Eclectic crowd enjoys the sun at the LaHave Bakery

I knew Nina was in trouble when the sun shone brightly that morning. She had initially dedicated the day to working on edits to videos of her recent writing workshop: hours and hours of meticulous minute-by-minute scrutiny of tapes showing her gesticulating like an Italian driver in Rome, laughing at her own jokes (LOL! Well, someone has to!), and answering questions in a cheeky Ellen DeGeneres way (without the six figures to match, though).  

So, I wasn’t surprised—or disappointed—when she said, “Let’s go for a drive!”

The only question was where?

Nina had long been intrigued by the little village of LaHave, located at the mouth of the LaHave River, just south of Lunenburg on the South Shore, where we are presently living. The best way to get there was by taking a little cable ferry across. Eyes gleaming with that familiar explorer-sparkle, Nina opened her blue backpack and I happily hopped inside.

The only challenge was Nina’s non-existent inner-GPS. In answer to my obvious concern, she assured me, “We’ll just follow the signs, Toulouse! Trust me!” I remember hearing that before…She tilted her head and grinned like an urchin who was selling property in the Florida swampland. I didn’t mind. We’ve experienced some of our best adventures when

Captain Lloyd and Toulouse aboard the LaHave River Ferry

 we didn’t know where we were. This promised to be no different.

And it didn’t take long to get there either; lost, I mean. Nina truly had no idea where she was going. She knew enough to drive southwest along Highway #3. By happenstance, she drove us along the Lighthouse Route through the quaint town of Riverport and then along the #332 route toward East LaHave (not to be mixed up with West LaHave, Middle LaHave, Upper LaHave or Lower LaHave! Really! The Nova Scotians sure have a penchant for naming places…:-3). Like two English drunkards, we stumbled upon the ferry dock, unobtrusively located on the side of the road (basically a small two-car parking lot off the road with a small boat-launch and small sign). She was lucky that I spotted it!

The ferry ride across the spring-swollen river took all of ten minutes. I was sitting quietly in the car, dreaming of the bakery across the river that Nina had promised we would visit, when she suddenly reached in and snatched me to introduce to the captain. I didn’t mind (I’m getting used to this sort of thing). Lloyd was a friendly salty skipper who hailed from Cape Breton. His love for the sea had brought him here and kept

Toulouse talks art with Teresa Young

him here.

When we drove off the ferry into the village of LaHave, Nina turned left and there it was: the bakery. My mouth watered at the thought of traditional breads, pastries, homemade soups and other baked goods, all served with a good cup of java. They proudly proclaim that their baking is only made with traditional ingredients and a cool, slow rise gives all their breads the best possible flavor and texture.

Since it was declared the capital of New France in 1632, LaHave thrived as an economic centre of fishing, trade and shipbuilding, no surprise considering its prime location at the mouth of the LaHave River to the open Atlantic Ocean. I saw evidence of the bustling history in this sleepy village in its original working waterfronts and architecture. One of the best examples of this is the LaHave Bakery. Nina parked right in front of the bakery (nothing subtle about her…).

The bakery was originally built in 1895 as the LaHave Outfitting Company, a ship’s chandlery and fish processing plant. Schooners that fished on the

Toulouse gets comfortable on a local poet's shoulder

 Grand Banks then transported the salt fish to the Turks & Caicos Islands, where they traded for salt. The owners now operate it as a year-round bakery and café, which also sells art by local artists and is home to the Homegrown Skateboards (I’m sure you guessed what they sell).

When we sidled inside, it felt like we’d stepped into a western. We’d entered a time warp into the 1800’s. Much of the interior had remained as it had originally been, from the painted tin ceilings to original décor and rustic walls, draped with old flags, original art work and even a black and white picture of Winston Churchill. Rustic wooden furniture adorned with well-cared for plants were complimented by a turn-of-the century black safe made by Goldie & McCulloch Co. Limited Galt (Ontario). Of course, I had to check it out!

Toulouse negotiates an antique safe

While we were there we bumped into our friends — and another celebrity –from British Columbia, who were sharing a roast beef sandwich. Small world! Teresa is a noted surrealistic artist, who recently moved to Nova Scotia (to create trouble) and is busy starting a whole new art movement there. Her Emotional Landscapes are taking Nova Scotia by storm (and Nova Scotians know about storms!).

Nina and I then continued our drive in the direction she had originally chosen (well, it was more like “eeny-meeny-miny-mo”). We crossed the Petite Rivière Bridge, past several small towns on a wonderfully scenic drive along oceanfront in some cases. Next thing we knew we’d crossed the highway and were driving along the Medway River, its banks swollen by the spring thaw. When Nina leapt out of the car with her camera, I peered past the drowned trees on the banks to the several metres-high standing waves that churned the river into a brown froth—and hunkered down into her backpack with a shiver.

We entered the sleepy hollow of Mill Village, nestled in a narrow valley and

Toulouse befriends another salty character

 historically built around logging and lumber processing; although, it was also the site of Canada’s first satellite earth station in the 1960s. We drove across the iron-wrought bridge and entered its landmark old General Store, “Evan’s Village Shop” looking for some ice cream: the huge sign out front advertized ICE CREAM inside, after all. Oh dear…the ice cream looked like something out of Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. Well, it wasn’t the season, I guess. :-3 … We gave the faux ice cream a miss and continued our journey, stomachs unscathed. We knew we were totally lost when Nina ended up at a dead-end when we’d intended to find the highway home. It was getting dark. And we didn’t have a map…(sound familiar?)…Sigh… Shades of Detroit… and Chicago… and Paris…and Central Park, New York… Well, you get the picture…

Luckily, a local on a stroll in the twilight saw us and not only gave us impeccable directions (Nova Scotians are great at giving directions because their signs are so obfuscated or non-existent), but she invited us to her home for tea. Being the person she is, Nina didn’t blink an eye before agreeing. :-3

The Medway River near Charleston

Oh boy! More home-baking!

Toulouse’s take home message: sometimes it pays to get lost…

Photos by Nina Munteanu

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