Tag Archives: Maritimes

Lobsta lettering

As you already know, I’m a big fan of francophone lobsters. Well, just down the street from the world’s largest homard is this lobsta joint, complete with excellent French lettering.

Not to be outdone by its Canadian cousin, New England’s got some great lobster neon, as well. In Kittery, Maine, just across the Piscataqua from Portsmouth, NH (home of that other bit of vintage nautical neon), is one of my favorite sea-creature signs. But I have to admit, I took a bit of artistic license with this one: I happen to have an old menu from Warren’s and the design of that thing puts even its own sign to shame. So I replaced certain bits of the sketch with some of my favorite elements from the menu.

(I should get my Artistic License laminated and keep it in my wallet—because I’m not afraid to use it!)

Pink picnic

Well, the pastel picnic tables clashed spectacularly with my lunch this day, but they proved to be the perfect example of why a table setting should include a paintbrush for the first course.

Tagging wall

Who doesn’t love the license plate game? Certainly not the people who own this shed—I think it’s safe to say they win in one fell swoop.

Lurking in doorways

You already know that I have a thing for doors, but I also love sketching through doorways. It’s one thing to compose a scene within the rectangle of a page spread—but it feels like an extra challenge to use the doorway itself to frame a scene within a scene. I find myself doing this sort of thing all the time (scroll down to the second sketch at that link), to the point where I’m always peering through things to see if I can line up an interesting sketch. So if you ever want to come across me sketching somewhere, a good place to start would be to check the nearest doorway.

Black, white and drawn all over

Other times, I do the opposite of what I showed you last time: I skip the color entirely, and focus purely on the line. I wish I could tell you that the reason for it this time was for some lofty, arty purpose…but, uh, no. I skipped the paint this time because I was hungry, and my lunch was getting cold.

(I think I made the right choice. That was a darn fine lunch!)

The last homely house

Now this is a house in its own little world. This tidy little cottage was part of a pair of villages located at the northernmost tip of Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia—which for all intents and purposes made it almost the last little house on the whole continent.

Somehow, though, it didn’t feel lonely. It felt like a refuge—especially considering how many hours of driving it took me to get there that day. You have no idea how badly I wanted to just knock on the door and come in out of the salt air.

Plastered with pumpkins

I can never seem to get enough of this season—I love being surrounded by my favorite color, my favorite weather, my favorite flavors. I’m glad there are places like this this little bakery in Nova Scotia, where you can go have a cup of tea surrounded by reminders of autumn in every direction. Otherwise, I’d probably end up going nuts with the fall decorating at home, and ending up buried alive in decorative gourds.

I probably should have done with it and just go live in a pumpkin patch.

Two-ton tater tot

Oh, the fates were cruel to me this day. I happened to pass through a town that shared my last name, and in that town I stumbled upon a giant fiberglass potato. In front of a potato museum.

Which had closed an hour before.

Now, really. That’s just not fair.

Animal, Vegetable, Polymer

Continuing on the whole fake farm theme, the ones that make me giggle the most are those that don’t try very hard in the ambience department. When my friend Elizabeth and I went to PEI together, our whole trip was centered around our childhood (and adult!) love of Anne of Green Gables. But even we were hesitant to visit Green Gables Heritage Place, because what could it actually offer? There’s no real Green Gables farm—Anne is a fictional character, the 1980s miniseries that everybody knows so well were mostly filmed in Ontario, and even the author’s home is now only a ruined foundation, located on a different site nearby.

Well, I’m sorry to tell you our fears were well-founded. The “Green Gables” house is just a replica farmhouse, filled with random period furniture and staffed with somewhat bored university students in Edwardian garb—all with the aim to give the busloads of cruise ship tourists a misplaced feeling of nostalgia, rather than information about the author or a detailed recreation of anything tangible. If it had been irredeemably hokey (you should have seen our reaction to the Green Gables post office in Cavendish!), we probably would have loved it—instead, we found it vaguely depressing.

Until we got to the barn, that is. The shiny fiberglass Jersey cow gave us a bit of much-needed comic relief—while Rachel Lynde’s imagined voice echoed in our heads.

Reflecting pool

I really should have a bumper sticker that says something like “I brake for tiny fishing villages.” I know I’m not the only one, either. I figured Blue Rocks would be another Peggys Cove in terms of number of fellow tourists—but I was so happy to be mistaken. That morning, at least, it was just me, my sketchbook, and the mirror-like calm of the cove.