Winston-Salem Winston-Salem This street-side view of the Moravian Village in Winston-Salem, North Carolina attracted me because of the Danish blue of this house. The strong colours used in colonial times are often quite jarring to people of our time who are used to toned-down, tasteful sorts of colours. Most pioneer villages, historic re-creations perhaps, emit a special charm that I find most appealing. I have created many sketches of these historic sites across North America and a few in Europe. In Europe, re-created villages are not as necessary because they have preserved the old buildings all along.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Pleasure Crafts, Key West Pleasure Crafts, Key West When Marilyn and I first visited Key West twelve years ago, this small Victorian-style town was still a haven for former hippies and wackos. In those days it was a tiny carnival at the edge of the continent, the most southern point in the United States. Since then, each yearly visit surprises us with upgrades, improvements. The town is turning into a giant Sheraton Hotel. Real Estate prices have rocketed into the stratosphere. As I drive into Key West, a pub sign proclaims "Free Beer Tomorrow". The town is enlightened by bumper stickers such as "Elvis is Dead, Get over It". Key West is at the end of the road and not on the way to anything else. Odd balls and malcontents gather there shoulder to shoulder with the crowd from the Sheraton. Pigtailed baldies driving imaginatively altered pick-up trucks share the narrow streets with BMW's piloted by professionals who live in Miami just ninety miles up the road. I enjoy early morning visits to a convenience store/coffee shop where a homemade sign proclaims of a popular beer, "Rolling Rock is not just for Breakfast anymore." My first Cuban coffee of the day along with the newspaper provides an excuse to watch and enjoy the lovable rogues that gather at this fuel stop just off The Bight which is shown in this painting.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

New Bridge Construction, Ft. Lauderdale New Bridge Construction, Ft. Lauderdale In the 1970's my wife and I spent a great deal of time in Fort Lauderdale. It was a gentle, pretty city that turned violent and made us decide to leave our rented condo by the inland waterway. Perhaps it was just the downtown area that came unstuck, but we fled after a guy was murdered on our street. Now Fort Lauderdale is a much expanded city, gleaming in the South Florida sunshine. Of course this concentration between the intra-coastal waterway and the sea needs improved infrastructure. This massive bridge was on the build for almost eight months, adding to the charm of driving in this already congested city. Painting from the deck of a ship getting ready to leave port, I had the best of both worlds for my artistic purpose. I had this interesting ant-hill-like construction project as a subject but the tranquility of an uncrowded spot near the bar on the top deck. Later that evening as our ship left port, the residents in the highrises alongside flipped their balcony lights on and off as a sort of salute. I found that quite emotional.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Burst of Light, Mendocino, California Burst of Light, Mendocino, California Following a cruise through the Panama Canal, we drove north from San Francisco where we had disembarked. Visiting wine country was great fun and quite revealing as the California wineries were just starting to gear up for the food and wine blizzard that was to visit America. Mendocino is a prettified town that perhaps tries too hard to be cute. Gingerbread and picket fences are everywhere. For me, the right view of this town happened as I looked at it from a nearby cliff. A shaft of sunlight added a theatrical aspect. We were surprised to learn from the proprietor of our white Victorian-style Bed-and-Breakfast that Mendocino is often used as a setting for movies and TV shows that purport to take place on the opposite coast of Maine. Apparently Murder She Wrote was filmed just down the street from our temporary home. I produced this painting several years later from the photos taken during our stay. This approach allows for larger works that are more considered, less hurried. I find that for me on-site painting must be completed in a one-hour span. A longer time than that means too much shift in the light. On-the-spot paintings can really be only a snapshot of that hour.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Juneau, Alaska Juneau, Alaska I painted this piece from the top deck of our cruise ship as we headed south to Vancouver. The brightly-hued houses pulled me to them like a magnet. These Alaskan frame buildings sit like pools of paint on a palette overlapping and contrasting with their neighbours. This rainy section of the Alaskan coast with its gaily coloured buildings puts me in mind of patterns that I have painted in the equally-moist outports of Newfoundland (Badger's Quay, Newfoundland). Even the style of structure along with the precipitous siting reminds me of the Rock. Porvoo, a celebrated ancient town in Finland also is composed of frame houses painted in candy colours (350th Anniversary, Porvoo, Finland). Perhaps the grey weather in these locales inspires people to add some bright colour to their somber surroundings. Because I was painting from the upper level of a ship, I was able to be eyeball to eyeball with these hippie-made cottages, not looking up from the bottom of the hill. I think that the physical point of view very strongly affects the impression. If I can get close to the subject, I can show a much more intimate view, but that sometimes means that people get a bit uptight if they feel that I am some sort of a Peeping Tom. For further related images, to see our section on Newfoundland.