31 Day Social Media Fast: Day 21

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

Sick as a dog. No blog today.

31 Day Social Media Fast: Day 20

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

Never is the tyranny of the every day posting more oppressive than when traveling.

There is so much to report, so many things happening, but this is not meant to be a journal or travelog. And yet that is the temptation when I am not surrounded by familiar things. But I will resist. For me, writing here and in poetry is a way to process things, and the little book I keep by my bed is the journal – and rarely shall they intentionally meet.

There is an element of travelog here, but, I realize, not enough to give my three regular readers a full and complete picture of our experiences in Canada so far.

That’s ok. I am still trying to process things, decide which way I am pointing in terms of my creative practice and what will happen when the clock ticks midnight on April 1. These days on this blog are violating pretty much every rule when it comes to building a following, but that’s ok, too.

If you are following along, that’s just lovely. Thanks.

31 Day Social Media Fast: Day 19

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

Self portrait.

And a happy belated birthday to my darling niece, Claudia, on the last day of spring. <3

31 Day Social Media Fast: Day 18

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

Utterly and inexplicably delicious.

This glorious piece of gluten-free toast slathered with molasses and margarine is just one of the beautiful parts about Catapult Coffee & Studio this morning. I find out later that the shop is opened by a Jesus-based ministry, not my favorite, but then there is this: they are living what they preach, which is good, I suppose. I try not to let that bother me – they were so gracious, the coffee was so good, and molasses on toast is probably my new go-to breakfast.

Perhaps that’s just how they lure you in.

Anyway. We loved every part of the shop. The coffee, our toasty goodness, the people, the beautiful handmade tables and other crafts on offer. WWJD? Probably stay and drink his coffee and STFU.

As we were sipping hot coffee in the lovely shop, this man walked in.

Agent de la paix.

The fact that he is a “peace officer” was even more poignant when I stupidly checked my email and saw the front-page article in The New York Times Magazine from Sunday that outlined exactly how (and why) Baltimore City is (possibly irredeemably) so violent and corrupt. Imagine if in Baltimore the police considered themselves keepers of the peace, wore the words like a badge on their chest – how would things be different?

It is a hard thing to reconcile, this magical affair I am having with Saint John and my feelings for Baltimore, the city I call home and the city that increasingly breaks my heart. It’s so easy to stay ignorant of the issues Baltimore faces – I could stay in the white L and ignore the black butterfly. So many people do, and the city makes it so easy for white folks to remain ignorant.

It’s nice to get away (and that’s what the Saint Johnners say – we are from “away”), but as always, wherever you go, there you are.

31 Day Social Media Fast: Day 16 & 17

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

Winter’s as-yet-unrelenting grip. March 2019, Bay of Fundy.

We arrive to our property in Mispec, New Brunswick after a 13-hour overnight drive from Baltimore just as the tide is rolling all the way out to the Bay of Fundy. There are rocks exposed, hairy-looking creatures that hulk at the water’s edge, rocks that we’ve never seen before and will be covered again in less than 30 minutes when the tide turns and the water rushes back in.

The road is ice-covered and uncertain, and the Subaru stays behind as Khristian and I trudge to the top of the hill where our property begins. As we walk, we see these:

Any ideas of what this print might be?

I didn’t think there were bears in New Brunswick, but I see in the recent reportage of bear attacks in New Brunswick a link that another person survived a black bear attack by grabbing the bear’s tongue. We see plenty of deer prints and some poops of uncertain origin, but no sign of our resident porcupine, Street Stephen. The only other possible evidence of animal presence is the family of crows that sing their welcome (or warning) above us the entire time we are on the property, and snow prints of various animals that lace across our path as we walk.

It is absolutely glorious here. We will spend the week in Saint John, the largest city in the province, information gathering about wells and art and tree diseases. The property is nothing like it was in the heat of August, the last time we were here, and I am glad to have seen it in the winter, even as winter crosses the liminal space into spring-not-yet-spring and we cannot spend as much time as we’d like on the bluff overlooking the Bay of Fundy due to cold.

When we left, the tide was just beginning to come roaring back, but numb toes and fatigue were setting in, and the siren call of a warm AirBnB and a glass of bourbon made the decision for us.

It is the next day, St. Patrick’s Day, as I write in the cold sun-splashed morning, so slainté, revelers. Today we will ourselves walk the streets of the city and revel in each other’s presence, take ourselves out to lunch or dinner and listen to the water. Easy.