Dear Kendra

I’ve been asked what my favorite First is (so far) by a few people. I’m not much for defining things in that way, but I will say that there have been a handful of things that have really made an impact to get me thinking in a new way.  

 

This past May, I experienced a day-in-the-life of a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farmer, and immediately fell in love. She was gentle, giving and forgiving of my fumbling fingers. Dear Kendra is the darling cow I milked for the First time on Val’s CSA farm just north of Toronto.  

CSA is a farming model that was developed in Japan and Europe in the 1930’s to provide security of access/consumption to non-farmers and a consistent/sustainable market to growers.  As a co-op (NOT an organic buying club or home delivery service), CSA provides share holders who invest a set fee at the beginning of the season with locally grown food (or sometimes milk - but there are very strict rules for that).  

Apparently, we could reduce our use of fossil fuel by 1.1 million barrels of oil (per week) if we each ate one locally grown meal a week. If you’re curious, visit the Ontario CSA Directory to get connected with a local farm.      

Anyhoo. Rather than detail my day, which was full of surprises, learning, interesting characters and quirky fun, I’ve put together a little photo strip to tell the tale. NOTE: this First was sweetly set up by my super awesome friend Ben who brought along his alter-ego, Uncle Speedo. If you find Uncle S. as dreamy as I do, you can see more of him on Etsy.  

 

Dr. Brooks & the Magic Fire Truck

People are so incredible. One of my greatest pleasures in life is to meet new people, hear their stories, discover their uniqueness and ultimately; experience some kind of adventure with them. Sometimes these adventures last decades, some only brief moments. The most important adventures for me are the ones I think back to and question; did that really happen?! How was I SO unbelievably lucky to have met that person/people leading to THAT crazy event!? Might as well be magic ‘cause I have no other explanation.  

In Lunenburg, NS, a quaint little coastal fishing village south of Halifax, I had such an adventure. Starting with a polite hand shake and introduction to Dr. Brooks and his lovely wife Cheryl, I was quickly aware that this visit would be all but ordinary when I was casually related to “Sister Sarah”, an alias for a once was brothel babe from Maine. Weird - my favorite.

The adventure gained its true momentum however with a tour of Dr. B’s private replica fire hall. Here’s where it gets unbelievable. This man, an extremely involved volunteer fire fighter and successful psychologist has been collecting fire fighter paraphernalia for decades. Most recently, his “hobby” evolved to include the purchase of 2 fully functioning vintage fire engines. That’s right, he owns 2 fire trucks! Not stopping there though, wife Cheryl skillfully contracted the building of a replica fire hall to store these fine trucks. Of course! Adding to that, the hall has a museum of Dr. B’s private collection and a guest room where we were kindly welcomed to stay.  

Over the course of the 48 hours spent in Lunenburg, I often stopped to exclaim “Can you believe we are here!?” The entire town was like a pulsing movie scene. It seemed only appropriate that before leaving Lunenburg and the Brooks’, we ride around town on the truck.  

Last month, for the First time, I took a private tour around small town Nova Scotia on a fire truck...on one condition; the driver received a kiss of thanks. Easy peezy Sister Sarah ;)

Thank you Will. It was a magical adventure!

Fishy Business

Why is it that catching a fish is so satisfying? Dominance? I’m not a vicious person, nor do I assume anyone else is either. Somehow though, feeling the sudden tug, race to reel in the line and discovery of a frantic fish desperately gasping for air at my mercy makes me want to fist pump and hiss “yesssssss”.   

It’s a bit sick when you consider it. I certainly do not feel this way about birds or mammals (despite being a happy carnivore) but with fish, I’m down for the kill.   

Hanging out on PEI a few weeks ago, my killer instincts set sail. Near Brackley Beach at Cove Head Harbour, my hunting partner and I boarded Richards Deep Sea Fishing liner hungry for fin. First jigging for mackerel to use later as bait, our crew had a slow start. We wormed our way around a few different areas and finally snagged a hot spot to caste. We eventually hooked enough keepers to move on to cod. This is when the knife came out.  

I was shown how to swiftly sever the body into suitable pieces of bait. Excited by what was to come, my hands were steady as the blood gushed and the kids on the boat screamed zombie fish!”  
A few hours later, with little success by most, we were on our way back to shore; chased by gulls under the most gorgeous setting sun I’ve ever seen.

I’m proud to report that of 26 fish caught by our crew of 15, we caught 50% of them! 12 mackerel and 1 of only 3 cod; snagged by yours truly.   

The following night, over an open camp fire, we cooked up our prize prey. Served with new PEI potatoes and green beans, we tore through their salted, tasty flesh with groans of delight. This I decided, is why catching a fish is so satisfying. Delicious!   

Naughty by Nature

Some of my favorite memories as a kid living on Raleigh St. in Brantford were of the times we would set up my Grandfather’s Boy Scout army tent for summer sleepovers in the shared backyard that stretched behind our row of townhouses. Constructed of deep, dense green canvas and held upright by dozens of 1” thick poles that required meticulous assembly plans and great physical commitment, setting up the tent was rarely free of argument and near surrender. Eventually however, the tent would always rise and the rewards of our hard work savoured.

