Acadians are French-speakers who live in the French-speaking areas of Atlantic Canada. This takes in parts of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Iles-de-la-Madeleine and Prince Edward Island, as well as parts of Maine in America. They have their own, very unique food heritage, which evolved away from that of France, while staying different from that of its larger French neighbour, Québec. They have their own flag to represent the Acadian nation.

Acadian cooking is country-style food, accompanied by lots of bread, with main dishes often being one-pot meals. The preferred method of cooking is boiling. Their traditional dishes remain very popular with them — traditional foods such as Poutine Râpée is available at fast food places now, and Pâté râpé (aka Chiard or Pâté à la râpure) can be ordered in restaurants there.

The main meat used is pork (fresh, salt-pork or bacon) and poultry. Fish may be boiled or fried. Crab and lobster are boiled; mussels are steamed. Domestically-raised foods were traditionally supplemented with game, fish and seafood. Meat pies are made for holidays, from usually a mix of two meats, pork and chicken, or pork and hare. Sometimes the pies are made with a yeast-dough crust. Pieces of pork fat are scattered throughout dishes, even desserts.

Dairy products used are milk, butter and cheese.

Popular vegetables are potatoes, cabbages, turnips, beans, and peas. Most vegetables are simply boiled, except potatoes which are prepared in a variety of ways. Potatoes are even used in making some desserts.

The Church calendar was very important traditionally; it also coincided with the Acadians agricultural year.

Poutine Râpée is served at Christmas Eve dinner after mass; goose is served on Christmas Day. The meal after Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve is called “réveillon”. Other North American practices such as Christmas trees, Christmas cards, and presents have also been incorporated into an Acadian Christmas, including teaching children about Santa Claus, called “Père Noël”.

On Epiphany, they hold large get togethers for singing, dancing, and card-playing. Pancakes are made at Candlemas. Lent was observed — not many parties held during it. On Palm Sunday, they used cedar or pine branches instead of palms. The branches that were blessed were used to decorate and protect houses and fishing boats. On Easter Sunday, boiled eggs are traditionally served for breakfast.

On the day of the Feast of the Holy Sacrement (aka Corpus Christi, aka “Fête-Dieu” in French), the towns would parade a consecrated host through their main streets up until the mid 1900s.

Their national feast day is 15 August, the Feast of the Assumption, marked also as Acadian National Day, with a large parade.

In some regions, a dish (called “blé d’inde lessivé”) is made from dent corn, similar to hominy in the American south. The dried corn is boiled in water with lye in it, then rinsed, then simmered with water, pork or chicken, onion, salt and pepper. It may be served with molasses.

Pork and beans (”fayots au lard”) are a favourite. The beans are sweetened with sugar and molasses at the table; the sweetener is never put in as an ingredient, as you would with Boston Baked Beans, for instance. Pea soup (”soupe aux pois secs”, or more commonly, just “soupe aux poix”) is made in the winter from dried peas, with salt pork in it. Turnip soup (”soupe au navet) is made with turnips, potatoes and salt pork.

The number one seasoning in Acadian cooking is summer savoury. Molasses is used both as an ingredient and a garnish — it can be served with any dish, savoury or sweet; some even like it with fried eggs. Brown sugar is also popular.

Acadians use some spices in ways that almost seem Medieval now in where they appear: for instance, in meat pies you might find coriander (called “poivre gent” in Acadian), caraway, cloves and mace. This hearkens back to their cooking splitting off from France in the early 1600s, before the last of Medieval cooking habits were thrown off. Other flavourings include thyme, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, and salted herbs.

Breakfast was traditionally the biggest meal of the day. They call it “déjeuner” (even though in France that means lunch, which is the biggest meal of the day there). Now, breakfast might be just pork and beans, homemade bread, and tea. Lunch is called “dîner”; dinner is called “souper”.

Regional Variations
There are slight variations in recipes in various areas. For instance, in a few places, a chowder is the same as a fricot (a braised mixture). In other places, such as Cape Breton and in Îles-de-la-Madeleine, there is a clear distinction: a chowder (”Tchaude”) is with fish; a fricot is with meat.

