Dear Mom and Dad,
The trip to Newfoundland went okay, but
there was unfortunately a large amount of rain when throughout the road trip. This was to be expected, as the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Saint Lawrence surround us on all sides, thought it would have been nice had there been a bit more sun. It wasn’t as warm as we were hoping either, and swimming on the west coast was quite chilly.
What the province finds lacking in terms of weather, it makes up in terms of the kindness and hospitality we found in its people. When we went hiking from Cape Spear to St. John’s, for instance, we were able to arrange overnight stays in people’s houses; there is so much trust, and it is so touching!
I am writing this on a dinner table in Stephenville, and I took some beautiful pictures in St. John’s but unfortunately, one of us forgot to pack the battery charger with the camera, so we could only take pictures of St. John’s; the battery ran out before we left the Avalon Peninsula. It must have been a minor breakdown in communication, or simply bad luck. Anyways, I have enclosed the photos that I did manage to have developed before we left St. John’s.
Love,
Clarissa Miller.
Sincerely Yours,
James Miller.
Margaret removed the five photographs from the envelope, and examined them. The first was of the two hiking, and she could see in Clarissa's handwriting that it was just west of Cape Spear. The second photo showed a picture of a humpback whale, and on the back, a spidery hand had written, “whenever we could see the coast, we could see a whale. Either they’re that numerous or this one was stalking us”. The third showed them standing on the shore of the harbour opposite Signal Hill; a brown stone tower was just visible crowning the naked hill. The fourth showed them at a cove with a few brightly painted houses, and the note on the back said its name was “Quidi Vidi”. The final picture showed them together at a restaurant, evidently posing. How sweet, she thought, as she recalled her own honeymoon with Hyram; they had gone backpacking across Europe, as Margaret, who in her youth had a forceful personality, wanted to see a different part of the world, and was then something of a hedonist. It would be nice to get away from the mugginess of the summer; even in the Kawarthas, it can get oppressive, she thought, contemplating the cool fog of Newfoundland. That Clarissa had changed her name from Varrette to Miller did not escape her; it was a part of growing up in a woman, she supposed. She was ambivalent about it; it was nice that she was happy, but on the other hand, Margaret had a strong feminist streak, which she had attempted to imbue in her two daughters; her son, on the other hand, was a different case, and she had simply taught him to respect women as equals, which was typically feminist for the period in which her children were raised, in the 1970s. Margaret took the fact that Clarissa had implicitly rejected this by taking her husband’s name as something of a rebuke of her indoctrination, and she simultaneously admired her daughter for her independence, and turned her nose at that same single-mindedness.
On the same day, Ryan and Patricia received a letter from the couple:
Dear Mom and Dad,
We had a few unexpected, small mistakes in our trip to Newfoundland. For instance, I forgot my toothbrush, and had to buy a new one in the airport at St. John’s; we also forgot the battery charger for the digital camera, which means we didn’t take any pictures west of the Avalon Peninsula. Such is life, which one must take one day at a time. Speaking of bad luck, Clarissa sprained her ankle while hiking in Gros Morne, and now she’s limping; but of course, she’s too proud to tell you this. I love her very much, and the love she has returned is most heart-warming, as have been the welcome we have received from the locals. How hospitable they are! I have also enclosed some photos.
Love,
James
Sincerely,
Clarissa.
P.S:
It’s not true about the sprained ankle; I must have just pulled a tendon. I am
all better now, really.
The postscript was in a much neater hand than the body of the letter; Patricia could only assume that it was Clarissa’s writing. The same five photographs that they had sent to Margaret were enclosed. Ryan thought the picture of the humpback whale was very beautiful, coming out of the blue-grey Atlantic, with the rugged Newfoundland coastline just visible on the left corner of the picture. The picture of Quidi Vidi was charming as well, and they reminded him of the trip he took to Nova Scotia as a young married man; it had been a summer trip, a sort of all-Canadian affair. The houses in the picture looked similar to the ones he had seen in Lunenberg: they were of wood, and all brightly painted in contrasting colours, and not a speck of chipping paint in sight. They were nice pictures, but he noted a lack of candid shots of the kind that so well revealed one’s personality. Patricia took the photographs and put them on the mantle above the fireplace, for all to enjoy.
“We really must get those framed,” said she, “they are wonderful pictures. I especially like the one of the whale, as well as the one of them in a restaurant.”
“I wonder who’s taking them,” wondered Ryan.
“I think they’re using the auto-timer,” said Patricia.
“Let’s just be careful these don’t fall into the fire; we'll need to use it in November,”
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