Walter had booked the ferry the night before so we just had to show up 45 minutes in advance.  Again, we rolled our luggage to the truck in the dark, skipping breakfast at the hotel but grabbing coffee in to-go cups.  The dampness of the Atlantic air chilled us to the bone!  We cranked the truck's heater and joined the early morning traffic of Saint John.

For a Monday morning, we were amazed that the traffic wasn't too heavy.  The signage to the Digby Ferry terminal was easy to find and we were there before we needed to be.  We were second in line!

We sipped our coffee, caught up on emails, watched people as they arrived in vehicles and as walk-on passengers.  The wind was whipping the flags and people were tightening their coats and hats as they dropped off luggage and walked into the terminal to wait for departure time.  I was glad to hunker down in the cab of the truck and not have to brave the winds.

Finally the vehicles revved up and began advancing onto the ferry.  I am amazed at how the orange-vested workers knew which row to call up and make sure the ferry was loaded evenly.  Probably years of experience taught them how to avoid capsizing these sea vessels.  Within minutes we were parked and then exiting our vehicle.  We followed the ferry employees to the stairs/escalators that took us up to the top level.  A gentle rocking made me aware of being on the water; otherwise, it didn't seem like a boat!  The ferry had restaurants and cafes, a TV room, several washrooms and a lounge at both the front and rear of the vessel.  We ventured to the seating at the front of the boat and settled in.

I had brought reading material, a word search book and a couple of granola bars.  We could have bought a full breakfast on board but I thought I'd eat light just in case the ocean was rough.  As we pulled away, it was amazing to see the sun up and shining over the small white caps.  We were crossing the Bay of Fundy to the Digby port, which is in Nova Scotia.  Within a couple of hours, we'd be in another province. 

Noticing a few people stretching out on the cushioned benches, I felt the urge to catch a nap.  I had eaten a granola bar and had some sips of water.  I scrunched up a make-shift pillow and threw my winter coat over me and soon was nodding off.

I woke to the smell of coffee; Walter had found his second cup while I was sleeping soundly.  I jolted awake, hoping to do some reading before we were docking.  But I could already see the opposite shore and couldn't believe I slept through most of the ferry ride!

We hustled to the exits, only to find we had a line up.  Something I noticed was the faint eastern accent most of the folks had as they talked among themselves.  Fun!  I wondered if we would pick up that accent in the two weeks we would be out here.  We rode down the escalator and quickly found our truck.  First on , first off!

I punched in a restaurant on my phone so we could pick up some lunch.  Two choices:  fast food and then keep driving to catch the next ferry.  Or a more leisurely lunch and catch the ferry an hour later.  Mrs. Welch had advised us of when to leave Digby to time the other two ferries.  So we thought we'd grab a quick lunch and keep driving.  It was best to drive in daylight on these new roads and catch the ferries earlier rather than later.

Subway sandwiches, a quick bathroom break and we were on the highway along the Digby Neck.  

What is the Digby Neck?  The peninsula/highway running the length of it that angles southwest along Nova Scotia proper.  We drove along a two-lane winding paved road, whizzing by houses, little communities, catching a glimpse of the ocean or a bay.  Mostly, the highway ran through the middle of the peninsula with trees on both sides.  Within an hour or so, we saw the sign for Tiverton, a name familiar because the Welch's mentioned it in giving us directions to their home.

Suddenly we saw the ferry sign, rounded a sharp s-curve in the road and were quickly descending towards a dock.  Literally, we came to the end of the road and parked along the side behind a couple of vehicles.  We could see the barge/ferry crossing from the island and knew we had timed our arrival just about right.  The wind was still whipping and the white caps even larger along this channel.  I shivered as I thought about how the workers had to ride in the open air all day long, rain or shine, to serve people's transportation needs.  It made me very appreciative.

We loaded up, along with maybe 7 or 8 other vehicles.  The accents of the workers were even stronger and more pronounced as they signalled to the vehicles and called to each other.  Soon, we were pulling away from the dock.  The pitch of the waves was much more noticeable than on the larger ferry.  But the ride was over before we had any inkling to motion sickness.  And then we exited onto Long Island.  Having no idea how long the next portion of the drive was, we kept going.  Within 15 or 20 minutes maybe, we were at the next ferry at Freeport.  

Across that channel, we saw the dock for Westport.  I knew this address as I mail anniversary and birthday cards to the Welch's, It was special to be visiting in person and see where these folks call home.

Another quick ferry ride and we were on the last island before the Atlantic Ocean opened wide ahead of us.  The brightly painted homes with white trim, the tall buildings/sheds along the wharf, the cute little shops and white wooden-sided churches gave the town a quaint and maritime feel.  We saw lobster traps and boats and ropes coiled along the road.  Having arrived earlier than anticipated, we decided to drive up and down the few streets that comprised the tiny community.  We counted two churches, a post office, no medical or hospital facilities and a cemetery up the hill.  With no idea as to the location of their home - their mailing address was a box number - I called them for the street address.  

The retired couple was standing in their sunroom that faced the shoreline.  The sun had broken through the clouds and we saw a classic maritime sight.  Phil's grey beard gave him that fisherman look and Gracie's white hair piled up in a bun, a sweater over her shoulders, seemed to me a picture forever snapped in my mind.  They waved, pointing to the driveway on the far side of the house.  We pulled in at the garage, beside their vehicle, and jumped out.  They waited for us at the back door of the marine blue house, white trim, 1 1/2 storey home that epitomized a fishing village dwelling.  This would be our home for the next couple of days.

An aroma of stew greeted us, the blast of heat from a woodstove in the front room.  They immediately gave us hugs and we shrugged out of our coats and footwear.  Gracie gave me some slippers to wear.  And then we were given the tour of their home, which had been Phil's parents' home.  He grew up on this island, amidst fishing and tides and ocean life.  They had done some renovating so that they had their master bedroom and full bath on the main floor.  Upstairs were four bedrooms, with gable windows.  I loved it!  They had raised four boys themselves but hadn't lived here until retirement.  They had served in the eastern field all their missionary life.  I believe they did a stint in an Arctic community or two, among Inuit and Cree.  And they, like the Dana's, had been field directors for a few years.  

It was nice not to rush but to have opportunity to hear their stories, experience life on their island and share in their routine.  After a cup of coffee, we jumped into their truck and they took us on a partial tour of Brier island.  It is 2 miles by 3 miles.  So we were going to see half the island this afternoon.  We drove up some back trails, through some mudholes and across some rock.  And then, we were at the south point that overlooked the Atlantic ocean.  Next stop is Africa, Phil said!

They had a cute little one room cabin with a deck facing a portion of Nova Scotia.  Something reflected across the way and they said that was Yarmouth.  Wow!  I felt like we were in the middle of nowhere but there was the mainland.  We wandered around their getaway space, with a rocky shore, benches, firepit, fishing buoys and nets.  It was such an "other" world here. 

Then the Welch's drove us through town and up the north side, where the coast guard station was located.  There were two main lighthouses on the island but both were decommissioned now.  With GPS, there is no need for lighthouses to guide the ships in or to warn them of danger.  We learned so much in just a two hour tour of the island.

But Gracie suddenly told us it was time to head back for supper.  The sun was already low in the sky.  And Gracie informed us that on the island, people ate at 8 am, noon and 5 pm.  And we needed to watch the news and then at 7:30 pm, Jeopardy was on.  Walter and I exchanged looks and smiled.  So this is what retired life looked like!

This has been a long episode and I will continue the Brier Island visit in the next blog.