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Rushing Water, Washington State Rushing Water, Washington State The Lane Furniture Company of Altavista, Virginia manufactures fifteen hundred cedar chests a day, so when I received a phone call from a good old boy in their design department asking for my "help", I was most interested. He wondered if I could paint several panels that could be reproduced and applied to cedar chests. This design of tumbling water in Panther Creek, Washington sleeping in my files for ten years or so seemed a perfect candidate for just such an experiment. This painting, along with eight more, were showcased at the world's largest furniture market in High Point, North Carolina the following spring. Although my pictured cedar chest ideas were poorly received, I went on to produce many more furniture concepts that never made it to production. My career clearly was not in furniture, but every quarter I still get rich royalty cheques, sometimes topping the twenty dollar mark. My files are choked with sketches, field sketches, half-finished paintings and photos of places that we visit as we travel searching for luscious subjects that demand my attention. I prefer great sweeping subjects dramatically lighted like this one. I crave landscape that creates a stage-like impression. Sometimes I get lucky and find a dynamic subject like this only ten minutes from a main highway, but more often, much longer hikes bring us to a subject much less grand and not nearly as well illuminated. My interest is not in the subject but what light is doing to the subject.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Paint Township, Holmes County, Ohio Paint Township, Holmes County, Ohio People browsing in my gallery often tell me of places that they think deserve to be painted. In the grocery store, at the Duke, at the barbershop, anywhere really, people encourage me to visit their favourite spot. I was pointed to Holmes County, Ohio by a Mennonite friend who had just recently been part of a group from our Mennonite Country who visited other plain people as far south as Kentucky. On her recommendation, I sought out the back areas of Holmes County. As always, if you have the story, there are areas hidden and almost private. A newspaper written for and by horse-and-buggy people of various groups in the U.S. and Canada contained brisk conversation on many topics, including bits on Holmes County. As you can see, I was not steered wrong. This painting in fountain brush and acrylic shows my impression of one of these secret spots with its coloured and trim farm. This area puts me in mind so strongly of Pennsylvania with its crowded Mennonite and Amish neighbourhoods around Lancaster. In Ohio, however, there is room to breathe. When I travel, I describe my paintings to people asking about my work using the movie Witness. Although people across North America are often familiar with Lancaster County's Amish people, outside of this continent, Witness strikes a chord of recognition. Groups of plain people are found in many areas of North America. I was surprised when my Old Order Mennonite friends also directed me to the hill country of Kentucky, directly south of Louisville. We combined that visit to the Mennonites of Kentucky with a visit to the racetrack. How strange to place those two experiences side by side. I think that the only item in common was that, in both cases, horses were involved.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

St. Paul, Minnesota St. Paul, Minnesota On a recent car journey to the Grand Tetons, we passed through St. Paul, Minnesota. Our circuitous route allowed some time in this northern state where we found the people to be friendly and polite. In fact, perhaps Minnesota could be a farm team for people wishing to become Canadians—they were that nice. I was drawn to St. Paul because of the enjoyment I have received from Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion radio show. His graphic depictions of the Lake Wobegon inhabitants are so charming but quirky. Possibly there is a connection between his rather severe Lutheran childhood and my confinement in childhood within the Mennonite Church. At any rate, I had hoped to take in a performance of the radio show that was presented in a theatre less than a block away from the hotel that we had chosen in this city. It was not to be, as summer holidays cheated us of this treat by only one week. I considered painting a sketch of one of the many Snoopy sculptures that studded the downtown area which was the home ground of Charles Schultz, and hence, Snoopy. Just as Buffalo has buffalo statues, the snoopy fibre glass pieces were placed as a fundraiser for charity. Decorations were provided by various groups and local personalities. I decided instead to paint a building-scape. My easel was set up beside a ring road for this prosperous, growing city along with its twin city, Minneapolis. I withstood the gusts of wind augmented by the draughts of transport trucks only because I had tied my easel to a light standard, a trick that I have used many times especially when painting on a ship.