In May 2011, after four years of life on McNutt's Island, we moved to Montreal. This blog remains, though, as a (sort of) daily record of our time on the island, and a winding path for anyone who would like to meander about among its magical places. For additional perspectives and insights I recommend Greg's book, Island Year: Finding Nova Scotia (2010), and my Bowl of Light (2012). I'll continue to post once in a while. If you do want to read this blog, one option would be to begin at the beginning of it (which is, as we all know, in blog-world, at the end), and read forward, concluding with the most recent entry. It's a journal, really, so it does makes more sense if you read it that way. But, you know, read it any way you like.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A walk along Indian Point

Indian Point is mostly saltmarsh. At low tide the tidepools reflect an autumn sky washed with grey and palest rose.

The saltmarsh grasses are warm brown and cream -- two of the island's predominant autumn colours.
On the earliest maps, this point is not named. But it was marked "reserved for public use."
I wonder if it might have been intended for a commons where salt hay could be cut, to feed the island's livestock over winter.
Three seals share a single rock. This is one of their favourite places to bask.
Cliff says the various congregations along the harbour, from Sandy Point to Ingomar, used to meet at Indian Point for picnics. The island was the half-way point between the eastern shore and the western. Everybody would row over, from both directions, for a reunion.
Tidepools emerge and disappear as the tides ebb and flow. They are constantly changing. And the sky, which they mirror, is always changing, too.
And yet the tidepools contain a certain changeless serenity.
One seal has slipped beneath the water now.

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