Prince Edward Island

* The usage of rice did not make it into Acadian cooking on Prince Edward Island.

Nova Scotia

* There is a heavier use of cream and fresh butter;
* Sage is popular;
* A cheese would be made after a calf was slaughtered by saving its stomach intact, filling it with milk, and hanging it up for several days.The milk in the stomach would turn into cheese.

Cape Breton

* Caraway is used in savoury and sweet dishes, such as cranberry pie, rice pie, and raisin jam;
* Very large poutine râpées are made with no meat in the middle, wrapped in cloth and boiled in water.

New Brunswick (south-eastern)

* Poutine à trou is considered the most traditional dish;
* Acadians in this area eat a North American version of samphire (called “tétines de souris”, aka “mouse nipples” locally);
* Young turnip greens are very popular;
* Vegetable soup is called “soupe de devant de porte” (front door soup) because that was the site of the vegetable garden, and it implied whatever was ready to pick at that time.

New Brunswick (north-west)

* Land-locked area, jutting in between Québec and Maine;
* No direct sea access, so fish and seafood not really traditionally used;
* Cooking has been influenced by Québec;
* “Ployes” are popular in place of bread (see Maine below).

New Brunswick (north-east)

* Fricot is the most traditional dish, in at least 20 different forms, from meat to game to fish;
* Access to sea food through Chaleurs Bay and the Gulf of St Lawrence;
* Fish such as smelt, herring, trout, mackerel and salmon were important, but the single most important fish was cod;
* Bear, beaver, woodchuck and seagull were also eaten at one time;
* Grated potato dishes are not really made;
* Flavourings used include salted herbs, onions, and summer savoury.

Maine

* Acadians in Canada often forget about Acadians in Maine, who settled in the Upper St John Valley, particularly around Madawaska, Maine. They came from those who escaped deportation by ship; they either fled into Quebec or fled south, then met up here at a time before there was a Canadian-American border;
* The potato is very important and prepared in many ways;
* Priests still come into the buildings where potatoes are stored before shipping to bless them;
* Rice didn’t make it into the repertoire;
* Buckwheat was an important crop;
* Ployes are seen an important food symbol of identity;
* The only poutine made is as flour-based dumplings with no potato;
* Flavourings used include summer savoury, parsley, chives, thyme, peppermint, rosemary, and herbes salées;
* Meat pies are made for Christmas and New Year;
* Pot-en-pot is made for large family gatherings;
* Hog slaughter time in early winter was the occasion for big important social events;
* They hold Mardi Gras parades with snow mobiles in them.

History
The French started settling in Acadia in 1604. They created a dyke system called the “aboiteau” to drain marsh water back into the sea, to reclaim land from the sea.

Acadians were always fond of pork lard, going right back to the early 1700s. A man from Normandy, Monsieur Diéreville, wrote in 1708: “nothing seems as good to them as lard, and without a doubt, they eat it twice a day. They prefer lard to pheasant and rabbit.”

In 1672, Acadia had also been attacked and claimed by the Dutch under a Jurriaen Aernoutsz, who named the land “New Holland”. The Dutch had even named a Cornelius Steenwyck as governor of Acadia in 1676, but never got around to doing anything about it other than on paper.

The land came under British rule in 1713 under the Treaty of Utrecht. The Acadians had sworn oaths that the wouldn’t fight the British, but the British military pushed harder and wanted them to go further and actively fight against the French, which they wouldn’t do. And in any event, the Acadian’s declaration of neutrality appeared dubious when some 200 of them were found by the British inside the French-held fort of Beausejour when they captured it in 1755. Britain wasn’t sure of its position in North America at the time, it was losing to the French in the Ohio valley. Subsequently, the British asked them twice to swear an oath of loyalty to the Crown; they refused both times.