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Old Milltown, Keysville, New York Old Milltown, Keysville, New York We just happened upon this once industrial and industrious town in the Finger Lakes district of upper New York State. Driving aimlessly through rugged, non-holiday country, we discovered many prosperous summertime towns. We passed on this journey a restaurant, "The Squat and Gobble", that specialized in turkey dinners. The rest of this region was less bizarre and more charming. Think of Elora, Fergus, or St. Marys in this area, or compare this old mill town to villages in Eastern Ontario like Newburgh. When water-power was essential, these villages straddling a river had much commerce and prestige. As water-power yielded to electricity, the status of these burgs diminished. Strange isn't it how a change in technology can create new geography. New towns grew close to markets and these Norman Rockwell villages withered as their reason to be shrank in importance. The importance of geography was made obvious to me last fall when we travelled north on the Rhone and Soane Rivers in France. The rivers were of course the original roads, and so a river journey takes the traveller right into the heart of many old towns that were once thriving just like Keysville. How many of these settlements are really little more than vacation spots, pretty but unimportant.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Kennebunkport Alley Kennebunkport Alley Behind the false-fronted stores that line the streets of this tourist town, there are fingers of water that poke into the congested backstage neighbourhoods. When the tide is in, many people who work in the shops and restaurants paddle, row or motor their way to work. This uncoordinated armada transports many young people with earrings, bandanas, and colourful creative costumes. George Bush, Sr., as well as the Kennedy clan, is among the rich and famous who maintain homes in the vicinity of this Victorian-style town. Streets are deluged with tourists in the summer, but when cold and snow embrace these all-wood structures of New England, visiting traffic dries to a trickle, so the people working in retail and hospitality migrate to warmer climes. We had the chance to meet a pair of these migratory restaurant gypsies in Key West when they came to look over a rental spot which we were then occupying. They were quite excited by the possibilities of starting a catering endeavour, either in Key West or in New England. They envisioned working just half the year, while lazing about the other half. The source of their funds for this proposed company came from an insurance cheque received because the wife, a pretty, young, fair-haired beauty, had lost part of a finger in a restaurant kitchen accident in a town near Kennebunkport. "I'm not all there," she tittered blondly, holding up her abbreviated digit. I wonder how much of that $75,000 cheque actually made the trip back to New England.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Across From the Plaza Hotel, New York City Across From the Plaza Hotel, New York City I spend most of my year perfectly happy as a resident of a small city, surrounded by countryside that I enjoy and love to paint. However, I am delighted when I have the opportunity to visit a huge city such as New York. The crowds, commotion, and cacophony alert my neurology. I quicken as I view the specialty shops and restaurants, the galleries and theatres. I am vastly entertained by the drama of street vendors, the schleps pushing carts of merchandise through the streets, and the United Nations of people flooding along the sidewalks, flowing around anything or anybody who might be in their path. On my last visit to what residents think of as the centre of the universe, I observed a man deliver a damaging kick to the back door of a car that had cut off a group of pedestrians, followed by "Hey theya, people woking hea". The spot that I painted here joins my regular life to this frantic metropolis time. At the edge of Central Park, that countryside in the city, there is a balance of quiet and chaos. At this spot, even the occasional horse plods by, pulling a carriage of tourists not Mennonites.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Ocean Shore, Florida Ocean Shore, Florida I spent a month on Sanibel Island, Florida and had a chance to join a weekly painting group there. While most of the participants in the weekly plein aire painting sessions were old enough to vote several times, there was an earnestness and eagerness about the group that reminded me of some classes for teenagers that I have led. After the outside painting session, we would retire to the clubhouse where a critique was led by a retired architect. The pearls of wisdom were always very kind, and as far as I could see, utterly useless to these amateur artists whose work was stood up against the wall. On some occasions, I felt like it was the artists who should have been stood up against the wall. Unfortunately after a hot outside session, there was no bar and only lady-like thermoses of lemonade appeared. The painting of mine that joined one Tuesday line-up caused a good deal of consternation, because, as a frail mid-western lady pointed out, "He didn't paint the view." My idea of looking down at the beach rather than looking out at the view did not seem … well, attractive to her. Although a reasonably straight forward rendering of the sand beside my easel, this acrylic does have a somewhat abstract quality.