of
allowing greater despatch of the fishing and of saving the wear and tear
on the “all the year round” home. We wonder it has never occurred to the
coastal fishermen of other parts to have a summer home as well as a
winter one.
Doubtless the new era will bring many changes and improvements into all
this region of Canada. The new roads, the autos, the modern builder, the
agriculturist, the large number of summer tourists, the shipbuilding,
the improved methods of fishing, improved drinking water systems, direct
and indirect foreign trade, library and lecture centres, expansion in
railroads all radiating from and meeting again in Halifax--Queen of the
Maritime cities holding in her hand the fate, among other things, of
these little homes--will all come soon. But we hope the day will never
come when these little gray cottages will disappear from the Canadian
landscape. We hope sincerely that in their case it will not be necessary
to destroy in order to build; that if their location is the one thing
needed to conduct the fishing quickly they may be saved to form the
fishing-season homes of our fishermen, an extension of the plan now
followed out by the Magdalen Islanders, while a snugger situation may be
chosen for the up-to-date winter home so well merited by those
harvesting Canada’s fish and those other deep-sea voyagers carrying her
ships and trade into foreign ports.