In 1755, Britain decided to exile the population from the land. Of an estimated population of 15,000, around 75% were captured and deported; the rest literally hid in the woods when the British troops came to seize them. The exiles were even forced to leave the smallest of personal possessions behind on the shores in Acadia because the boats were so overcrowded.

Many were taken to Louisiana by the British, where the descendants of those who stayed there became known as “Cajuns”. Others were also exiled to other British colonies in what is now America, such as New York, Virginia, Georgia, etc. The provisions were limited on the ships: 5 pounds of flour, 1 pound of pork or beef per person for each 7 days they would be on board. But owing to overcrowding, many people got far less food than even that on the voyage. Henry Wadsworth (1807-1882) wrote his poem “Evangeline” about the expulsion.

In 1764, the British gave permission for the exiles to return. The English - French war in North America, part of the Seven Years’ War, was over, and they weren’t seen as a threat. Many when they came back went largely to New Brunswick, as their farms on Prince Edward Island and in Nova Scotia were occupied by Scottish settlers who moved in and took over their lands. They became a displaced people, with no actual land boundaries to call their own, like gypsies, or Jews until the establishment of Israel. For a time, they had to get by without priests. They’d hold “white masses” in which they’d just gather to sing and pray, with no consecrated host present. Whenever they did run into a priest, they would have the priest “regularize” the marriages that they’d held, and catch up on the baptisms.

The Acadians have been recognized by the United Nations as a distinct people and nation. They are still trying to survive in land that still essentially remains under English-speaking rule. They have never been compensated by the Canadian government, which took over from the British, for their loss of lands.

The Acadians grew field peas and corn in the fields, and in the vegetable gardens next to their houses, vegetables that could be stored such as potatoes, cabbage, turnips, dried beans, and carrots. Only after their return from the Expulsion, though, did they grow potatoes: they adopted the potato from their Scottish and German neighbours (some of whom had come up from the States after the Revolution.)

Beef wasn’t eaten much; the cows were kept for milk. They kept sheep, but didn’t eat much mutton — the sheep were kept them for wool. And chickens were valued and kept alive for their egg production. Consequently, up until the mid 1900s, pork remained the most important meat for them. The pigs were slaughtered around the start of December. Most of the pork would be salted, except for a bit eaten fresh as a treat, and some of the offal was made into “pig sauce”, and the rest made into sausages and head cheese.

Pork, fish and cabbage were salted to preserve them through the winter.

Farmers supplemented their food supply by becoming fishermen at times. Cod and herring were popular, because they could be easily preserved by salting. In season, they ate eel, mackerel, and smelt. Fish was usually braised, stewed or poached. The men also hunted bear, beaver, woodchuck, porcupine, squirrel, moose and deer to supplement their diets. And in the winters, almost all Acadian men in the 1800s worked in logging camps to make extra money.

Raisins and rice (sic) entered into their repertoire early through trade with the Antilles and Brazil; they also acquired their beloved ingredient, molasses, through trade up the eastern seaboard.

No written books about food came down, but the food heritage was preserved in hundreds and hundreds of recipes passed down in households.

Fiddlehead Chowder

2 tablespoons butter
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 bunch scallions, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
6 sprigs fresh thyme, leaves only
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
6 cups vegetable stock
2 cups heavy cream
2 potatoes, peeled and diced
6 ears corn (early corn adds a sweeter taste)
1 1/2 pound fiddle heads, chopped
Sea Salt and freshly ground black pepper (to taste)
Cracked red pepper flakes (optional)

Heat the butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil in a soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, and thyme and cook until the vegetables are good and soft, 8 to 10 minutes.

Dust the vegetables with flour and stir to coat everything well. Pour in the vegetable stock and bring to a boil. Add the cream and the potatoes, bring to a boil and boil hard for about 7 minutes, until the potatoes break down (this will help to thicken the soup and give it a good texture).
Cut the corn kernels off the cob and add to the soup. Add chopped fiddleheads. Season with sea salt and pepper and simmer until the corn and fiddleheads are soft, about 10 to 12 minutes.

Give it another little drink of olive oil. (dash or so??). Garnish with cracked red pepper flakes when served.