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Hubbard Glacier Hubbard Glacier For over twenty years I have enjoyed many distant cruises to dramatic spots such as Alaska and Argentina. Some of these voyages were short, such as a luxurious adventure we enjoyed on the rivers around New York City and the jungles that line those shores. A much longer journey through the Caribbean passing through the Panama Canal and on to California with stops along the way swallowed eighteen days. On a number of those trips I have simply been a passenger, enjoying the comfort of the ship and affability of my fellow passengers. On other expeditions, I was on board to provide entertainment and a memento for a group of passengers who had purchased their cruise from a particular agent. Either way, I have developed two ways of painting on these holidays. Painting from an open deck, while bracing and enjoyable, does present hazards of weather and wild life. Bugs and birds both can pose problems. Painting from photos that I have taken the previous day, the second technique, allows a less stressful approach since a space near the bar ensures a constant supply of sustenance. In this view of the Hubbard Glacier, I wanted to emphasize several ideas. I was taken by surprise by the iridescent colour of the glacier. The sound of the pieces breaking loose and cracking, known as calving, was also quite a spectacular feature of this tidewater glacier. Just as at Mount Edith Cavell in the Rockies near Jasper, the retreat of the glacier is obvious and disturbing. We were able to get a close view of the Hubbard Glacier from our ship, our travelling home. At one point we feared that we might run into the glacier—we were so close—but of course our Captain was a trifle more knowledgeable than his passengers. Just one question that springs from a number of cruises. Do people not understand the law of cause and effect? If people feed the gulls from the deck of the ship, should they not expect, how should I say this, some fall-out?

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

San Jose Mission San Jose Mission This pretty vestige of Mexico is located just outside of San Antonio, Texas. Missions of this type are sprinkled across Texas and California. Although these adobe brick buildings tell us of the colonial past of Texas, they are really detached from the modern Lone Star State. I find Texas to be an amusing but scary place to visit. Signs in country restaurants that read, "Please check your guns at the Door" or "We do not call 911" or "Insurance by Smith and Wesson", all seem in rhythm with barstools that have saddles for their seats. To be fair, this is a rural Texas approach, not the sort of thing that typifies sophisticated Dallas or Houston. Some years ago, we travelled to Houston to attend an unusual event that involved horses, cattle, paintings and broad accents. The official title was The Bovine, Equine and Turpentine Sale. The auction sale took place in and around the Shamrock Hilton Hotel, sponsored largely by the former Governor of Texas, John Connally. Apparently the Governor, as he was referred to the entire three days, had a financial interest in several Texas art galleries and that accounts for the spectacular coupling of Running horses with Longhorn cattle and paintings which often had as their subject, Running horses and Longhorn cattle. This was during the time when Texas was riding high and the love of the Lone Star State washed over all the attendees like a tidal wave. For three days we were fêted, for a price, on the front lawn and in the ballroom of the hotel. The merchandise was paraded and extolled all in that lazy rolling Texas droll. We rolled through a series of events from an Art Auction warm-up (dress—Semi-formal), to a Baby Doll heifer sale (dress—Smart Casual). The finale was an auction in the Grand Ballroom (dress—Black Tie). Horses and cattle were led through the ballroom and shown on a high, fashion-style ramp. The crowd of three hundred clad in diamonds and designer wear vied for the opportunity to take home prize animals and paintings. Through the whole auction, the Governor acted as a side-man for the auctioneer, explaining the virtues of items as their numbers were called. When the bidding lagged after an enormous meal, Connally suggested to people by name that perhaps they might like to raise the bid on that item. Surprising to me was the affirmative response that he often got. On one occasion, the bidding on a painting stalled around the $20,000 mark. With the presence of an evangelist, Connally's large, silver-haired head swung closer to the microphone. "Nelly," he said to his wife, "I believe if you would bid but $21,000 you could buy a nice paintin'." And she did. For another image of a Mission church, see Cabo San Lucas Church.