Just ask Fiki

Culture shock -

"They're not ice-bergs!" snorted Len, "they're ice-breakers!"

Well, what did he expect from a city-dweller who'd just returned from the bald prairie? And, whether they were ice-bergs or ice-breakers, they were rounding Cape Bauld which, even with binoculars, is quite a distance from our window.

Yes, I'm back on The Rock and, in many ways, glad of it. The first day I was back, I looked out my front window at Sacred Bay and was struck by its great beauty: the islands, the charcoal-coloured ocean, the vast fields of ice, and the (supposed) ice-bergs. I blame my error in perception on the distortion-which mimics a mirage-on the horizon; but I suppose I ought to have realized the 'ice-bergs' were moving rather rapidly and one of them appeared to be giving off a thin plume of smoke. But, whether I erred or not, I have come to this conclusion: a pair of binoculars and a window facing the sea can provide hours of entertainment of the very best kind.

Take the seals. Not only were the white-coats cute with their little black noses and whiskers, but it was utterly charming to sit at the window and watch them floating past on ice-pans, moving in both directions simultaneously: some seals floated in through the bay and some floated out through the tickle, passing each other like ships in the night. Seagulls wheeled in the sky above, while crows hunched their backs against the wind and watched from the ballicatters. But it was not all charm and beauty; Mother Nature gathered herself under brooding skies and, between the wind and the sea, created waves that churned and pounded the rocks surrounding Harbour Island. The first casualties were the baby seals who were tossed from their perches and dumped into the foaming waters, dashed against the rocks, and drowned. I wonder, will Greenpeace protest against Mother Nature for her unkind treatment of the baby seals this year?

So, after that, instead of looking out the front window, I aimed my binoculars out the back window at the undulating furrows of deep snow, the rabbits tracks criss-crossing the yard, the coyote prints wending their way across the snow to the treeless field next door, and the laundry snapping on the clothesline. Wood smoke curled up from chimneys and drifted into the woods, its odour sharp and pungent. There was talk around the tables at tea-time that herds of caribou were grazing along Highway 430, as many as 500-800 of them.

Along the roads snowmobiles and trucks were parked, sleds were piled high, fresh-cut wood was stacked in neat piles and the business of wood-cutting and gathering was in earnest.

On the Ship Cove road I spotted a tiny purple finch pecking at pebbles, oblivious to the danger of passing cars. Far trickier than dodging birds, however, was navigating the pot-holes and ruts in the road, which provided bone-jarring diversion worthy of the most demanding demolition derby.

Sunrises over L'Anse aux Meadows headland were brilliant with pinks, golds and reds; the colours of the sea ranged from charcoal to pewter to navy blue to sky blue. One day the pack-ice went out and the arctic ice, which had migrated from the Davis Strait into the Labrador Sea, scraped its way along the eastern edge of Labrador and filled the Strait of Belle Isle and the surrounding inlets and bays with hard, rugged pieces of ice.

John Denver wrote a song entitled 'Hey it's Good to be Back Home Again' and it can well be said that, be it ever so humble there's no place like home. Not only did I enjoy a reunion with Len and his family and various people in the community on my return, but Fiki, the cat, within minutes of our homecoming, was 'galing for wind' up and down the hallway and scrabbling around corners, frisky and wide-eyed.

But, it's a wonder the cat could do anything at all, considering what she endured. If she could speak, I wonder what she'd say of her two-day ordeal in Ship Cove while Len was away. Oh, he left her plenty of food and two bowls of water, and her litter box was readily available. Trouble is, Len inadvertently shut her into a room, leaving her with nothing but the comfort of a warm bed and a window sill from which to view the comings and goings in the community. As I said earlier-a window facing the sea can provide hours of entertainment of the very best kind-especially when there's neither food nor water.

Just ask Fiki.