Monday, September 24, 2012

Blomindon Park: a Bay of Fundy treasure

On the last weekend before we returned the rental car, we went exploring. The road wound in and out of small towns, past farms with their produce stacked by the road inviting you to buy a pumpkin, showing vistas that made us catch our breath in the sheer beauty of it all. 

It was misting when we arrived and we ran out in the glory of it all, happy to be alive and together. We scooped up our little ones, one on my back and one held her Daddy's hand. 

We marveled at the old things just sitting there, the rock wall built over a hundred years ago, the ancient  tractor now part of the forest's landscape. 

We took big breaths of the salty air as we made our way down the stairs onto the beach. 


This was what we had been waiting for, the great expanse of water. England was just on the other  side of the pond. 

We both went a little (iPhone) camera crazy, trying in some way to capture the intense beauty that surrounded us. 

The acres of red sand. The apple tree showering its fruit on the beach below. The fresh water falling over the cliffs and making its way to mingle with the salt water. Driftwood, tiny shells, crabs, tide patterns on the sand, lobster traps, seaweed. 

My heart was full to bursting. There were many things that were hard about the transition (still are hard,  if I'm honest), but in that moment I was deliriously happy. 
And no one can take that from me. 

We walked to the water's edge, tipped our toes in the Atlantic, and felt so small. And so alive. 



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