Millivers Travels » ACTIVITIES

A Sakhalin Road Trip

Brian R. Williams — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 20:42:32 +0000

By guest blogger Brian R. Williams

SEEKING ADVENTURE AND income in the Spring of 2005, I took on a job as construction manager on the remote island of Sakhalin, Russia, situated less than fifty miles north of Japan. I never knew this place existed, but it was to be my home for an undetermined period of time.

My employer was based in the capital city of Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, recently transformed by the discovery of a vast oil field at the north end of the island. After recovering from the culture shock and settling in to something of a routine, I began to enjoy the city and social excursions with my new Russian friends.

Four weeks into the project, I was to visit construction sites near Chayvo on the northern part of the island. My chosen mode of travel was by car, since it offered the best opportunity for a hands-on experience. After acquiring a well-equipped Land Cruiser and shady-looking driver, Vladimir, from the motor pool, co-worker Victor and I settled in for a chauffer-driven tour covering over 400 of Sakhalin’s 589 miles.

Vlad knew very little English and didn’t speak much. Victor had a limited grasp of our language, but at least we could communicate. The first couple hours we traveled smooth, paved highways from town to town, making our way to the eastern coast road, which followed some 30 miles of beach along the Sea of Okhotsk—better known as the North Pacific.

The neighborhood where we stopped for BBQ

A few miles up the coast, Victor announced we would be stopping at a restaurant for lunch, known for its barbecue. Not the type of cuisine I was expecting, but it sounded good. We pulled up next to a group of houses on the beach. Nothing here resembled an eating establishment; there was not even a sign to indicate its presence. “Was this somebody’s house?” I wondered aloud. “Come, we go” was the answer. Inside the unmarked cottage was a tiny café and a few small tables. Though not drowned in BBQ sauce, the tender pork was as good as any I’d had in Texas.

Time for a pit-stop before hitting the road again. “Where’s the banya?” I asked. Vlad pointed to a tiny A-frame shack further down the beach. It was an outhouse, with a hole in the floor and some newspaper (no, not for reading). No light, no heat, no water. I just imagined what it must be like in the winter.

Again I solicited my travel partners, using sign language to indicate washing hands, this time being led to the other side of the café where an outdoor basin was mounted on the side of a deck. And once more I pondered the weather in January.

Back on the road, Vladimir popped in a Pink Floyd cassette. It was perfect. Misty low-hanging clouds over an alien landscape merged with the eerie music to create a completely surreal experience (see main photo).

Entering Vzmor’e

Our next stop was in the town of Vzmor’e, where we’d say da-svedanya (goodbye) to the ocean view. Vzmor’e was a small village, marked by a tilted rusty sign. The road was lined with dilapidated old buildings and junk yards. There was life here, as evidenced by people and animals walking along the highway. This was clearly the primary means of travel for most residents.

“Time for dessert,” says Victor as we pull in to what looks like a small roadside flea market near the edge of town. The vendors’ folding tables were lined up in front of their cars, some covered in sheets. This seemed an odd way to sell one’s wares.

Victor with our “dessert”

As we approached the first table, we were greeted by a smiling babushka as she lifted her sheet to reveal a beautiful collection of freshly cooked snow crabs. Our selections cost no more than $3 apiece. Standing next to the car, we consumed these delectable snacks using only our bare hands.

Still early into the trip, this would be our last stop for some time. A few miles out of town, we came across the remains of a recent accident – a tractor-trailer had lost control on a sharp inclined curve and rolled.

Vladimir was rummaging through his cassette case again, this time emerging with Chris Rea. A couple minutes later the pavement ended. It was at this point Vlad turned to me with a sinister grin. “Now you are on the road to Hell!” which just happened to be the song’s namesake. We all laughed out loud. But should I trust this guy?

The seemingly endless but well-traveled dirt road took us through the vast central valley, protected from the sea by a volcanic mountain range, its mile-high peaks lost in the clouds. As we traveled northward, I noticed there was less and less foliage on the trees. It was already June, yet we were fast leaving spring behind.

Stuck in the mud

We soon discovered just how bad this road could be when we came upon a 6-wheel-drive truck with 48” mud tires, buried to the axles in the middle of the road. After a long smoke-break chatting with other travelers, Vlad inspected the scene and decided we would try to make it through.

There was a set of deep ruts around one side of the disabled truck. My years of off-road experience told me it was iffy at best. But Vlad was an excellent driver and the Toyota’s oversized mud tires provided barely enough clearance. Whew. The idea of camping out there was less than appealing.

