Everything in Canada is closed. And not just closed but shuttered, boarded up, gone out of business, and now for sale. This is the first observation one makes driving North on the 340 Highway out of Yarmouth. A few exceptions: filling stations are open. As well as Chinese restaurants (more on those later). Other than that, nothing.

The 340 runs away from the coast, is an inland route to Weymouth first and Digby later, our destination for the evening. The other routes run up the coast and, you guessed it, are crowded with bad drivers from Quebec and Massachusetts (when everyone exiting the ferry goes left, you know to go straight, and straight gets you to the 340). So we’ve found our first blue highway in Canada, and this one, like its kin in America, finds few travelers on it, and the few we spot are all local (we drive over 200 kilometers on the highway and see 6 cars coming and going).

The 340 traverses boggy pasture and glen, a few inland lakes, and abuts the Tobeatic Wilderness Preserve, a famous refuge for bear and Nova Scotia’s dwindling moose herd (like everything else in the province, the moose are going out of business). The drive is scenic in a lost world kind of way – if the car were to breakdown there is no doubt the entire family would be shot, dressed for a good bleed, and then cut up and stored in someone’s freezer for a winter meal.

The handful of towns we pass through on the highway all look deserted. The only people we see are men doing yard work, mostly with chainsaws. We see one man sitting on his front porch, cleaning a rifle.
“Dad! Look! That man has a big gun!” Michael.
Laura looks at me, concerned.

I do not remember Nova Scotia being quite this way. During my first visit here, 23 years ago, I was struck by the simple beauty of the place. Rugged coastline, blueberry barrens, wildflower meadows – all these vistas seem absent from our present schematic. Memory is faulty, that’s for sure, and life then was spent in a cheerful, boozy haze, but this still defies explanation.

The children are staring out the truck window, looks of concern on all their faces, though Michael less so (he’s a boy, as you know, and the thought of guns and chainsaws excite him). The children are looking for something friendly, something familiar, signs of life.

“Dad, where are we?”
“We’re in Nova Scotia.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Well, this seems to be a remote part of Nova Scotia. Not too many people live here.”
“Dad, are you sure you know where you are going?”
“Absolutely. We’re on the road to Digby.”
“Are there people in Digby?”
“Yes there are people in Digby.”
“And restaurants? Are there restaurants in Digby?”
“Yes there are restaurants in Digby.”
“Will we be able to get something to eat there?”

Finally, just as the children are pondering the possibility of a province without people, restaurants or food, we arrive in Weymouth, a town of substance, with a white-steepled Presbyterian Church and a down-in-the-pants Victorian hotel (“Goodwin’s – We Are Open for Business”) sitting on a bluff overlooking the Sissiboo River. Driving through town, we pass a restaurant with a conspicuous sign out front that reads: “Eat In, Take Out -- Family Restaurant -- Chinese, Canadian & Seafoods.” The children are elated.
“Dad, dad – look! A restaurant! Can we stop?”
A dilemma, for sure. Chinese Canadian Seafoods? An immediate red flag, in your mind, and possible trip to the hospital (if there is one).
“Da-aha-ad. Can we stop?” Isabel.
You’re driving faster, away from the hazard.
“What happens if there aren’t any other restaurants in Nova Scotia?” Michael.
Laura, you sense, is smiling. She is enjoying this.
“Why can’t we stop?” Sarah.
“Because the parking lot is empty,” you explain, “and anyone who eats there will likely die of some hawkish intestinal parasite.”
You glance in the rearview mirror and the children are huddled, grim looks on all their faces. You’ve silenced them for the moment, bought yourself some time.

Digby, upon arrival, is beautiful. First of all, there are people.
“Dad! Look! Kids!” Isabel.
And there are houses. Nice houses. And there are boats in the harbor. Working scallop trawlers as well as pleasure craft with names like “Pea Soup” and “Local Knowledge”. There’s even an ice cream parlor – Oliver’s Dairy Bar – a sweet-sounding place with a neon sign hanging over Main Street across from the town dock where the scallop fleets and whale watching boats run. You can’t miss the sign, the place, the location, and of course that’s the beauty of well chosen spot for an ice cream parlor when you are traveling with children and the children are hungry. Oliver himself runs the joint. Oliver sells 42 different kinds of ice cream, as well as cigarettes, X-rated movies and condoms. The former one expects upon entering the establishment – the latter items come as somewhat of a surprise.

“You sell ice cream?”
“Yahw.”
“And cigarettes and condoms?”
“Yawh.”
“And dirty movies?”
“Yawh.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Naut shaw. Gawta make a livin’ up here, eh.”

In Canada, or at least in the province of Nova Scotia, it seems one must do, or sell, a little bit of everything to make ends meet. The ice cream is cheap, 75 cents for a small scoop, which actually turns out to be a pretty big scoop. 75 cents! One of the problems with the province, you later come to realize, is that they haven’t updated their prices since 1975. Perhaps you will write a letter to the premier, after your trip, let him know about this. Anyway, the children are sated, for the moment, and you, thankfully, now know where to buy smokes and condoms and dirty movies.

Everyone gets back in the car. You head up the road to your hotel, Digby Pines. You park. You get out of the car and realize you are tired. A bird swoops down from a white pine above, makes a beeline for your head. The bird lands on your car windshield wiper. Not just any bird but a peregrine falcon. You think you are imaging this, perhaps still feeling the effects of that heinous boat ride. But you are not. He’s there, staring at you. You take a picture, just to make sure. The children are breathless. This is a strange place, Canada.