Part III Yarmouth N.S.: Meeting the Parts Unknown
After five hours on the dark-blue sea, my dream ferry docked at Yarmouth. The port town of 6,500 population is on the southwestern edge of Nova Scotia, one of Canada’s three maritime provinces.
In my simple mind, the more deeply I explore the land extending into the ocean, the closer I can get to the kingdom of sea-creatures, and the higher quality seafood delicacies awaiting me. Yarmouth looked to me as one major step in that direction.
It turned out that I was right, but far from the first to have this idea though.
Yarmouth is nested inside a naturally sheltered harbor that has provided a safe-haven for both human and sea inhabitants from the thundery Atlantic. French explorers first visited here in 1604. Following their lead, the Acadian settlement developed in the 17th century and continue to flourish to this day. All the early settlers had one thing in mind, the bountiful sea as an unlimited source of supplies for their livelihood. The fishery is still the pillar industry for Yarmouth today and has become a major draw for millions of visitors each year to come and share in their oceanic harvests.
Experiencing the Parts Unknown
This restaurant is sitting right on the pier within 30 feet of the water. Several fishing boats were docking with piles of lobster traps lining the seaport behind me. The waiter told me, the restaurant owner is also the owner of several fishing boats and the fishing pier. It was an aha moment for me–I had found the most direct and shortest fishery path for the ocean-to-table meal, which was right in front my eyes.
Sitting on this deck, with the house-brewed red ale in my hand, I was gazing upon the boundless ocean, breathing in its salty breeze, and relishing its harvest all at the same time. Stepping out of my living room to see the world was such an enthralling decision.
While I was thoroughly enjoying the flavors of the sea, I could feel the macho escapades of Anthony Bourdain in me right at this moment–minus the work part he undertook.
I was wondering what could have happened to the man…
Perhaps, the man in the broadcast of his working adventure—devouring, guzzling, and his down-to-earth monologuing— was only doing his best to masquerade as a happy man. Perhaps, many seemingly glamorous undertakings, when regarded as work, could become emotional toils overtime, too heavy to bear. Perhaps, the labor of love could only be performed to a certain extent; thus it was largely a myth. Perhaps, after reaching the peak of anything, whether a mountain or a career, it could also feel like the loneliest place on earth. Perhaps, some people, by nature, can never rest on their laurels, a true dilemma of whether to mourn or celebrate for the rest of us.
On the other hand, perhaps, life in general just favors the simple-minded; therefore, rewarding them with happiness more generously than the elite few.
Since reaching the age of 60, I’ve come into realizing the truth in the old adage “less is more.” After handing over my official title at work (Principal Member of Tech Staff at a major telecom company), a new voyage–a mission to self-discovery–had begun.
Tracing Yarmouth fishery roadmap in time
After a fully satisfying meal, my curiosity was still at play. Now it was about the people and their lives on the open sea day-in-day-out, providing the lifeblood for this town. I was envisioning something like a less dramatic version of The Perfect Storm.
Coming out of the restaurant, while strolling on the street, a sign on the roadside broke my reverie: W. Laurence Sweeney Fisheries Museum. Obviously, somebody must have read my mind and presented this place for me!
I was the only visitor following the sign into this dim, old building decorated with all things fishery-related. Inside the museum, a century-old fishing boat, photos of Mr. Sweeney’s family members, the daily-life relics on the boat were all laid out. Mr. Sweeney started a fishery company in 1923, which became one of the most prominent fishing enterprises in Southwest Nova Scotia, producing and supplying a variety of fresh, frozen, dried, salted and smoked fish to the markets worldwide. Mr. Sweeney’s grandchildren still live in Yarmouth now, said the museum curator, accompanying me the whole time like my personal tour guide.
In fact, the fisherman’s life was never poetic, nor easy-going, but rather perilous when they sailed out for a month or longer at a time. They needed a workshop to fix everything that could break, even a sewing machine for their own garments, all by themselves.
My earlier quixotic idea of ‘life at sea’ was all gone. Instead, it was another picture: the harsh daily grind for a bunch of men toiling in turbulent conditions along the fishery path.
Happy to be the one
While a lot of tourists were out and about under the beautiful sun, I was the only one coming into the museum today. The lady curator told me, pleasingly. I felt proud of myself, nodding back to her in appreciation for her remarks. However, I knew I was just like them, not long ago. I would have passed by this museum without paying the slightest attention to its existence. Back then, my corporate iPhone was in the pocket, nudging me to scan through work emails every 30 minutes or so—my mind had not been mine.
On the waterfront path back to my B&B, I was immersed in the natural splendor of Yarmouth. It was a sublime seaside town—the kind of place that sticks to your memory for days.
Nevertheless, right now, my fatigued body and mesmerized mind could use a nap to rest up before I hit the road again.