While I was wondering how they might free the stranded truck, we passed a dozer heading that way.

Japanese bunker from WWII

Near the exact center of the island, we pulled over just before a river crossing. This was a historic site, marked by a WWII memorial. There were several old bunkers, which I learned were installed by the Japanese during the time they occupied the southern half of Sakhalin, from 1905 until 1945 when the war ended. To this day, five of the Kuril islands—reaching all the way into the eastern bay of Hokkaido, Japan—are still in dispute.

The final leg of our journey was uneventful but afforded some unusual wildlife sightings, including an arctic fox and a glimpse of the protected Steller’s Sea Eagle, known in Russian as “Orlan.”

It was an unforgettable ride, through a part of Russia seldom visited by outsiders.

—–

Brian Williams

BRIAN WILLIAMS is an electronics engineer and consultant, specializing in telecommunications. Through his company, ComTekk, he designs software for public safety communications. Brian was a wilderness Search & Rescue volunteer for over ten years in the Rocky Mountains of northern New Mexico. He functioned as a State Police Field Coordinator for five years, commanding more than fifty successful SAR missions. Brian is the main photographer for Milliver’s Travels.

Balm Beach Sunset

Milli Thornton — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 20:59:49 +0000

IT WAS OUR last night of a fabulous B&B getaway on Georgian Bay (Ontario, Canada). We wanted a low-key, low-budget way to round off our 4th of July long weekend trip, so we asked our Beacon Shore B&B hosts for a recommendation.

Bob & Jacquie told us about the Georgian Grill in Balm Beach, where the historically-minded owners have been making great hamburgers with their secret recipe since 1934. Bob told us Balm Beach would also be a great place to get some sunset pics, so we were sold.

The Surf Restaurant had a jaunty longboat-style entrance

When we arrived in Balm Beach—on the opposite side of the peninsula from our B&B in Midland—we noticed Georgian Grill was part of a strip of shops with cars parked out front. Although they have umbrella tables, and although you can see the beach across the road from their sidewalk patio, we were hankering to sit on a deck right on the beach. So we opted for nearby Surf Restaurant, which was not crowded now that the holiday weekend was finito.

(It was also Canada Day weekend.)

We lucked out with a table right next to the beach, and our waitress helped expedite the fast delivery of our dinner (we were in a bit of hurry not to miss the sunset).

Burgers & beer at the Surf Restaurant

The burgers were fully loaded and yummy—albeit made with pre-formed meat patties, so maybe not quite up to par with the “secret recipe” at the other burger joint—and they went down exceptionally well with a beer. I had an ice-cold Corona in a Canadian emblem glass with a generous wedge of lime, and it tasted miiiighty good while watching the beach-goers frolic with their kids.

When it was time for the beach sunset, we drove from the restaurant to the beach parking area. Since Balm Beach is incredibly tiny (it’s part of Tiny Township), we only did this because we would have missed the sun sinking below the horizon. Otherwise, it would be an easy stroll across the beach from the restaurant.

Families frolic on the front beach

The family beach area where we ate dinner was not the best angle from which to capture the sunset, so we clambered over rocks to get to what in Australia we’d term the “back beach” (the one less frequented by tourists). There were a few seasoned souls there, lounging or cuddling on the slippery rocks, and I had a feeling this might be a local tradition.

While I waded in the brisk water and let my feet settle blissfully into the wet sand, Brian took shots of the sunset. I used what I reckon was his best one for the main photo. Do you approve?

Naturally, we did not want our beach sunset interlude to end. But if one really must have the Oh-Bummer-Last-Night-of-Mini-Vacation blues, this was just the ‘balm’ we needed to ease us through.

Another bummer was that I missed my chance to meet Patti Friday. Patti is a world-read blogger who lives in Wasaga Beach, about 20 miles by road from Balm Beach. I found her colorful blog as I was researching our dinner options, but sadly it was way too late to email her to suggest meeting for coffee as fellow writers. Wah!! But here’s her page about Balm Beach (she has some great photos): Wasaga Beach News + Opinion > You Should Visit Balm Beach.

Hola, Patti!

The Chifley Home, Bathurst, Australia

Al McCartan — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 14:52:51 +0000

Bathurst is in New South Wales (NSW), about two-and-a-half hour’s drive west of Sydney. Of the six states and two territories, NSW is Australia’s most populous state.

