my emerald island
I went to the island last week.
I shook hands with the many ghosts of myself that still reside there. It’s where I learnt to ride a bike. It’s the site of one of my most treasured childhood vacations. It’s where I ate my first oyster. In more recent years it became known to me as the home of some of my dear friends, and the background of some of my favourite memories from university. All those memories are full of weekend trips to the never-ending beaches, drunk on moonshine and youth and covered in sand.
This year’s trip was a direct portal to another time.
summerside, with a sprinkle of rain (on film)
There are billions of strings that tie all of our little lives together. I like to imagine that you and I have a string right now, one from my typing hand to your scrolling one. The story I want to tell starts decades before I was born. Dad, at one point, used to be a travelling salesman in the Maritimes. As a child, he recounted to me that he once stopped on the island for a traditional lobster supper, dished out of a small church building sometime in the 1980s. Dad remembers it because it was the sort of place that put solo diners together at one big family table to enjoy the hot or cold lobster (your choice) and the island famous “mile-high” lemon meringue pie.
The memory has a sort of painful nostalgia to it. The idea of a church lobster supper feels like it belongs to a bygone era of the Maritimes, like something that should have ended in the 1950s. I think this type of meal epitomizes the island, in how it is frozen in time and tinted in this romantic yearning for simpler days. The food isn’t the only thing that’s been the same forever, so have the beaches and the towns and the green fields that fill up your vision so far you can almost understand the logic of the Flat Earthers. Of my own accord, I have been lucky to experience this island as it is, and as how I can imagine it has been.
of all my film photos, this one is my favourite. from the window of the dairy bar in brackley.
In my first year of university, I lived in a crooked and bizarre dormitory with 20 other students. A number of them became my friends, but three of the ones I grew particularly close with happened to be from PEI. I remember talking to Bib once about how much I loved the island, only for her to unveil one of those funny universal strings - that her grandmother (Nanny) was the esteemed pie baker at that lobster supper place Dad had enjoyed all those years ago.
Through my university years I took everyone I ever loved to that emerald island to eat a slice of that pie, which has stayed identical for 50 years. More than a novelty, that pie clung to me in an emotional way. A celebration of friendship. Memories built over perfect vacation weekends away from school. And a tribute to the magic of good food shared between generations. The pie meant a lot to me, silly as that may seem. So you can imagine how I felt when I got a text from Bib earlier this year, that just said "It is officially my nanny's final season at New Glasgow. 50 and final. She's retiring."
Fifty years, and the pie lady is retiring. It was a sign that it was time for me to make a final pilgrimage back to the island. I booked a flight. For the sake of friendship and pie. Is there a more winning combination out there? My highly anticipated food & beach vacation went perfectly. It felt like I had been teleported right back to my life half a decade ago. My old pals, my old ways. Nothing to worry about but the closing time at the dairy bar and putting on sunscreen at the beach. The sort of vacation that reminds you how young and lucky you are.
oyster bar days
I dearly love oysters. They are weird and gross and tasty. These are an assortment from Malpeque, Rustico and Raspberry Point. The Raspberry Point ones were described as ‘creamier’, but I found the Rustico ones (the two left-most ones) to be the tastiest for my preferences. After haddock, scallops and coleslaw, I watched the local kids jumping off the bridge on that thick hot day. If you squint, you can just see one of them start to fall in this picture:
the view from my lunch table
I am truly happy here. Hazy and floating, as one can be, looking at the ocean and eating the freshest oysters in the world, sourced from that very same blue abyss.
I spent the rest of that day at Cavendish beach. 37 degree heat, 22 degree water, calm surf. I ran five kilometres in the muggy air and jumped directly into the water with my shoes still on. I watched a married couple in their nineties, with some mobility troubles, slowly walk hand and hand into the water. Not letting go of each other, even for a second. What a privilege it is to age. What a privilege to do so in company. What a privilege to do so in a place so close to heaven.
stanhope from PJ’s passenger side window. some things do change - in a few years, the cliffs will erode and push those homes into the ocean.
On the hot Saturday, PJ joined Bib and I for a perfect beach day. We spent hours in the water growing wrinkly and playing old children’s water games. I closed my eyes to listen to the hum of the busy beach echoing off of the ocean, mixing with the sound of the waves and the well-fed seagulls. I am reunited with the Atlantic, the truest of loves I could ever hope to find.
Where else can you get 10km of beach all to yourself? fun fact: I once slept here alone overnight with nothing but a light jacket as protection. not one living thing disturbed me.
At last it was time for our fated lobster dinner. Every bite clings to your memory, doused in melted butter. We chowed. I often watch Mythical Kitchen’s Last Meals series on YouTube, where celebrities are interviewed about their thoughts on death as they eat a five course meal of their favourite foods on Earth. Sometimes I think about what I’d like my last meal to be. Other than something home cooked, it would have to be this. It feels like a warm embrace right to the heart and brain. Wine, unlimited mussels, garden salad, rolls, potato salad, coleslaw, a 1lb lobster, chowder, tomato soup, and right - pies. TW for vegans, but here’s my lobster and of course that infamous pie.
I admit to expelling a tear from my eye as I ate that last bite of pie. It’s Nanny’s recipe and she’s taking it with her when she retires. I said a silent thank you for that lady - her impact on me unknown to her - but significant all the same. Next time I visit, the pie will be different and so will I. Even on the island frozen in time, I suppose that some things still need to change.
a little bit of history for ya
To cement the idea of living in the old days, we capped off our night at the drive-in theatre. If you are at all ‘serious’ about movies I do not recommend a drive-in. However, if you’re a goofy guy in your blood, it’s a 10/10 experience. PJ, G, and I hooted and hollered loudly at the new Superman movie from the comfort of our car, without disturbing any other patrons.
drive in, before the picture at sunset. #35mm
It rained Sunday, as I suppose it has to rain even in paradise. I spent all day with my dear friends and remembered what it felt like to be a different person from another time. PJ fed everyone a delicious BBQ spread. Bib drove me around and showed me every significant island landmark from her life. Hammer showed me her favourite stores and even bought me a new book. I love my beautiful friends who share so much of their lives with me. I love every chance I get to see them even for a second.
Getting on the plane after such a short trip I felt intuitively that I don’t think I’m likely to come back for a while. The nostalgia of it all hits my heart in a way that is already so painful, I cannot imagine the wistfulness I will feel in ten, twenty, thirty years. But back I will come! This is something I feel in my bones. If I’m lucky maybe things won’t be so different. But if one thing can be predicted - there will be another pie lady. God willing, she will be one of Nanny’s disciples.
I hope your summer has found you in your own slice of heaven.
yours,
sam
some things:
Looking at the film pictures makes me feel like I’m right there again, clouded in the same romantic nostalgic haze as my mind’s eye remembers it. Viva film!!
special thanks: to Bib & the fam for housing me and feeding me and letting me borrow your car (that was so awesome of you) and giving me very good company this trip, to PJ for the best hugs and for the good chatter (and for buying me long cow), to Hammer for being really chill even though I spilt a whole litre of strawberry milkshake on you (and also for your dumb tabarnak sticker that made me giggle). to Dad for having taste and his own deep nostalgia for the oceanside life. to Nanny, so long & thanks for all the pies!
p.s. i didn't even talk about cows ice cream......a story for another time