island hopping: grand manan

we were born before the wind

Before shipwrecks and seafarers; before shellfish and seaweed and sardine canneries; before border wars and battles; before birch bark canoes bearing Passamaquoddy First People arrived on Grand Manan’s rocky shores; before all of this, came the fog.

Fog, the keeper of secrets and lost souls, of spirits, of sea caves. Fog, the swallower of sunrise, submerges the island’s past. Fog, the mesmerizing main character in this island tale, is alive. Its thick, salty breath evaporates within the span of a moment, only to return to all the craggy edges and spaces—swirling sea smoke borne from the ocean’s benthic depths.

Swallowtail Lighthouse, one of the 9 on the island; there are also 4 fog stations and 8? churches (I lost count). Dark Harbour, where dulse is harvested, is one of the less foggy spots

This is the fourth in a series; read the first three here and here and here!

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