YOU’VE DONE THE Blue Mountains tour and it’s now time to go farther west. why not make Bathurst the next stop on your itinerary? Bathurst, Australia’s oldest inland settlement, and home to some pretty darn good tourist traps.

Stopping in Bathurst means enjoying the relaxed atmosphere – no hustle or bustle – over a cup of your favourite coffee or perhaps a romantic dinner in one of our many classy eateries.

Our world-famous Mount Panorama Race Circuit and museum is sure to attract the speed lovers and the wine lovers. Mt. Panorama has just completed brand new accommodations too.

There’s also a vineyard and cellar specializing in cool-climate wines. More about these in another story.

Museum lovers – hey! We’ve got them. The Australian Fossil and Mineral Museum, which is home to the famous Somerville fossil collection, and the other main attraction, The Chifley Home.

The Chifley Home is a must-see. This is the home of Australia’s favourite prime minister, Ben Chifley (1885–1951).

If this house had a voice it would be telling you to come on down to 10 Busby Street, make yourself at home and look around. You’ll be warmly welcomed by curator, Sam Malloy, or one of his dedicated team members.

The Chifley Home is certainly not like other museums. No! It’s someone’s place and on entering you’d be forgiven for thinking the owner had stopped the clock in 1949.

The desk of Australia's favourite prime minister, Ben Chifley (1885–1951)

You’ll see the lounge room and Ben’s favourite chair but you won’t see a television set – Australia didn’t go there until 1956 – but, yes, there is a radio and an array of newspapers of the time, and magazines.

Mr. Chifley, an inveterate pipe smoker – he was never seen without his beloved pipe – has left his pipe and all the bits and pieces, such as pipe cleaners, on display. You’ll also see other memorabilia of that era.

Central heating – nope! Open fires served to heat the rooms and beat the chilly Bathurst winters. The fuel was mainly wood or coal (coke when available). Rationing of many items abounded in the ’40s.

As you wander into Mrs. Chifley’s kitchen, you’ll see how she coped without the mod cons we take for granted today. Maybe you’ll be able to have a sneaky-peek at some 1940s recipes. Time stands still here to allow us to view the original bedrooms with the décor and furnishings of the 1940s.

Going to Mr. and Mrs. Chifley’s home is like being invited around to a friend’s place for tea and a chat. The ambience is that strong.

The Chifley Home, 10 Busby Street, Bathurst is open Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays 10 a.m.–2 p.m. Group bookings are catered for. To find out more visit Chifley Home online or contact the Bathurst Visitor’s Information Centre (BVIC). You’ll find BVIC on your left as you cross the Macquarie Bridge heading for town, or phone 1800 68 1000.

——

Al McCartan doing the morning shift at 2MCE-FM

AL McCARTAN lives in Bathurst with a redhead (aka Cheryl), one cat (Milo) and about 200 stuffed teddy bears. He has worked with the Department of Defence in Canberra, as a journalist with the Army Newspaper and with the Recruiting Directorate. As a sideline he became an easy listening music DJ and he still practices that medium as morning DJ at 2MCE-FM. Al says, “Reading, writing, fine dining and music are my likes. Oh! I’m nuts about history and I like to slant my writings to the good (and bad) old days.”

Big Chute!

Milli Thornton — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 22:11:58 +0000

BRIAN IS ALWAYS reading boating magazines and dreaming of cruising the pleasure-boat waterways of the world.

He’d love to do the San Juan Islands in a Nordhavn 62-footer (around $2 million pre-loved, including VIP stateroom). Or, for those moments when the budget calls for something a little more modest, how ’bout the Saint Lawrence River in a 29-foot Ranger Tug (just under $225,000 for the 2010 model).

Millionaire dreams aside, the exciting moment finally came when Milliver’s Travels got to visit one of the places Brian learned of in Motor Boating magazine: Big Chute Marine Railway on the Trent-Severn Waterway in Ontario, Canada.

Big Chute is fascinating for boat lovers and engineers alike. Brian is both. But would it prove of interest to a foo-foo type such as moi, who needs her hot shower, her well-rounded breakfast and her breve (pronounced bre-vay) sipped at the local coffee house before she’ll agree to go adventuring?

I can safely proclaim that even a girlie traveler like me found Big Chute a tourist activity not to be missed!