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Open Gates, Battery Carriage House, Charleston, S.C. Open Gates, Battery Carriage House, Charleston, S.C. We have visited delightful Charleston five or six times. This oceanside city with its large historic district offers solace in the early spring for northerners driving back from Florida. Unwilling to re-enter the land of cold, the traveller is offered a preview of what is to arrive in Ontario, seven weeks later however. Much effort is expended to impress the visitor with the patrician past of this picturesque spot. The historic area is very Junior League. With strong controls on architecture and zoning, this area of forty city blocks contains some of the most refined and beautiful architecture in the United States. A strict division is maintained to arrest the commercial section from spreading into the residential areas where most of the homes date back into the 1700's. The oldest surviving house is dated 1712. Located in the low country of South Carolina, Charleston has a past that is studded with wealthy people who owned rice plantations and also, sadly, many slaves. These rich families built fabulous townhouses on the point of land by the sea that is known as the Battery. Our last time in Charleston we stayed in a bed and breakfast created from one of those elegant homes. The Battery Carriage House Inn uses the former slave quarters for the guest rooms, although much improved and decorated in a southern style. Set in the gardens are many pieces of romantic sculpture. (Garden Fountain, Battery Carriage House, Charleston, S.C.) A wealthy lawyer still occupies the main house with its twelve-foot ceilings and its Adams-style plaster work. Fortunately for us, the great unwashed, The Preservation Society of Charleston Inc. cares for many historic properties and conducts tours that help the tourists understand the long tradition of gentility that is so extolled and guarded here. It is surprising that all this history has survived. After all, Charleston's Fort Sumter was the place where the American Civil War started in 1861. The people of the South still refer to that conflagration as the War of Northern Aggression. It is impossible to visit this elegant dowager town without gasping at the gardens overflowing with flowers, flowering bushes and trees so subtly integrated into the architecture that they seem as one. The Garden Club runs tours that include fifteen elegant gardens, all quite formal, within the historic area. There were of course refreshments but unfortunately I saw no mint juleps. These manicured walled plots reflect a British gardening style from many years ago. Even the intricate iron gates and graceful brickwork have been maintained or restored to support this dreamy style. Further adding to this confection are the basket-makers who sell their wares by the streets where courtly church spires spear the cerulean sky. These streets seem more like a movie set than the functioning city that is Charleston. This city reeks of gentility and that ideal is fostered not just in the architecture but in people's attitude. In 1997, I got to know an artist in Charleston who specializes in paintings of his area, as I do of mine. In his book, John Carroll Doyle, Portrait of a Charleston Artist, he finishes with this statement, "When the gods decided that I was to be an artist, they lovingly placed me in this glorious town of Charleston."

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Wall, South Dakota Wall, South Dakota Badlands National Park in South Dakota is 244,000 square miles of land that is wedged between broad sections of Buffalo Gap National Grassland and the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. This piece of real estate begs for the Sons of the Pioneers' song, "All day I face the barren waste without the taste of water." When we drove through this horizontal oven at 95 degrees, we were able to appreciate its true parched flavour because the air conditioning on our car died. We decided to drive west to have a look at Yellowstone National Park with the idea of dealing with some of those magnificent views in paint. The drive to that renowned park was direct. Using an approach that local geographer, Warren Stauch, calls Shunpiking, we toured back roads and secondary highways, often avoiding the superhighways. We first noticed an unusual number of motorcyclists way back in Wisconsin. Being bike illiterate, we thought how pleasant for these folks to be rolling down the highway, carefree and happy. Often these bikes towed small one- or two-wheeled trailers. Frequently in clutches, these shiny machines seemed at home, appropriate to the large flat plains as we journeyed westward. As the temperature hiked higher, as the motorcycle traffic thickened, we realized that this crowd of Harleys must be part of a great event that had not appeared on our radar screen. In 1805 when Lewis and Clark travelled through these northern plains, they wrote that this Great American Desert was suitable only for buffalo. They had no idea that someday two hundred years later a swarm of bikers might ride past tourist traps like the Corn Palace in Mitchell, the Boston Gardens of the Midwest. This arena, paved with 600,000 ears of corn, hosts over 150 basketball games each year. Not all the leather-clad Bikers for