Wedgeport, Acadia,

Nova Scotia

(The way it was then: 1940’s and 50’s)

1. A strip of land with rocky shores From main land between ocean water Southern tip, visible islands with shoals Some bare, others with shelter	2. Across Tusket River at dawn of day Dique’s trees and sunlight are met On the west, across Goose Bay At sunset, Comeau’s Hill’s silhouette	3. Twice a day the massive tide Bare mud flats it will hide In spring and early summer The fog will be until dinner
4. Village engulfed in thick fog Damp and chilled to the bone For weeks on end, no sun As if the sky were undone	5. On foggy days, one could hear The mournful cry of the foghorn Praying the sun to be reborn Warning boats, danger is near	6. Wedgeport has many chas Have varied degrees of utility From days gone, some are decayed Others are in full operability
7. Going south, the first cha on the west “Di-cha”, a pile of squared off rocks Held together by vertical poles Runners, holding bolder blocks	8. Bay channel for boats to follow Leads to “Di-cha” at tide low Two to three boats tied to it Because not more can fit	9. Along the west coast, going south One arrives at the “Cha du Douca” Point of commercial fishing Open sea channel guides boats coming in
10. Strings of boats along sides ofcha With several anchored off shore Few on land, getting ready forfitness All at different stages of preparedness	11. “Cha-du-Douca”, many fish for sale Fish unloaded and mechanically conveyed To factory for gutting and fillet Women busily hand cleaning fish for bale	12. Continuing south is the “Tuna Wharf” A shadow of grandeur from the past Giant Blue Fins make all other fish dwarfs Tournaments once held with class
13. Tuna Wharf’s great days are gone by I vividly remember as a child Hooked on the Rip and landed on dock Giant tuna fish strung in a large flock	14. International teams of fishermen Would come from all over the world Each believed they had the omen For three days, competition herald	15. Gone the glory days of the Tuna Wharf Tuna fish are gone far off Nature has a way of giving Equal chance to all living things
16. On the southeast side is the Breakwater More directly exposed to the Atlantic Ocean With rock-wall enclosure to break high water Fishermen have the sea completely open	17. In the days of hurricane storm Huge waves hit Breakwater wall Enormous force before water falls One feels nature’s energy in top form	18. Going inland, along the shore, north Entrance to the bay of the Cape In small cove, sheltered like a fort Cha-a-Charlie for the locals to take
19. Moving in the bay, passing between Cha-a-Charlie and Cha-du-Chebec Where proud ships once docked are now serene Skeletal remains are seen of days so great	20. It’s been said that great sail ships In multitude would dock here in slips Load with fish and sail to the south seas The brother carelessly fell to their knees	21. Cha-du-nord well in Cape’s Bay Sheltered between the Cape and Islet Serves the fishermen down that way All the fishermen’s needs well kept
22. Wedgeport is a finger of land Leading to a point of rocky coastline From mainland with bushes and trees The main road thru the village is five miles	23. Midway, the church is proud and mystique With two steeples, white, tall and still Demands worship from the Catholics Dominates the village from the hill	Irish Moss Twice a day at low tide, Irish mossing In a dory with heavy rake, back breaking Fighting summer winds, currents and tide Rocky shoals, seaweed on rocks like hide
Inhabitants	Harris Island
Of the two thousands or so inhabitants A large number were fishermen Herring, lobster or cod whatever the season Salt water in their blood, little schooling	Harris Island a temporary base for lobster fishing Shanties are small houses lined in a string In winter during the week they shared a shanty Hired cook and hard working men was home for many	Moss spread like blanket on side of the road For drying to crisp before sacking Hoping for the bright sun before selling Danger of prolonged fog, would bring moss to mold
In the ocean they would venture Pushing to catch their measure Rough seas and storms their enemy Northeaster feared terribly	Docks on tall barnacled poles in water Covered with rows of lobster traps Piles of buoys with owners’ mark in color Boats afloat with the tide, rope tied with slack	Marsh Hay In the spring and summer In preparation for the long winter At small tides, on marsh land Salt hay cut with hoe in hand
Worm Digging	Drying Cod
Low tide on mud flats, ankle deep Digging with four-pronged pick, a tough feat Back bent and arms in steady motion Worms pulled from the bottom of ocean	Long spread on the side of the road Cleaned, soaked in brine was cod fish Opened flat on wooden benches To the sun to dry the cod before it molds	Spread in the sun to dry The hay would be raked in rows Before lumped into big piles In readiness for the marsh “Chafauds”
Sea worms are long and slimy Pulled from the mud, could stretch two feet Large head in fore skin with hidden beak Pale yellow with soft flesh would break easy	Hard dry cod ready to store in the cellar De-salted and boiled with vegetables Salt fish dinners often meat replacement Would be a source of food for the dinner	Like ancient ruins the marsh “Chafauds” Spread across hay covered marsh flats Sea beaten posts stuck in the ground Old wooden boards on top making platform
Dug up mud flats at low tide Sea covering the disturbed flats as ocean rise Digger would sell worms for a penny each For bait to sport fishermen not to keep	Winters The winters were cold and wet The ground a mix of fog and snow Soggy slush would freeze our toes Enduring winters was a long stretch	On the ground, the salt hay piles Carried by two men with “Tien-Barge” Two poles slid under the hay mount Front and back lifted off the ground
	Three in a bed and four blankets Pot belly stove to warm the house Lighted coal would soon burn out Wake up, visible breath, windows sealed in ice	Carry hay piles to the “Chafauds” Building mounts of dry salt hay Above ground, protected from high tide Weights on top, the hay would not fly away
	In long-johns with butt flap Heavy woolen knitted socks in feet Dress quickly run to outhouse for a crap Before a warm bowl of cream-of-wheat	Salt hay “barge” on the marsh The coming of the fall Fresh hay previously in the barn Ready for long winter and feed the cows
	With the arrival of winter And vegetables in the cellar In barrels of brine, pork and fish For winter, the main dish	As the summer season passed over Mounts scattered on the marshland Monuments of a fading culture New tide slowly covering the land