A very interesting combination of flavours here. The sharpness of the partridgeberries balances out the sweetness of the vegetables and the earthy flavour of the rosemary goes well with the caribou. The recipe calls for the potatoes to be in the stew but I always like mine roasted on the side along with some roasted garlic.

Serves 6

2 lbs caribou meat cut in 1 inch cubes (or moose or venison)
1 large onion
4 cloves garlic
2 litres caribou stock (or substitute beef broth)
1 bay leaf
2 tsp finely chopped fresh rosemary
3 large parsnip & 3 large carrots, peeled and chopped in coins or sticks
1 ½ lbs small red potatoes in 2 inch cubes or use fingerling potatoes
1 cup fresh or frozen green peas
1 cup fresh or frozen partridgeberries (lingonberries) (or sub with cranberries)
1 cup chopped shitake mushrooms
Salt and pepper to season. (This recipe can take plenty of pepper.)

Begin by lightly browning the carrots and parsnip in a large skillet in 3 tbsp olive oil. Add the onions and garlic and continue to cook until the onions are softened.

Remove the vegetables to a small covered roasting pan and then brown the caribou meat in the same skillet. Add a little more olive oil if necessary. Add the browned caribou to the roasting pan. Add the bay leaf and rosemary and season with salt and pepper.

Cook in a 350 degree F oven for about 45 minutes to an hour or until the caribou pieces are very tender. Add the potatoes and return to the oven for 10-15 minutes until the potatoes are almost fully cooked.

Thicken the stew with a slurry of about 3 tbsp flour mixed with enough water to make a pourable consistency. Stir into the stew using only enough to thicken the gravy to a relatively thin consistency.

Stir in the mushrooms, peas and partridgeberries. Top with a biscuit crust if desired and return to the oven for about 15-20 minutes, or if you have a biscuit crust until it is evenly golden brown. Serve.

Biscuit Crust

1 ½ cups flour
1 ½ tsp baking powder
1/3 cup butter
Pinch salt
½ cup milk

Mix together the flour, salt and baking powder. Rub the butter through the flour mixture then add the milk and mix until a soft dough forms. Roll out to the size of the roasting pan and lay over the top of the stew. Bake to a light golden brown.

*From My friend White Wolf~

This story was told to me by an old man. His Cherokee name was
Gansdi-Stick. Some people say it was a dog that made the Milky Way but
he was told it was the wolf. He said only the wolf could be so crafty
as to make the stars…

There were people in the southern part of the world that made corn
meal. The women would pound the dried corn in a pounder with a large
stick till it was a fine powder. They would work all day to make the
powder and then store it in large kettles in a storehouse for the
winter. After a few days of pounding the corn they began to notice
that some of the kettles were not as full as they were supposed to be.
It was being taken. They examined the ground around the storehouse and
noticed tracks. They decided to hide and watch the next night to see
who was stealing the corn meal.

Seven women decided to hide inside the storehouse. They crouched
behind the large pottery kettles and waited. Well after midnight all
the women had gone to sleep except one. She watched and waited in the
darkness. Suddenly she heard a noise outside and then noticed a bluish
glow like a bright moonlight. The light came closer to the storehouse.
The woman crouched even further behind the kettles, afraid of what was
coming toward her. She picked up a stick laying beside her. The door
to the storehouse opened.

In walked a wolf with a strange glow around it. The wolf walked over
to one of the kettles that was brimming with freshly made corn meal
and began to eat. Suddenly the woman began to scream, waking the other
women. They opened their eyes and noticed the wolf inside. They all
jumped up and ran towards it. The woman with the stick began hitting
it till it ran out of the storehouse. The wolf became so frightened
that he jumped into the air and began flying in a wide circle back
toward the north. As he flew drops of corn meal fell from his mouth.
They glowed as the wolf did and so he left a trail today we call the
Milky Way.