Jesus, Hell on Wheels, Satan's Sons, or New York Cycles avoided this small town in South Dakota. Several hundred stopped, had a gawk and a smoke, and then moved on toward the holy city, Sturgis, the home of the biggest motorcycle rally in all the world. Sturgis, port of entry to the Black Hills, is known as Motorcycle City. During the first week in August this town, founded in 1880 to entertain off-duty soldiers from the U.S. Cavalry at Fort Meade, now hosts a gathering of bikers estimated at 450,000. This noisy event is really quite sedate with only 8 felony drug arrests last year while the wedding total during the week topped 100. By the time we reached Wall, South Dakota, the highway was choked with Harleys and their cousins. These vehicles are pampered and cherished. Mark us gob-smacked when a fellow in our motel took his bike right into his bedroom. Nobody was going to mess with his machine, but this only happened after his wife/girlfriend had finished washing and polishing the by-then gleaming machine.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Bunnies by the Bay Bunnies by the Bay "Bunnies are our best friends, indeed, they do delight and give glad dreams". When I first saw this slogan on a Victorian-style sign outside Grandma's house turned store which is home to Bunnies by the Bay, I thought how incredibly quirky or possibly how soul-saddened. It turns out that possibly both of these responses are right for the two sisters who founded this company. The eccentric fence with its whirligigs made from kitchen utensils and animal cut-outs suggest a care-free, gay, Gypsy-like establishment in this small town of LaConner, Washington. The jello moulds and the wooden spoons incorporated in the exterior décor gave no hint of the tragedy that seeded the growth of this successful stuffed bunny producing company. A calamitous fishing accident in 1983, one of the worst in U.S. commercial fishing history, took their father, uncle and cousin as well as eleven other Anacortes fishermen. A few years later these two young sisters suffered the loss of their brother in another fishing accident. Krystal Kirkpatrick and Suzanne Knutson almost didn't survive those twin blows. When their grief was too much to bear, their grandmother advised them to keep their hands busy. The two started stitching bunnies, inspired by the childhood stories of Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit. At first the sisters sold their handmade creations at craft shows and later at a shop in Anacortes. Soon their bunnies, each with its own personal story and occupation, were presented at Bloomsbury House where Marilyn and I first saw them. We decided as part of our journey south from Vancouver down to Seattle, Washington, we would visit LaConner since a feature in Victoria Magazine made Bunnies by the Bay look too good to be true. Interesting, there was no mention of the tragedy that had sparked this store but rather an upbeat story with photos showing the adorable creatures that the sisters create. Many shots also featured the interior of Grandma's house painted in camouflage drunken stripes of aqua, pink and bone. The demand for these individually crafted creatures which are both expensive to make and to buy pushed the girls almost into bankruptcy. At that point they were discovered by a retired senior manager for a Hong Kong plush-toy manufacturer. Jeanne-Ming Hayes made connection with an Asian manufacturing plant and new vigour was infused into this whimsical operation. Just last Fall, this lapine endeavour was rediscovered. Hallmark Cards took readily to the idea of turning the bunnies' stories into cards and paper. No good commercial idea can go unexploited. To me there is an irony that the quiet coast of Whidbey Island could not keep Jeanne-Ming Hayes quieted. In 1792 Captain George Vancouver extolled the virtues of Whidbey Island. "In the beautiful pastures bordering on an expansive sheet of water, the deer were seen playing about in great numbers. Nature here has provided a well-stocked park." Two centuries later, this fertile refuge is still an idyllic destination. In the harbour in nearby Deception Pass, many old style wooden boats bob in the clear water. On the shores are many more wishing to join their chums but no longer sea-worthy. In the background of the harbour in Deception Pass State Park, old growth timber is still common. These forest giants, a few split by lightning because their height makes them vulnerable, bear little resemblance to any trees that we see here. Only recently on a journey to Vancouver Island did we gawk in awe at similar biggies in Cathedral Grove. On the protected waters of Penn Cove is LaConner, a true artist colony. This village of wooden houses and stores could be the set for a cowboy movie. Long piers extend into the water like fingers of a hand trying to grip the crystal blue liquid. Precisely because this village is off the beaten path, no major commercial improvements have been made. The artists who live there and the many people who attend painting workshops and excursions end up at Bunnies by the Bay and like us, leave with more than just one creature. We bought five, some for gifts and several for us. Not surprising then that a small visitor to our home questioned, "If you don't have any children, why do you have so many toys?"

