Peggy's Cove

Highway 333 was a familiar road to far too many foreigners during the Air Swiss Tragedy. Pulling over to take photos of small inland waters with sail boats, fishing vessels, lobster and crab traps all came to an end when I came upon the site. Stunted spruce with mere boughs etched northward away from the storms at sea, low lying shrubs didn’t dare to grow too high for fear of being attacked by the climes, and the fog that hadn’t lifted left a desolate chill. I was by myself reading the large stone blocks erected to thank the men and women of Peggy’s Cove for their tireless efforts to reach the air craft 11 km. off shore and to care for the families that came to see where their loved ones had died.  To think it could have made an emergency landing yet needed to dump fuel and didn’t make it back to land. Tens of people are still haunted by the experience of what they found in the far off waters. We pray God will bring them Peace of mind, heart and soul.

I had no right to feel what was washing over me but it came, perhaps age, gives us perspective that life isn’t infinite, and that once a human is gone, there is no replacement.  We move on but their gift to each of us lives on only in memory. I text my family back home to feel connected.

The tight winding road heavily shrouded with trees gave way to the open ocean down the road about 10 km. Washing billowed on the lines, a patch quilt of colored homes, several art shops, always a church, and a B and B made up the one kilometer twisting, turning road. I met Fred fixing his netting by his boat. He chatted, I listened, and his dog barked...incessantly, I left.  Sitting on a bench I admired this tiny hamlet of 20 homes in peace for some time. THEN….without notice, like I deserved so sort of announcement, not one, not two, not three, but 9 buses assaulted my tranquillity.

What it is, with the wind at my back, and the sails at my front, I looked out to the tubby boat transferring customers from Dartmouth to Halifax, when I looked yonder, I saw three ships come sailing, come sailing in, come sailing in. I saw three cruise ships come sailing, come sailing in in the morning. Like Putin, without a real invitation they simply impart their ways until he leaves. Point Pleasant Park, Pier shops, restaurants, the Bishops landing, and plenty of space to rest, roam, run and yes, dance along the wharf that stretches to the naval docks km. away. Up and down the streets I clamored to the Clock tower, Central Square, the Trade Center, Civil …., the Cathedrals, to Dalhousie and St. Anne’s University, and lastly to the Hydrostone where the explosion of 1917 brought a somber end to my day.

Expecting a historical site, a park, something, I entered a yarn shop and asked about the history and was given a pamphlet about the explosion. A few placards exist but nothing to say that thousands died, thousands more lost their sight and that it was the largest know disaster in Canada. The boutiques, restaurants, cafes, book and gift shop along with the infamous Starbucks have replaced the existing area….is that progress?