The Best of Both Worlds

The country: fresh air, quiet, birds echoing a symphony at the morning’s early light. Rivers, lakes and ocean.

Also the country: ticks, flies, dry wells. Closely knit communities where a person’s business is no longer their own.

The city: fast paced, major sporting events, a diversity of exquisite dining, four lane highways, underground malls.

Also the city: crime, crowds, line-ups, traffic and usually no name neighbours.

When weighing the pros and cons of rural living versus city living, I was initially at a stalemate. I suppose I wanted the best of both worlds. The country provided the solace, the city – excitement.

I was born and raised in bustling Toronto, a city slicker at heart. I lived and breathed the city. It was the only way of life that I knew, aside from the occasional camping trips in Northern Ontario.

That all changed when I met my husband in Toronto. He was born and raised in rural Nova Scotia, in a home situated by the sea. A far cry from the world that I came from. Two years after our marriage in Toronto, we moved to rural Nova Scotia and purchased five acres of land with a view of the ocean, upon which we built our homestead.

It was exciting at first. I awoke to the silence in the morning watching birds fluttering everywhere. There were few cars or sidewalks aside from those in the nearby town -only the ocean waters glistening in the morning’s sunlight. It was all so picturesque, yet it was not an easy transition for me. I did not have a country bone in my body, at least not yet.

I found the wintery weather to be the worst part of it. Some days, I could not even get out due to snowstorms and slippery roads. In Toronto, I would have taken the subway which was nearby, and venture out to an underground mall, a restaurant or movie theatre. So time was spent doing country things – tobogganing with my son, cross country skiing, skating on our pond or simply baking. But, oh, how I yearned for the mall most days. The closest indoor mall for me was a half hour drive.

On the upside, in Nova Scotia?I was introduced to maritime foods such as salt herring, hodgepodge, and scallops. The scallop was a real challenge for me at first. I had never seen or tasted one before. The first time my husband came with a bucket of this shell fish for dinner, I stood there staring at them completely mesmerized. My husband assumed I would know how to open them, which of course I did not. There they lay, quite uninviting, shell tightly closed, daring a city slicker to pry them open.

The hammer and chisel did not work, so I soon gave up the attempt. My husband finally showed me how, quite simply, it could be done with a knife. Once opened, I was expecting to see something quite different from what lay before me. It reminded me of the old movie ‘The Blob’, very spasmodic, having an orchestrated rhythm of its own.

“You don’t expect me to eat that do you”, I inquired. My husband, for a tease,?took a few and ate them raw. Well, this had my stomach doing flips. I just could not bring myself to eat them.

I had horrid visions of those scallops, down in his stomach, jerking uncontrollably. I laid in bed that night envisioning those ‘blobs’ growing, enlarging until they protruded out of innards like some alien being, engulfing and consuming us both. I did acquire a taste for scallops eventually. We now have a deep and respectful relationship.

Skilled in the art of boat design, my husband designed and built a 20 foot sailboat for the family to enjoy. My first time out onto the ocean was not a pleasant experience for me. I conducted myself like a drunkard while trying to help hoist up the sails. Our boat may have been seaworthy, but I was definitely not.

Once the swells caressed the side of our boat, I grew as green as the hills in Ireland. Embarrassment was an understatement. As my husband cheerfully waved to passing boaters, I was hanging with my torso over the side and had to let it all out. Oh the shame!

But after a few more sails, I grew accustomed to being a sailor, and now I will not miss an opportunity to get out onto the high seas.

Hunting is a big event here in rural Nova Scotia. Once deer season opens, the woods are adorned by a sea of orange. I recall the first time I accompanied my husband on a hunting trip, tagging along as moral support I suppose.

Before we left for the venture, I went to change into my ‘hunting’ clothes, ready to brave the elements. We were staying with his parents at the time, and when I came out wearing my brown pants, white scarf and rabbit fur jacket, my mother-in-law burst into laughter.

She explained to me that going out into the woods in my attire was not a good idea.?She noted that I would have been shot full of holes in a matter of minutes. “Anne, dear,” she said. “You’re going into the woods during hunting season, not the mall!” Oh the naiveté. I would never live that one down. My husband no longer hunts these days, as he is now quite content to hanging around the homestead.

I suppose I can say that I am now a true Nova Scotian. I have earned that right through much trial and error.

I still enjoy my trips to Toronto every summer. I enjoy the change of pace from rural living. After all, it is my birthplace and I still have family and friends there who love hearing my stories about my adventures in the beautiful Maritime province.

I thank Creator every day for being fortunate enough to appreciate the best of both worlds.