Elder’s Meditation of the Day - June 12

The leaves, when they are finished with their life on the trees, will return to the Earth. The leaves that return to the Earth are the future trees. So inside the Mother Earth are the future forests. The human, when finished with its life on the Earth, will return to the Earth. So in the Earth are our future grandchildren. Knowing this, we should be respectful of the place where our future generations live. Only take from the Earth what you need. Every time you pick a plant or Medicine, leave an offering and leave a prayer. Be respectful and walk in a sacred way.

Intersesting read :

Researchers ponder the curious human tendency to view all sorts of things as alive.

http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1200/is_23_155/ai_55017618/pg_1?tag=artBody;col1

From Earth - From Water
Our people grow to love each other
in this way

For in all of our languages
there is no he or she

We are the children of the earth
and of the sea

Another interesting film from Aboriginal Perspectives:

If the Weather Permits

In 2003, three teenagers from the village of Kangirsujuaq in Nunavik, Northern Québec, find a cross carved in stone and share their thoughts in Inuktitut about heaven and hell, “white” religion, ancestral spirituality and shamanism with filmmaker Elisapie Isaac.

www.nfb.ca/enclasse/doclens/visau/index.php?mode=view&language=english&filmId=51256

This is a subtitled movie, spoken in Francaise….interesting!

In his quest to reconnect with the spiritual values of his people, Burkinabe director Hyacinthe Combary creates a dialogue between the Gourmantche of Burkina Faso and the Atikamekw of northern Quebec, realizing that soul-searching is universal. Combary notices a similarity between their two cultures in regards to the importance of working in the woods and being connected with Nature as a way to foster fundamental ancestral human values in the young.

http://www.nfb.ca/enclasse/doclens/visau/index.php?mode=view&language=english&filmId=52874

Going Fishing

By David J. Boyle

July is traditionally the best month to go salmon fishing on the mighty Miramichi River. The big run has come in from the Atlantic and there are plenty of fish in the pools along the main river. After lunch I went down to the river and found a nice spot where I could get a good view of a local pool. Three people stood about 15 feet apart fishing in a line.

The first man wore a wide-brimmed hat covered with colourful dry flies, chest waders and a brown vest. He pulled his line from the water and then cast it back out. His line went through the air and the fly on the end of his leader fell gently on the water covering a distance between 40 and 50 feet. As soon as his fly landed, the second person pulled his line in and with an awkward quick swing attempted to cast it out. The line didn’t get very far. He pulled it in and cast again. This time was not any better than the first. He was a young fellow, I think probably around 15-years-old. A bright red ball cap sat on his head with the peak to one side. He wore a white short sleeved shirt with a cartoon race car on the front. The straps of his hip waders went under his belt and seemed to be pulling his pants down. Part of his previously tucked-in shirt now hung from his side.

I thought the third person could be a woman or a man. I reached for the miniature binoculars hanging from my neck on a black cord and used both hands to position them over my eyes. Once I got them focused I could see the three-inch dangling earrings. Her blond hair was tucked in a bun on the back of the head. Resting against the bun was a dark green brimmed hat tied under her chin by a cord. The ends dangled against a pale green fishing vest. Sunglasses and chest waders made her look like a man. As soon as the young fellow’s line hit the water she pulled her line in and with a slow smooth motion cast out again. The fly fluttered onto the water.

These three people worked their way slowly through the pool. Whenever the first person moved two or three steps to the left, then the others would follow. I thought they could be father, mother and son. A couple of times the woman said something to the young fellow when he didn’t move. He just looked in her direction for a moment, said nothing, and then moved ahead.

The folding blue canvass chair felt comfortable as I sat about 100 yards from the river and the fishermen. I ran my eyes up and down the pool for probably an hour thinking I might see a fish jump or someone hook one, but the only movement was a mother duck with her eight little ones swimming along the other side of the river. Later in the afternoon, white clouds hung over the river; the sun breaking through once in a while—a perfect day for fishing. I kept my eyes glued to the water’s surface. The polarized glasses cut down the sun’s glare when it peeked through the clouds. I heard a dog bark and to my right could see two men dressed in full fishing gear, rods in hand, coming along the riverbank in my direction. A mature black Lab ran a few feet in front of them. The dog stopped about six feet from me and began to bark. The taller man with a red shaggy beard and smoking a cigar said, “Josh, be quiet.” The Lab lay down and resting his head over one paw stared at me for a moment then closed his eyes. The other fellow said hello and then, “It should be a good evening for fishing. The weather is right and I can see the tide is just about out. A man up on the hill where we parked said the water temperature today is 68 degrees. You know it won’t be long and the water will be too warm. Have you seen any fish jump?”