A load of boats crossing land via Big Chute

But how does it work? In the words of your technically-challenged friendly travel guide, Big Chute lifts boats overland from one side of the Trent-Severn to the other. It does so by allowing boats to drive onto a submerged ramp; operators then secure all craft with special webbing slings.

One of the fun parts of watching from the sidelines is seeing a collection of different-sized boats gently glide up or down the steep incline (depending on which side they entered from) as you stroll beside them on the observation sidewalk. While bikini-clad wives wave to you from the suntan decks of their pleasure craft you can hear the hard-working Big Chute operators communicating by radio.

We watched four or five loads going in both directions and never tired of the novelty.

The same load of boats from the opposite angle, as they begin their stately descent

After gloating over the main attraction you can see the remains of the Old Big Chute, built in 1917. That one could only carry boats up to 35 feet long, which ruled out a lot of larger commercial vessels.

Brochures and prominently-placed info boards also educate visitors on the flora and fauna of the region. This can be stirring stuff!

For instance, Engelmann’s Quillwort is a primitive aquatic plant with a fossil record dating back 206–248 million years. Closely related to ferns, quillwort is on the endangered list due to human development.

Meanwhile, if you didn’t already know that You Are in Black Bear Country, you can grab the brochure of the same name to learn how to avoid a bear encounter. Get the low-down on which local snakes are poisonous and which are not, and which are endangered. The Massasauga Rattlesnake is a provincially threatened reptile.

(Provinces to Canada are like states to the USA.)

You can also see a bottled example of the Sea Lamprey: a little dude with a scary smile that caused a big change in the modernization plans at Big Chute during the 1960s. The Sea Lamprey had been devastating the fishing industry; researchers had to find a way for the system to stop assisting the migration of the Lamprey before modernization could go ahead.

Lego model of Big Chute

I badly wanted to get the Big Chute documentary on DVD, but we’d spent all our money the day before on a glorious float plane ride. One of my favorite displays was the Lego model of Big Chute that was sitting underneath the TV as it played the documentary for visitors.

Big Chute is operated by Parks Canada. Located approximately three hours north of Niagara Falls, we visited Big Chute as an easy day trip from our luxury base camp: Beacon Shore on Georgian Bay B&B (Midland, Ontario). Our B&B was all the luxury you could ask for in a vacation on the Bay, but without paying the high prices.

If you’re having a hard time narrowing down your activity choices in the Georgian Bay area, here’s the skinny: you simply MUST put Big Chute on your list. Free to watch and the only one of its kind still operating in North America.

Bring your own breve.

Beacon Shore on Georgian Bay B&B, Midland, Ontario

Milli Thornton — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 22:57:51 +0000

The 1901 lighthouse on the front lawn, night shot

WE ARE LUCKY to be within reasonable driving distance of this B&B because we can’t wait to go back.

We’re not strangers to a good B&B. But this one truly is paradise from all angles: the gorgeous setting, the house and gardens, the extra features (how ’bout a lighthouse on the front lawn?), the private wooded acres away from the bustle of town—and our memorable hosts, Jacquie and Bob Black.

We’ve met some lovely B&B owners in our time but it was truly a wrench to leave Bob and Jacquie at the end of our stay.

(I jokingly applied for a job at Beacon Shore. On the morning when we had to leave I whimpered: “Can we live with you?”)

When it comes to the top two criteria for a successful B&B, the Blacks are experts: fabulous breakfast and the gift of making you feel at home. So much love, craftsmanship and sheer art goes into every detail.

The serene and colorful garden features a water fountain, cottage-style benches and a swing

Bob is a skilled woodworker and uses his talents to add many fine features; such as the garden structures, antique-style bathroom accents and furniture. Jacquie nourishes the cottage flower garden and keeps the house clean enough for a surprise Better Homes and Gardens inspection. The shower stall was so gleaming-white immaculate, I felt like I was the first person ever to step into it!

As we often do when Brian and I forget that a long weekend’s coming up, we booked at the last minute. The only room left was the Twin, but it looked nice on the BBCanada.com listing so we took it. The room turned out to be so charming and well-appointed, we did not feel any pinch of compromise. We were very happy with our comfy beds and our private bathroom. And we loved the view from our second-storey window of black squirrels playing in the forest.

Our Queen room was pretty as well as clean and comfortable

Since the sumptuous accommodation was such a bargain ($90 per night for the Twin)—and since we were having an unforgettable time on and around Georgian Bay—we decided to stay an extra night. The Twin room was no longer available, so we moved next door to the Queen ($100 per night).

