A long stretch of road, nearly empty, takes me up another wide hill. Cars with bigger engines set cruise control at 140 and whip past me. I am in their way and we all have nowhere to go. Brenda Fassie plays on my stereo.
I’m reframing my relationship with travel, with my perspective on place. It is that change of perspective that travel brings and I’m coming to a quiet understanding that the change doesn’t have to accompany a customs line and a new stamp in my passport.
Off the highway and into a curving stretch of villages, crooked Nova Scotia rural roads tug at my meaty winter tires and we go tat-tat-tat over heaves. I slow down to gape at the ocean as it appears over another hill, the ocean from which life comes and economy comes. The shiny Dodge and Ford pickups tell me what I already know, that lobstering is good right now, and I already know because no matter how much Fibre Op we get, we’re still a place where the ocean brings life and economy.
In these villages, the feast-or-famine industries of southwest Nova Scotia decide who stays and goes, who thrives and who barely clings. I trundle past grand old houses with white columns on their porches standing guard over the twisty roads, and I glimpse ramshackle trailers propped up on blocks back near the tree line. I pass family homes with pitched roofs and bungalows, where family names are carved on ornate wooden plaques propped up at the foot of driveways.
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Brenda Fassie has given way to French pop music, the first music station I could find as I head further south and into the French shore. An army of white windmills appears ahead, standing well above the forest of green-gray trees. Life, and economy.
And then I’m there, a day and a half of sightseeing, sleeping, reading, writing and a run along the Yarmouth shoreline I feel in my legs for two days. And I think, I should have stayed longer.
On the way back I grip my steering wheel with two tight fists as the southwest gusts scrape my car, my takeaway coffee going cold in its holder before I can relent and sip it. I think of sankofa, of returning and knowing, and how I’m going back where I came from.