I’ve been preoccupied with all things Newfoundland as of late, and for good reason. 

My evenings are being spent with Wayne Johnston’s, The Son of a Certain Woman. In my mind, I’m scrambling up Signal Hill or navigating the steep incline of a St. John’s street.

I recently had the good fortune to meet Michael Winter and his book, Minister Without Portfolio rests on the nightstand, next in line.

Had I not visited The Rock, I might not understand the affection that people bear for this province.  The landscape is breathtaking at every turn.  The warmth and hospitality of the people is legendary, and I will tell you, these claims are warranted.  I received an invitation to a kitchen party and a community hall music evenings.  A lovely couple invited me to their home for coffee one evening and regaled me with a story that involved the misguided judgment of a teenage boys, a late night return a fishing trip, and a set of relieved  parents.

Armed with an appreciation of history and an imagination sparked by a visit to Ferryland , I curated memories via camera and pen. 

Later, I took the short drive from Twillingate to Crows Head and hiked to Nanny’s Hole, where I discovered yet another breathtaking vista. 

When I stood looking out on the Atlantic, and wondered how many women had stood on this very spot, wishing for the return of a husband or lover.  This poem was the product of my musing.