Hot Dogs and Black Olives

My house is now oddly quiet. My grandchildren are once again living their urban lives. We had so much  fun together. The transformation of city mice to country mice was almost complete, if only temporarily. The little girls ran out the doors into the space of forever. It makes me so happy to think they are old enough to remember their visits to grandma's house by the sea and take those memories with them.

Happy summer memories warm hearts through long cold days of lifetimes.

My cousins and I thrived in the liberty of childhood summers at the cottage. Those days are gone and the cottages are gone, but the happiness of those summers is with us always.

I said the city mice almost became country mice.

We took part in a special Day that happens annually, the Shoreline Yard Sale. Yard  sales take place along miles of rural roads and in the tiny communities that dot a significant stretch by the the Bay of Fundy. Treasures await the eager, excited participants, but for many the food is the draw.

It all begins at breakfast at the Morden Hall. Men fill the community kitchen. They jovially fill the plates of a long line of a hungry bunch who hold out their plates to be filled; fresh fish cakes, homemade baked beans, scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and fried ham. The jams and jellies and relishes from the local kitchens wait on the tables. A jar by the door fills with free will offerings.

With full tummies we set out by car in our quest for the best. On this occasion the best seemed to be porcelain collector dolls. It is amazing how much two little girls can buy with their baggies of change that they clutch tightly in their hands.

Before long we find ourselves at the Burlington Hall. Men are setting up for the horse pulls that are about to be held this day, because they were cancelled due to rain on Canada Day. Women are slicing the homemade pies.

My red headed five year old granddaughter decides she wants a hot dog. She goes to the booth to place her order. The hot dog arrives and she chooses ketchup and relish as her condiments. The friendly woman behind the counter asks if there is anything else she needs. She innocently asks for black olives. Her cover is blown. Are you a little girl from a city the lady asks. Those around chuckle. Black olives are not a mountain staple.

We're off to Harbourville Hall for fresh lobster rolls for those who still have room for more and then on to Black Rock Hall where the Jolly Workers are offering strawberry shortcakes with real whipped  cream.

The trail continues but we are done, more than pleasantly full and a little bit weary. With little regret, we head home to display the many purchases, as I sit with a fine cup of tea, admiring.