I say “we moved” but we didn’t have to lift a finger; the Blacks did everything. We came back tired and sunburned from our visit to Big Chute to find that (with a prior courtesy notice) everything had been carefully moved for us. Talk about service with a smile!

Even with moving to the Queen room we averaged only $101 per night; including taxes, exchange rate (which was in our favor, so that helped) and international POS fees. When you consider the value added by the breakfast—top-notch menu and personal pampering; two satisfying courses with bottomless coffee—this really frees up your budget for local activities. Much appreciated! The “steal of a deal” on our accommodation meant we could pick one or two high-quality activities each day.

Among other fun things, we took a float plane ride over 30,000 Islands, cruised the waters of Georgian Bay and watched boats being lifted overland at Big Chute.

The private dock, complete with flowers & Muskoka / Adirondack chairs

With our busy schedule of activities, we didn’t have much time to linger in the garden, which was a shame. (But what a great reason to go back!) However, we did spend time relaxing in the party-colored Muskoka chairs on the lush lawn overlooking the bay. Or, should I say, the Adirondack chairs, depending on who’s doing the talking. (Bob and Jacquie have a running gag about this, based on their childhood origins.)

One of our other favorite pastimes was visiting the dock. We dabbled our tired city feet in the cool, refreshing water and soaked up the sun, while admiring the boats of many sizes that ply the waters of Georgian Bay.

If you’ve never been to Ontario, this would be the perfect place to start. So renew that passport and pack your suntan lotion. And don’t forget to order the pancakes!

Beacon Shore on Georgian Bay Bed & Breakfast, Midland, Ontario, Canada

P.S. Feast your eyes (and soul) on Bob and Jacquie’s amazing breakfasts in my special article: Best Ever B&B Breakfast.

Beacon Shore has been reviewed by Janette Higgins, author of The Best Places to B&B in Ontario: A Selective Guide. Janette says: “Every Ontario bed and breakfast receives my consideration. I travel incognito, pay where I stay and write reviews of the top 5%.” Read Janette’s review on the testimonials page for Beacon Shore on BBCanada.com.

Gallivanting in Halifax

Roona — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 21:30:08 +0000

By guest blogger Roona

THANKS TO THE United States Citizenship and Immigration Services, in the summer of 2009 I took a solitary trip to Nova Scotia. After renewing my work visa in the country, I had to go to a consulate outside the country to get it stamped in my passport. The closest place where I could get an appointment for consular services was Halifax, Canada. It reportedly took a week’s time to complete the process, so I had an entire week there to myself.

On the harbor in Halifax

I stayed in Hotel Westin close to the harbor with views of the ocean. The town is small enough to walk everywhere, so I did and I had a blast! On the days I had to go there, the consulate work was over in a moment and the rest of the time was mine to gallivant to my heart’s content.

It was cold and raining during most of my stay but this only added to the charm of the place. After a bone-chilling walk on the harbor, I would buy coffee and fresh-caught fried fish from a stall and enjoy it in the warmth of my room. Every day was a delight of flavors with fresh seafood available everywhere! I would get up early in the mornings and run to the crepe stalls for chocolate hazelnut crepes for breakfast. There was even an authentic Persian food shack close by my hotel, where I enjoyed some awesome lamb and chicken with saffron rice.

Once, when I had a bad sinus headache from all those walks in cold weather, I scouted a tiny Indian kiosk in a mall and requested some Masala chai—strong black tea with milk, sugar and spices including cinnamon, cloves, peppercorn, cardamom and nutmeg.

There’s tons to be done and savored in and around Halifax. The Citadel is still in great condition, with a military museum and military routines of bygone days enacted for spectators. This includes a cannon firing at noon and soul-stirring bagpipe music. I spent hours sitting there listening to music on another of those cold, misting, rainy days.

Starting day of the tall ships race

I walked around the Atlantic Maritime Museum looking at the relics of the Titanic, which sank off the coast of Halifax. I went for a pirate boat ride on a sailboat with a true-blue, old-time sailor at the helm whose drawling, mellifluous speech made even curse words sound beatific. I was lucky to land there on the starting day of the tall ships race; the row of huge ships lining the harbor was an awe-inspiring sight.