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Courtyard at Soniat House Courtyard at Soniat House For $15 million U.S., it is possible to buy four quite respectable townhouses in the French Quarter of New Orleans. That is the sum paid by the United States Government to France for the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. That fire sale price did include New Orleans, already a thriving French port at the mouth of the Mississippi River, along with more than 800,000 square miles—basically the land west of the Mississippi over to the Rockies. By that time the Acadians had already been shipped to Louisiana from Grand-Pré, Nova Scotia by the British government. That story based on oral tradition became the epic poem Evangeline with its 1400 verses that assured the fame of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1847. Much was made of this theme by artists stressing the cruelty of this forced emigration and emphasizing the French identity. In Louisiana, the story of Emmeline Labiche imitates the life of Evangeline. After being ripped from her lover, unable to come to grips with this dire situation, she loses her mind and dies under an oak tree that bears her name. It turns out that this plausible, but fictitious, tale was concocted by Judge Felix Voorhies in the early part of the nineteenth century to develop tourism and to promote Cajun pride. There is no record of Edgar Degas dealing with this sad story, but his Creole mother came from a prominent family of cotton brokers in New Orleans. Because she died when he was just 14 years old, he was raised in France, but he did paint a large canvas of his uncle and his brothers in the New Orleans Cotton Exchange during a five-month visit that he made to America in 1873. When we visited this port city we wanted to have a true New Orleans, that is to say, French, experience. Our hotel was in the French Quarter, a luxurious establishment comprised of three Creole townhouses. Two of the houses were built in 1830 by Joseph Soniat, a plantation owner who needed a city house when visiting with his large family. Four years later his son built an even larger house. The three have become one. As you would expect, this hotel is elegant. Entering through a coach-house-style door reminiscent of Paris, the visitor encounters a flagstone inner courtyard with full-sized trees and a fountain. Parisian-influenced metal tables draped in white linen are arranged around this casually grand space. After registering at a Directoire-style desk that accommodated not only a receptionist but also a multi-coloured cat, we were shown to our room on the second floor that was furnished with French antiques purchased, I assume, from one of the many outstanding decorator shops in this area along Royal Street. Perhaps all of these handsome pieces came from the antique furniture shop adjacent to the hotel operated by the hotel's owner. Twelve-foot ceilings, easily in scale with the furnishings, gave a Southern tone. A white manteled brick fireplace anchored this large living room that had a generous bed alcove off to one side. A cat also came with the room which delighted us. It was clear as the moggy casually strolled in from the open courtyard window that we were only temporarily sharing its room. My bride, as I have mentioned previously, is a person who takes her food seriously and in this city there is no shortage of restaurant opportunities. Creole food cooked in sauce containing tomatoes, peppers and onions gives your taste buds a wake-up call. We certainly needed some excitement after waiting for almost an hour outside in an alley to finally get a table at Paul Prudhomme's restaurant. This Michelin-man-sized chef has created a mystique in America, and every small town visitor seemed to want to try what their eyes had only sampled in magazine articles and television programs such as NBC's Today show. Frankly we were more impressed with many of the other meals that we enjoyed in this cuisine capital, but obviously bombast in this restaurant market is as necessary as chillies. Although there are patrons enough to go around, it is clear that the not entirely friendly competition among this city's chefs is as fiery as a Louisiana gumbo. Perhaps these culinary stars should settle things the way that New Orleans doctors did in the 19th century—resolving professional disputes by repairing to the Dueling Oaks, now a part of a city park.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Glacier and Mountains Glacier and Mountains It is a long stretch between Sir Elton John and a cruise ship, but ice is common to both. Let me explain. It is ironic that after seeing ice chunks calving from the main glacier in Glacier Bay, Alaska, we returned inside for an ice carving exhibition. Chips of ice whiz through the air as the small, brown-skinned man crushes the giant chisel into the block of ice. Working as any good sculptor would, he shapes the large volumes. Bit by chip he refines the more intricate pieces, changing as he goes to ever smaller chisels or knives. Head down with intense concentration, this kitchen specialist releases a swan or porpoise from the clear ice block. An hour later the sculpture is complete. After wowing the crowd, he bows to the spectators and in no time he and a few helpers clear away all the tools, debris, table and finished project. This wizard shaping the block of ice puts me in mind of a personal connection that I have to the ice forming operation. Several years ago, I met a man who lived in Grand Bend whose business was ice. He worked insane hours to carve ice sculptures for weddings, anniversaries and company events. Although this fellow was a customer of mine, I really got to know him because my good friend, Ed, helped him to create swans and other creatures, not out of ice but out of clear plastic. Once