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Sometimes you just find the best out of the way places.

I don’t remember who told us to be sure to visit Northport when we headed up the western end of P.E.I. this summer, but we definitely owe them a great big thank-you. What a fantastic little place.

Just a few minutes outside of Alberton, we pulled into Northport midmorning to find a quiet and peaceful fishing village and marina. We parked near a fairly large hotel, I think it was called the Northport Pier Inn, and walked down to the waterfront. There was a small building with very welcoming open doors which we soon learned was a sea rescue interpretive centre, complete with panel after panel telling tales of past seagoing adventures and rescues.

Next, we wandered down to the wharf and marina, enjoying a beautiful calm day and great views. Jake watched a seagull strolling along the wharf, then we sat on a bench for a bit just to take it all in.

By that point, I decided I wanted a coffee so Steve headed into The Boat Shop Restaurant to see if we could get a couple of javas to go. Because we had Jake, we intended to sit on a bench to get a caffeine fix. He returned a few minutes later without coffees, but with good news — we were going to have an early lunch, complete with coffee, on their outside deck and Jake was quite welcome to join us.

To say we were delighted would be an understatement. It’s always so nice when we can sit and relax and enjoy a meal with Jake that doesn’t come in a paper wrapper. We dined on fabulous lobster sandwiches (Jake likes lobster as long as I wipe off the mayo) and great coffee. The waitress even brought Jake a dish of water (they keep a dish there marked especially for dogs). Because it was so quiet with only a few other people joining us on the deck, we didn’t have to worry about Jake bothering other guests or getting into any sort of mischief. It was such a nice, relaxing hour.

We will definitely go back to Northport and would highly recommend it to anyone.

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The weather has been fantastic, but we haven’t been on the road.

Steve and I have been torn these last few weeks between our desire to ride and our need to get things done around the house before winter. I’m not talking about what I think of as little things, like raking the leaves. I’m talking about big things, like putting away the outdoor furniture, clearing the gardens and putting in our winter wood — the kinds of things that can’t be ignored, as much as we’d rather do something else, like ride.

We went for a nice ride on Thanksgiving weekend and we’ve been out once since then, on the first Sunday afternoon in November. We had planned to ride this past Saturday but circumstances sort of conspired against us and we ended up at home. I’m really hoping for a nice weekend so we can get out for a couple of hours.

I’m beginning to feel that crunch of knowing that there aren’t many nice days left in this riding season. Funny, I don’t ever remember feeling that way when I was “hanging off the back” of Steve’s bike, as I’m fond of calling it, but now that I ride my own it’s a whole different story.

Jake has been missing the road too. Steve and I having been laughing at ourselves and our Cairn a lot lately. Every time a bike goes by our house when we’re working outside three heads turn toward the sound. Jake kind of looks at us as if to say “well, when are we going?”

That’s not to say that our boy hasn’t enjoyed being outside when we’ve been working, especially when we’ve been putting in the firewood. He clearly understands that the wood is what we use to make the fire that keeps his hairy little self warm all winter and our boy does like to be warm. He practically crawls under the wood stove sometimes and stays there until he’s so hot he’s panting.

Whenever we put in wood, Jake then has to go into the woodshed and do some sort of doggie inspection on what we’ve done. He walks over and sniffs at the woodpile, then he goes over and sniffs at the kindling. It’s like he’s making sure we’re doing a good enough job to keep him toasty in the coming months.

Or maybe he’s making sure that what we’re doing is worth sacrificing an afternoon ride. I hadn’t thought of that until now.
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I always say Jake is all about his belly. This week, I’ll give you an example.

Not long ago, I had to bake a cake. It’s not something I do very often, maybe five or six times a year. I like to bake. It’s just that big desserts like that tend to go to waste in our house unless there’s some occasion.

So, if you read this blog regularly, you might remember that I baked a cake in April for my parents’ birthdays. Picture in your head a photo of Jake with his tongue wrapped around one of the beaters from an electric mixer. Yep, that’s the one I meant. You remember now. Steve gave him a beater to lick, then told me to turn around and look. Hmmmm!

Well, things were pretty quiet in our house this one evening when I had to bake the cake. Steve wasn’t home from work yet when I started and Jake was asleep in the living room. It seemed a perfect time. Then I turned on the mixer and suddenly I had a dog sitting at my feet between me and the counter. And he wasn’t moving. Apparently, our Jake remembered the sound of the mixer all too well.

Needless to say, having Jake running interference between me and the mixer slowed things down. Then Steve arrived home and that slowed me down more. But the cake got made and Steve shared the batter from the beaters with Jake — using his washed fingers this time at my insistence. (Then I washed the beaters.)

After the cake had cooled a few hours later, I decided to make the icing. Jake had been sound asleep upstairs, but when that mixer started, I immediately heard the trampling of small hairy feet racing down the stairs. There he was again between me and the kitchen counter.

That time I didn’t say anything when Steve decided to let Jake lick one of the beaters. I had to put the dishwasher on anyway.

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Some people may have recently spotted another UFO in Shag Harbour, an unidentified friendly object that is.

When we took our little trek around the southern end of the province this summer, Steve and I decided to make a slight detour and go to Shag Harbour, site of the reported 1967 UFO crash. We’d driven through Shag Harbour last summer, but it was pouring rain at the time and we were soaked to the skin and opted not to stop and stroll. However, I knew Steve was still intrigued.

I’ll be the first to admit, even though I know I shouldn’t, I could absolutely care less about a supposed UFO crash in Shag Harbour. Maybe it was a UFO, maybe it wasn’t. Now if there were photos of little green men or one-eyed creatures with multiple arms and legs coming ashore, I might be more interested. But something falling from the sky into the water never to be seen again? Sorry, that just doesn’t do it for me.

But I’m a good sport, especially when it comes to letting my husband entertain himself with those kinds of historical things that interest him. It’s not that I’m not interested in history — I am — but Steve is the guy who has to read all of those information panels at historic sites. I usually just want to look around and try to feel the history.

We stopped at a museum in what was once a church. I’m sorry, I have no idea what it was called, but it’s right on the road in Shag Harbour and you park across the street. Now, there I could feel the history. A very pleasant museum attendant told us a bit of the church’s history, but I’m afraid not a lot of it registered. I was way too occupied feeling the history in the building as I stood inside. I could feel the happy weddings and the solemn funerals, the sermons when children shuffled their feet and tried to sit still while adults tried to listen to the ministers. There were also dozens, probably hundreds of objects, everywhere. I could feel people leafing through the books and using the hand tools, sitting at the old sewing machine, pouring medicines from the old bottles. How much was real and how much was my imagination, I have no idea, but to me that’s history.

Three flights up (past a fairly severe portrait of Queen Victoria), you could look out over the harbour. While Steve was trying to figure out where the UFO might have crashed, I was picturing generations of fishermen at work and children playing along the shore.

We did eventually make our way down the road to a look-off over the supposed crash site. It was pretty, but I confess I didn’t feel the history there. While Steve and Jake looked for signs of alien life, I was admiring the scenery.

But if you hear reports of another recent sighting of a UFO in Shag Harbour, this one with a lot of hair and a very long, pink tongue, don’t worry — it was just RoadDog.

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