One evening I had a chance to watch a Shakespearean comedy in an outdoor theater. Put on by a theatre company called Shakespeare by the Sea, it was a hilarious production of Love’s Labour’s Lost. I laughed my guts out sitting on a camp chair in the ruins of Cambridge Battery in Point Pleasant Park, with the unseen Atlantic Ocean in the distance and the slow summer nightfall.

The highlight of my trip was a jaunt to a little fishing village called Peggy’s Cove. Situated near grey-black rocks on the coast, in this quaint little run-down village is a lighthouse overlooking the vast Atlantic Ocean. Yet again, it was one of those stormy days with incessant rains and cold winds. What better atmosphere to relish a lighthouse on the rocks?

As I stood next to the lighthouse, looking at the ocean with its grey-green waters, foaming waves lashing the rocks, the ocean spray and the misting rain, I easily forgot I was living in the 21st century. Just for a moment, I was transported back in time to when this place was a thriving village, where the lighthouse was key to the safety and wellbeing of the ocean vessels coming in to harbor.

Lighthouse at Peggy's Cove

Then, hot seafood chowder and old-fashioned gingerbread with lemon cream icing in the only restaurant by the lighthouse. Although an over-priced tourist trap, the food was delicious and the place more than made up for the price.

Food and activities aside, there is one more glorious thing about Halifax: the shopping! It may be a small place but it has some beautiful shops and boutiques. I was thrilled to find a gorgeous scarf the likes of which I had never seen anywhere else, and beautiful artwork such as dried flowers pressed on to glass; the whole looking almost ethereal. Tartans, wool, and Scottish paraphernalia are also worth looking at. Walking around town, you can find everything from antique stores to flea markets, New Age stuff to American brands costing way more than they do in the US.

I had a joyful time, enjoying everything from the cold rains to the lilting Scottish/Gaelic accents of the local people. After returning home to Cleveland, for a few days I actually felt homesick for Halifax!

———-

Roona

Roona has lived and worked in India and the United States and recently moved back to India. In the process of settling down in her home country, she continues to miss her life in the USA. On the other hand, for the first time in her life she has an opportunity to focus on her one true passion: writing. She blogs at IndiaRepat and Aesara Says.

Picking Blueberries in Charleston, Tennessee

K.M. Weiland — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 01:06:40 +0000

By guest blogger K.M. Weiland

Photos for this article courtesy Amy Weiland

FOR THE RECORD, I hate blueberries. Here at home in western Nebraska, I avoid them like lizard avoids the cold spot on a rock. So when I am given the opportunity to go blueberry picking in eastern Tennessee, I expect to enjoy the picking but not the fruit.

Am I in for a surprise!

We bump along the scenic back roads that line the vineyards of Charleston, Tennessee (about an hour south of Knoxville). Born and raised in the drought-ridden Midwest, I will never get over the verdant beauty of green oceans of kudzu vines and rugged pine trees climbing up from the red earth to touch the cloud-wisped skies. We turn into the Morris Vineyard & Tennessee Mountainview Winery and into view of the long rows of grape vines, the wide curly leaves somehow both fresh and ancient, the stems burdened under a burgeoning crop of muscadines and scuppernongs. A little farther down the road, we park in front of the expansive pale brick Visitor’s Center, Tasting Room & Store.

The soft humidity of the Tennessee afternoon engulfs me as I climb out of the van and collect my sturdy, plastic bag-lined bucket. It’s a daunting first sight. I’m supposed to fill this huge bucket with tiny blueberries? My second thought assures me that since I have no intention of eating any as I pick, I will have no trouble piling my bucket full. My friends and I walk the few yards to where the blueberry bushes stretch in neat rows, the imposing slate blue of the Smoky Mountains looming in the distance.

Picking blueberries in Tennessee

This late in the season, the second to last week in July, most of the bushes have been picked over by earlier customers. We catch our first glimpse of the dusky blue highlights among the leaves and spread out to gather our plunder. My bucket hooked over my arm, I pluck a single berry from the bush and roll its dusty burst of purple-blue between my thumb and forefinger. Could I really spend all afternoon in a field of blueberries and let myself get away without at least trying one?

Nose scrunched in anticipation of the pungent taste I’ve never been able to convince myself I like, I slip the berry onto my tongue and pop its warmth against the roof of my mouth. I’m thrilled to discover not the store-bought dilution I’m accustomed to, but rather a sweetness underlined by a seductive tartness. Suddenly, my chances of returning home with a full bucket aren’t looking so positive!