created and sprayed with water, these animals glistened exactly like an ice sculpture that had only just started to melt. These pieces could be reused and of course were cheaper. They were however not ice sculpture and the market, it would seem, demands real ice. Julian Bayley, my acquaintance from Lake Huron, has an ice plant in Hensall, Ontario. He was determined to solve the problem of real ice sculpture. After all, there is a $150 million world-wide market for ice sculpture. For a celebrity blow-out like Elton John's annual White Tie and Tiara charity gala at his mansion near Windsor Castle, extraordinary touches like ice sculptures are necessary. This June 450 guests nibbled on caviar hors d'oeuvres served on ice trays. Julian through his business, Ice Culture, supplied those dishes. The trays cut by hand would demand an hour's work by a skilled craftsman. Using computer-aided machinery, Julian's staff made 12 of these identical three-part dishes out of one slab of ice in 30 minutes. They wholesale for a mere $7.00 a piece. Shipping his creations packed in dry ice as far as Australia is producing a very comfortable living for this British-born, former advertising man. Much of his work of course is destined for the U.S. Techniques for ice making have been developed step by step. Pour water into a mould and freeze it, and the result will be semi-opaque, not suitable for a sparkling diamond clean work of art. To start, he freezes water from the bottom up, forcing bubbles and impurities to the surface. Walking through his plant, I was staggered by the size not only of the freezers with their precise temperature controls but also by the routers that can produce a company logo in 20 minutes. That same item used to take over three hours to be cut by hand. Twenty-seven people man this 32,000 square foot refrigerated warehouse, producing specialty items for Ketel One vodka, BMW and many other corporations that have found one of his adverts in the Yellow Pages. Julian also gives away many pieces as a way of spreading the word. Ottawa's Winterlude festival, a recipient of Julian's generosity, in turn generated a number of high level referrals. All this high tech manufacturing with its computer-guided routers and lathes is a long way from the pastry chef on your favourite cruise ship, but I guess there is room for both.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Charleston Flower Cascade Charleston Flower Cascade Eat country cooking and live to be 112. Meatloaf, fried pork chops, pecan whiting and grilled cheese are staples of Jestine's Kitchen menu in Charleston, South Carolina. There are no heart smart symbols on this menu. The restaurant had been recommended to us by an artist friend who occupied a studio just around the corner. As a native of Charleston, he knows the best places to eat in the Low Country, and this modest street-side gathering place was at the top of his list. The tiny restaurant, squeezed between a dry cleaners and a real estate office, is an example of ordinary daily life in a city renowned for elegance and highbrow living. Charleston started as a seaside town for wealthy plantation families who craved the sea breeze after the heat of their plantations. The historic part of this city prides itself on its reserve and high real estate prices. The current citizens are, they believe, the preservers of the privileged lifestyle of southern gentry. I find it somewhat ironic that Jestine's Kitchen, totally devoid of elegance, should continue to hold the affection of these upmarket people. Folks line up along Meeting Street awaiting their turn to occupy wooden chairs that look like they had a former life in a none too successful office. The restaurant, which seats only forty-two, has walls decorated with cookie moulds, egg beaters and baking pans. This space suggests grandma's kitchen. Tuscan red walls combine with jazz music to add warmth to an already friendly place. Newcomers acknowledge friends who have earlier found a table. There is a low level beehive buzz of gossip that is just audible above the jazz and the clinking of plates. The crowd is racially and socially mixed. Several Rasta men occupy a corner table next to an elegantly turned out grandmother and her children. The young women serving are cheerful and relaxed as befits an institution that is sure of the affection of its patron. This social cuisinart was named in honour of Jestine Matthews who was born in the Low Country in 1885 and lived to be 112 years old. Her mother was a Native American and her father was the son of a freed slave who farmed land on the Rosebank Plantation on Wadmalaw Island. She said she did not know where she was born, but when she first became aware, that is where she was living. Soon after the turn of the century, Jestine moved to Charleston where she found work first as a laundress and later as a housekeeper. In 1928 she went to work for Aleck Ellison and his wife who were expecting their first baby. It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship between the Ellison family and Jestine. The present owner, Dana Berlin, the daughter of the only child of the Ellisons, sat down at our table and spilled southern warmth all over us. She is a pretty forty-something woman who manages the restaurant like she was putting on a party of friends. The food was satisfying and highly flavoured. Oysters, okra and crab cakes were not specialties that my grandmother produced in her farm kitchen, just off Fischer-Hallman Road in Waterloo, but the feel of the kitchen and the good food and caring reminded me of my childhood. True, my Mennonite grandmother didn't have much of a wine list, but fortunately Jestine's Kitchen did. It is said that travel is broadening and anyone who has seen my backside will immediately agree.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.