As if Nova Scotia didn’t do enough by way of dazzling a newcomer with spectacular sunsets and vast expanses of blue sky and water, it is also a nature-lover’s paradise. Everywhere I looked during my recent trip there, I was rewarded with sights whose memories will stay with me for weeks and months to come.
From the first to the last day of the two weeks I spent there, the avian performance was ongoing with no two acts exactly the same. Gazing out from livingroom windows that look out over the bay and the abutting shoreline, I was privileged to spot a red-tailed hawk almost every morning, gliding on the air currents, using its great wings only when necessary, and gazing down at the bread we’d thrown out for any hungry nocturnal visitors. I saw northern ravens, and several bald eagles, most of which put on quite a show for me the last day we were there. A flock of crows seemed to inhabit a particular wooded area close to the rocky shore and heralded the start of each new day with their distinctive cawing. A great blue heron also appeared almost daily, spreading its wings to soar from place to place from a spot not far from the deck to a reedy area at the edge of the property.
In the cove, called Caldwell’s, Canada geese, ducks and loons abounded, announcing their arrivals or departures as they saw fit. Sea birds too distant to identify glided close to the water’s surface in search of fish, or drifted higher in flocks that moved from one shore to the other. And through it all, the crows never ceased asserting their places in the ever-changing shoreline scenario.
From the thicket on the northern edge of the property, a pair of coyotes emerged late one afternoon, one with an injured leg, the other not far behind. Wary of our presence on the deck, they slunk into the undergrowth, and we wondered where their den was and if the healthy one wasn’t somehow protecting and safeguarding the injured one as they braved the elements, the stormy nights and the constant threat personified by the single gunshot we heard ring out one night. Several nights later, we heard them, howling, yipping and laughing from the bushes and wondered what special event in the lives of coyotes might be transpiring.
Of the green growing things, the characteristic bright, orange berries of the mountain ash dotted most hillsides here and there, while chokecherries abounded and were easily accessible along paths and roadsides. I saw lots of silver maples, a few Eastern white cedars, and loved how the bright needles of the balsam firs stood out against the paler backdrop of deciduous trees such as alders and gray birch.
On Brier Island, located southwest of the mainland, were vast swaths of beach roses, with a few white blossoms among them and the largest and plumpest hips I’ve ever seen. Between the roses grew wild chrysanthemums, their pale bluish-purple color filling in the spaces in the seaside landscape.
Beyond the shoreline, some distance away from the island’s mainland, seals lay basking in the sunlight, barking occasionally, while several others bobbed in the surf. And not far away, cormorants preened on a seaweed-draped outcropping, oblivious to the waves endlessly breaking and foaming at their feet.
It was only later when I realized that, no matter where we go, nature finds some way to remind us of her presence and supremacy, particularly in places like a small island off the coast of Nova Scotia where her forces inspire a greater awe and command an even deeper respect.
— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Lyman, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@yahoo.com.
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