Back home in my non-vacationing life, a jam-packed schedule and poor soil have conspired to keep me out of the garden. But I love being close to the earth. I love the dry warmth of the soil under my knees as I kneel next to the bushes and duck under the branches to reach the clusters hidden near the bush’s center. The berries slip off the vine with barely a pinch and roll into the center of my palm. Those that aren’t immediately tossed into my mouth fall into the bucket with a soft thump and a rustle of the plastic bag.

The day's pickin's

I pick steadily for an hour, enjoying the shimmer of heat against the Smokies’ distant foothills, the gentle hum of my friends’ chatter and laughter, and the sweet smell of the fallen berries that I crush underfoot as I scoot a little farther into the bush to pluck one more handful.

My bucket is barely half full by the time we retreat to the Visitor’s Center to weigh our prizes. But our combined efforts produce enough berries to create a delicious blueberry crisp when we get back home. Sun-warmed and content, I lounge in a wooden chair at the kitchen table and load my spoon with vanilla ice cream and blue and purple dribbles of blueberry sweetness.

Suddenly, thanks to a wonderful afternoon at the Morris Vineyard, I’ve been converted to a lover of blueberries extraordinaire!

If you’re interested in scheduling a blueberry-picking venture of your own the next time you’re planning a trip East, you can contact Morris Vineyard by calling (423) 479-7311, writing them at 346 Union Grove Rd NE, Charleston, TN 37310, or emailing them via their contact form. Morris Vineyard is open daily 11-7, Sundays 12-7, and 9-8 during fruit season. Closed on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day.

———-

K.M. Weiland

K.M. Weiland writes historical and speculative fiction from her home in the sandhills of western Nebraska. Her second novel, Behold the Dawn, a story of redemption in the Third Crusade, is scheduled for release in October. She blogs at Wordplay and AuthorCulture.

Niagara Falls from the Canadian Side

Milli Thornton — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 23:48:51 +0000

Maid of the Mist, Niagara Falls

MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND was fast approaching. Living in a new city—no family here, no circle of friends yet—meant it was shaping up to be a boring, lonesome weekend if we didn’t think fast.

That’s when Brian remembered we’re less than four hours drive from Niagara Falls.

The inside scoop from various people—that the Falls on the American side are crass and commercialized—prompted the noble goal of venturing beyond Niagara and the usual tourist traps.

Searching for magic on bbcanada.com resulted in a cozy room at Bonnybank Bed & Breakfast in Vineland, Ontario, 20 minutes west of the city of St. Catherine’s. Exploring the Twenty Valley became our main focus (see Related Posts for Twenty Valley articles) and we did the Falls on the Canadian side on our way back to Ohio.

Visiting Niagara is one of those copycat things—like Disneyland—that everybody does. Commercialized? Absolutely. Tacky food, souvenirs and photo ops? You betcha. Canadian side not excluded.

The Whirlpool Aero Car

But never mind that. Mother Nature expressing herself with such beauty and force is unforgettable, even when crowded by diet soda guzzlers. The sheer volume of water crashing over the falls is mesmerizing. I couldn’t get enough of it.

When not obsessively attempting to frame the Falls in the ultimate photo, there’s plenty of adventure to be had.

A flotilla of busy boats, all christened Maid of the Mist, will take you as close as you can safely get to Horseshoe Falls by water. The Journey Behind the Falls, the White Water Walk and the Whirlpool Aero Car allow you to experience the Falls from behind, next to and above.

Across the street from the Falls is a statue of Nikola Tesla, the genius inventor who discovered AC current. The real father of electricity, Tesla’s becoming better known these days. But he still does not share the level of fame enjoyed by Thomas Edison, the man who discovered DC current—which, incidentally, did not prove to be economical for our massive populations.

Skylon Tower, the Space Needle of Niagara

Another visual fascination was our fellow tourists. The variety of ethnicity, clothing style and language was bewitching. Until you visit Niagara for yourself you cannot grasp how much this truly is a world destination.

Time was limited; with our precious remaining hour we opted to ride the elevator to the viewing deck of Skylon Tower. The view from up top was phenomenal.

If you’re planning a trip to the Canadian side, check out the Niagara Falls Great Gorge Adventure Pass. This gives you even more than I’ve been able to mention here. Spontaneity was our theme for that weekend, but advance planning is vital if you want to do it all.

When he heard I was going to Niagara, a friend from Washington said “That one’s on my bucket list!”

Yep. Should be on everyone’s.