I told him nothing had jumped in the last couple of hours. He said, “Well it’s still early and in an hour or so the sun will go down a bit and maybe there will be some movement. I hope to hook one tonight. I’ve been out six times and still haven’t landed a fish. Two nights ago, I hooked one but then lost it.”

The taller man stood looking toward the river and said nothing. I wished them good luck as they headed down the bank and out onto the bar getting in line at the top of the pool to wait their turn. At the water’s edge the tall man hollered to Josh, “Come on down here.” The dog gave me a quick sniff and then bounded over the bank. The two men stood side by side talking as they tied dry flies to their leaders then waded one after another into the water up to their knees. Standing about 10 feet apart, they began casting their lines. Josh sat down on the sandbar directly behind them.

I continued to watch the water for about another half hour and just as I began to think it might be time to head back to the trailer, a salmon about four feet long jumped out of the water and fell back in on its side making a large splash. This salmon fell back into the water just like a dolphin in a fish tank at Sea World. The woman and the young fellow took a couple of steps backwards and stood looking toward the ripples in the water. Josh began barking while running back and forth along the shore. The woman turned to the tall man with the red shaggy beard, “Did you see that?” She slowly waded back out in the water. He shook his head, “I don’t want to catch him.”

I decided it was time to leave. While I folded my chair I saw and heard more people coming down the path for a few hours of evening fishing. As I walked along the riverbank toward the path and the trailer, I thought I would get up early the following morning to be the first one in the pool.

At 4am the alarm went off. The night before, I had set the coffee machine to start brewing at 3:45 so I poured a cup before getting dressed. I glanced at my watch as I chewed my toast with fresh strawberry jam and downed a second cup of coffee. My list of things to do was on the table: fill coffee thermos, get ham sandwiches from fridge, and take a banana. I had put my raincoat in a backpack and left it hanging from a chair by the table. Mindy, my four-year-old black terrier poodle with white paws, wanted out. While she was outside I packed the thermos, sandwiches and banana in the backpack. A scratch at the door told me she was ready to come in. My fishing rod was in the front porch, just outside the door. I reached for the rod and replaced an Undertaker fly with a Shady Lady. Tying a fly to the end of the leader was much easier with some light than it would be down by the river in the dark. Mindy sat on the floor near my feet and watched me. I think she anticipated going. “Not this morning,” I told her. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Go and lay on your blanket.” She headed toward her blanket on the floor by the stove, stopped, and looking over her left shoulder gave me a disappointing look.

I put on my chest waders, fishing vest and grabbed the faded beige and maroon ball cap hanging on a hook by the door, then slung the backpack over my shoulder. With rod in one hand and a flashlight in the other I went out the door. I shone the light on the ground ahead as I went between two older trailers, careful not to trip over a water hose or an electrical cord. I crossed the field and went down over the embankment to the winding path that led to the river. The day before someone had seen a black bear in the bushes along the pathway. I shone the light down the path from one side to the other, just in case the bear might still be around.

The morning was quiet, except for the occasional splash coming from the direction of the river. The splashes got louder as I got closer. It sounded like someone was throwing a rock the size of a basketball into a pond of water. I made it down to the riverbank without seeing or hearing the bear. I think he must have left the area. Standing on the shore I surveyed the sandbar and beyond with the flashlight. The pool lay just past the sandbar. I set the backpack on the ground beside a large grey rock about three feet high. Someone painted a Canadian flag on this rock the year before as part of Canada Day celebrations. Last spring’s ice jam had removed some of the paint, but you could still see the outline of the flag.