 Needless to say, camping has always been a part of my life.  I love the sensation of huddling beneath the low roof, zipping up tight in the dark, the click of the flashlight and waking to the murmurs of random creatures. When in a proper forest, camping of course becomes more about the surrounding environment and “survival” activities: collecting wood, starting a fire, tying up the dry line, cooking dinner, tarping against rain etc/etc. And sometimes, as I’ve always wanted to do in Algonquin, portaging to the site.   

Unfortunately, I did not get to Algonquin this summer. I did however, have the amazing experience of spending 24 days driving to and around the east coast during which I camped in 11 different places, for the “First” time. Here how it all went down...  

E18 - Whale Cove Campground, Digby, NS
13 - Blomidon Provincial Park, Minus Bay, NS
XX - Darrel’s back yard, Louisburg, Cape Breton
33 - Hideaway Campground, Dingwall, Cape Breton
T1 - Adventures East, Baddeck, Cape Breton
412 - Ponderosa Family Campground, Hopewell Rocks, NB
144 - Cabot beach Provincial Park, Cabot beach, PEI
22 - Green Park Provincial, (near) Tyne Valley, PEI
31 - West River Countryside Inn, backyard of Power family cottage rental, Charlottetown, PEI  
38 - Cymbria Campground, Cymbria, PEI
54 - North Beach Campground, Burlington, VT (USA

Thanks to advances in camping equipment (and a healthy competitive, must-beat-our-best-time spirit), setting up camp reached a personal best of under 5 minutes. My Grandpa would be amazed!

Never Start a Fire Nude

As I move through this list of Firsts, I'm noticing that some of my original goals now lack luster. Some haven’t been attainable, some I chickened out on and some...are just not things I care to do anymore.  Why did I want to hang around in the nude with a bunch of strangers again? 
I looked into a few places and genuinely did consider attending the nudist volleyball weekend, nudist glow stick party, nudist golf cart parade and/or the “Bare as you Dare” dance. But, when I read rule #2 on the Nudist Policy stating that, “When in the nude, always use a towel to sit on” (to avoid sharing body goo I would guess??) and then #7 which said “All persons MUST be nude when using the swimming pool, hot tub or sauna.” I somehow felt....conflicted.
As a runner up to visiting a nudist camp, I decided to do something as equally dangerous. Start a fire. Perhaps it took a weeks’ worth of newspaper and 20 minutes to light and perhaps it smoked more than flamed and just maybe it burned less than 5 minutes, but dammit - if you stuck your hand in it, it still would have hurt.

Lus-ter: radiant, luminous brightness; brilliance, or glory.” Yep, that pretty much describes my fire ;)

Screaming Trapeze

It’s difficult to describe the madness that is trapeze, especially by a person fairly threatened by heights.

Originally meant to be a sky dive or bungee jump, when gearing up for this activity I reminded myself that this project is not about conquering the world, but discovering it. I’m proud to share that, for the first time, at The Toronto School for Performing Circus Arts, I briefly surrendered my fear and found that (even subtle) adventures in the sky can be thrilling. I also reminded myself that it’s completely ok to scream in public, enclosed spaces.

Wedding Crashers

At age 15, I got a (yes, totally cheesy) tattoo on my right ring finger. I remember thinking, “I should get this on my wedding finger as a protest and claim my eternal independence!” Much less radical than I thought I was, I opted out and quietly maintained a pseudo sense of resistance. To this day however, I love attending weddings.  Nowhere else can you indulge in so much awesome slow dancing, chicken dancing, jiggin’ with Grandpa or bust out the Running Man and still have friends the next day.For the first (and just recently, second) time, I paired my teenage desire for radicism (is that a word?) with my love of wedding receptions to succeed in crashing a total of 4 weddings!!

Inspired, planned and accompanied by one of the most good-fun-times guys I know, weddings #1, 2 & 3 took place at a classy, multi-venue joint near Jane & Steels called the Paradise Ballroom.  Dolled up and determined, we began our journey north on the Jane St. bus with cans of beer in paper bags of courage.  Well prepared with alias names (Frank Journey & Penny Power), background stories and quick escape plans, we arrived about 9:30 ready to hit the floor.
Folks, if you’re ever craving something new and quirky to do on a Saturday night, I highly recommend the P.B! I couldn’t believe how simple it was to walk in, grab a drink and start twisting the night away. We ate, did I mention drink (for FREE), got pics with the brides...we did it all...and we didn’t know a soul!

Just the other week, while tearing through Louisburg on Cape Breton Island with my new favorite guy, the universe sent out another crash test. Wedding #4 was the best yet! Held at the local fire hall and attended by some unruly randos and seriously drunken Capers, we arrived just in time to participate in the garter and bouquet toss. Within 3 minutes, we had drinks in hand, found a crowd of new friends and were two-steppin’ until closing time. Islanders are a different bunch to say the least. I received two warnings that night: not to claw at eyes when chasing the bouquet and to never meet a man’s eyes on the dance floor. I see. Sloppy and aggressive was apparently an understatement.


Sadly while away, I missed a family wedding here in Ontario. Congratulations Deanna & Joe!! Couples like you keep me believing that love can last as long as my tattoo (ya, I already said it was cheesy...).  xo