The volume of water crashing over Horseshoe Falls is mesmerizing. Brian took this shot from the viewing deck of Skylon Tower.

Ball’s Falls, The Twenty Valley, Ontario

Milli Thornton — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 10:14:13 +0000

The forest at Ball's Falls

TWENTY VALLEY is a place chock-full of things to see and do—but if you do visit the Valley, please don’t miss Ball’s Falls.

At first I thought the name was rather silly (made me think of balls o’ fire) until Carla, our host at Bonnybank B&B, explained that it’s named after the Ball Brothers: George and John, the founders of the village.

The first thing we did was walk the trails to see the upper and lower Falls. Brian and I can never get enough of waterfalls so this was a treat all by itself. But as you can see in the photo, the forest is lush and looks stunningly ancient. Definitely food for the soul.

One of the mills at Ball's Falls

After visiting the lower Falls we were practically right in the village. We strolled through it, experiencing the original veggie and herb garden, modern-day smithies working in the blacksmith and the romance of the old mills.

Before the railroad came through—bypassing the village and eventually putting it out of business—the Ball brothers constructed and ran thriving wool, grist and saw mills.

The original homestead can be toured upon request but, darn, we missed that opportunity. I peered longingly through some of the the windows and could see heritage items, such as a wash tub and milk churn used by the founding family.

Apprentices taking a class at Ball's Falls

Walking the tiny village, you have to admire the industry and foresight of the Ball Brothers. Except for not being able to predict the railroad coming through, their choice of land to settle on was truly inspired.

Kudos to the Niagara Peninsula Conservation Authority for their dedicated restoration and maintenance work.

To give you some idea of the walking opportunities at Ball’s Fall’s, here’s a printable map.

To reach Ball’s Falls, exit the Queen Elizabeth Highway at Vineland, Ontario. Follow Victoria Avenue (Highway 24) south to Regional Road 24, where you turn eastward and travel to Ball’s Falls.

Barefoot Beach & Sanibel Scribbles

Milli Thornton — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 06:18:04 +0000

First published on the Fear of Writing blog, Dec 17, 2008

HERE’S A WINTER pic my husband took of me as we gathered seashells on Barefoot Beach right before sunset.

Hard to believe that was only last week! Yesterday it snowed here in Youngstown, Ohio. My light suntan and the array of tropical-themed postcards on my desk are the only remaining evidence that just days ago I was cavorting under palm trees, swimming laps and working on my screenplay by the pool.

Brian was attending the International Maintenance Conference at the Hyatt Regency in Bonita Beach, Florida and his five-star boss shouted us an extra ticket so I could go too. Lucky me!

On the way back from Barefoot Beach we stopped in at Mango Bay Beach Co. for a little tourist shopping. I bought essentials such as “frogs on the half shell” (too adorable to pass up), tiny track suits for my baby grandson, a beach bag and sun hat, and the obligatory postcards of manatees and other symbols of Florida.

Sanibel Scribbles by Christine Lemmon

But the very first thing that caught my eye was a book called Sanibel Scribbles by Christine Lemmon.

The word “scribbles” naturally made me curious (I was hoping the story would be something to do with writing). The inviting cover suggested a novel with a beach theme, and a handsome gold seal announced it as an autographed copy. I snatched it up and flipped to the back cover.

SANIBEL SCRIBBLES is a story about a woman who sets her never-ending “to-do” list aside and takes off on a venture, encountering strangers who entangle her in their secrets. The insights they share redirect her steps and forever alter her perception of life. Inspired by their wisdom, she returns to the café and rewrites her tablecloth scribbles. Her new list is nothing like the old.

Christine Lemmon has been walking the beaches of Sanibel since she was a child. She lives on the island and her love for the area has inspired her writing. She is also the author of Portion of the Sea.

With a blurb like that, how could I resist? I promptly added postcards of Sanibel Island to my collection and promised myself to return and visit the island someday.

Meanwhile, Brian found it ironic that even in a store selling beach trinkets, a book was still the first thing I managed to lay eyes on.

Hey, ever heard of the Reticular Activating System? The RAS is a mechanism in the brain that determines what we pay attention to. This helps us avoid being overwhelmed by the millions of bits of information and stimulation coming our way in every moment. With our thoughts and preferences, we give it instructions on what to alert us to (for instance, when you set a goal you are telling your RAS to focus on anything that will help you achieve it).

My book RAS is working very well, thank you!