I shone the light ahead trying not to trip over any small jagged rocks as I crossed the riverbed to the pool. I was alone, the first person to get in the water that morning. The only light came from a dusk to dawn lamp near the top of a pole by a travel trailer on the opposite side of the river. With the reel end of my rod on the ground I began to pull the leader and floating green line through the guide rings being careful not to get it tangled. Once in awhile, I heard the sound of a fish splashing into the water further downriver but otherwise the morning was silent.

I waded into the water about a foot above my ankles, then stopped, put the flashlight in a side pocket and began to cast a little to the right. In the dark, it was hard to know where the fly fell. I brought the line in and cast again, stood and waited. The morning stillness was again broken by a splash, nearer this time. I pulled my line in, cast again and waited. It was time to move and I took two steps to the left. Something brushed against my left leg just below the knee and then there was a large splash at my feet. With heart pounding and breathing fast I stepped backwards, stumbled and fell, still holding onto the rod. I got up and just stood there in the darkness scanning the water. The splash scared me the most. It was like standing alone in a dark room and being tapped on the shoulder. I took the flashlight and shone it over the water, seeing nothing. What hit me? Was it a beaver with his tail? Or maybe a large salmon had moved in from the deeper water and was just laying there until I moved and hit him with my foot. Whatever it was, it gave me a momentary fright. I kept the light on the water for another five minutes or so. Nothing moved. I put the flashlight away and moved slowly back out into the water.

When daylight began to arrive, the shapes of trees and an outline of the trailer up on the hill became visible. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the outline of two more fishermen. They moved into the water and stood a couple of hundred yards behind me.

The sun came up over the hill behind the trailer and I could see the fish when they jumped. The spot where I stood was called the hot spot. I decided to stay there until the two men behind caught up and I was forced to move ahead. Every now and then I glanced in their direction. The first man was about 20 feet from me when a salmon about four feet long jumped out of the water. “I hope he doesn’t come for my fly. You couldn’t keep it anyway, too large.” I looked in his direction and responded, “Yes, you are right.”

Fish continued to jump as I moved through the rest of the pool and from the farthest end I looked back to see five or six more people standing, holding rods, chatting and waiting for their turn to get into the water. I decided to make another run and reeled my line in as I backed out of the water and headed across the sandbar to the top of the pool. Seven people stood waiting their turn in front of me and I thought it would probably take an hour to get back out into the water. Some of the people chatted, while others just looked over the water watching other people fish. Once in a while someone said, “There is a grilse.” And someone responded, “Yes I saw it.” Another voice said,” I heard there was 10 fish caught yesterday and they were all caught with a Shady Lady or a Green Butt Bear Hair.” Immediately some people took their small silver fly boxes from their pockets and started looking for the particular fly. Three or four people changed flies. One man said, “I use a Green Machine and never change, spring or fall. Every year I always have good luck with this fly.”

I made another run through the pool with no luck and decided to get the sandwiches and coffee from my backpack. As I walked along the riverbank an eagle circled overhead and seagulls squawked in response to a fish having been caught and cleaned on the shore. It was a beautiful morning with only a few clouds in the sky. I leaned against the big grey rock, ate both sandwiches and had two cups of coffee. A few more fishermen came and stood in line for their turn. The tide began to come in and when people got to the end of the pool, some stepped out of the water and headed back up along the riverbank. The line got smaller and by mid-morning there were only three people fishing.

That morning only four fish were caught. Three were caught with a Shady Lady and the other by the man with his Green Machine. With rod in one hand and backpack over my left shoulder I headed along the riverbank to the pathway leading to the trailer. I turned to take another look at the beauty of the river and then went up the hill. Afternoon is naptime for fishermen along the river and as I lay down, I thought back to the morning and wondered what had hit my leg while I stood alone in the dark. It had to have been a big salmon.

David J. Boyle lives in Upper Derby. A member of the Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick and the Miramichi Writers’ Guild, he writes poems and stories, many for children