John Mahoney

Ceilidh kids and more good food

BADDECK, NS | It seems as if every other kid here plays the fiddle. The others play piano. Or are pipers. Or step dance.

Or all of the above. Some of them write their own music. And they do it very well.

We attended another ceilidh last night, right across from our two-bedroom cottage. Another fine evening on the shores of the Bras d'Or Lakes.

Tell me, I ask pretty Beverly MacLean, a 17-year-old high school senior, is it in your genes?

"Yes," says she, "but I don't know if it's this pair or the ones I have at home."

She and Colin Grant, 16, Catherine Watt, 16, and Anita MacDonald, 10, had everyone tapping their toes and clapping loudly at the end of each set.

Nancy MacLean manages the Baddeck Gathering ceilidhs, and does a fine job of putting it all together.

The hall is small and packed with about 100 people, the largest gathering of the season. It was some hot and the fans were whirring softly, but no one seemed to mind. We were the only Quebecers, there were a lot of Americans, and a woman from England and one from New Zealand.

Most of the Yanks were traveling in a caravan of campers. Some were from Montana. They left home in July and will winter in California. Next May they'll head home

Talk about nomads...

These ceilidh kids possess an amazing sense of poise. Anita's father told us how a week ago they were in North Rustico, PEI, and passed a hall where a step dancing contest was about to get underway.

Anita told Dad to stop the car. He did. She went into the hall, registered, and took third place.

Talk about self confidence...you have to love it.

Earlier in the day we drove about half the Cabot Trail -- if you count the drive back home. Which most people wouldn't, but we had to get back for the ceilidh.

(As I started to get in line to secure four seats, another tourista saw me and sprinted to get in line ahead. He spent the next few minutes gnawing at a hangnail on his thumb. He seemed really anxious to hear the music...)

The scenic Margaree Valley is sparsely settled by standards back home. The steep hills are tree covered and softly contoured. Several sections reminded us of Route 105 in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom, between East Charleston and Island Pond.

We took a view break outside of Cheticamp, up in Acadian country. It was warm, the sea breeze was soft, and the sound of the waves breaking on the coastal rocks made for a perfect moment.

Into Tim Horton's for a mediocre coffee and a great maple-dipped donut, then reverse directions.

Dinner at the Lynwood Inn before the ceilidh. Rating: absolutely smashing. The lake trout, seafood chowder ("Excellent," says Judy.), and Nova Scotia's Jost Chablis (dry, slightly fruity) were standouts. So was our waitress, Pat.

The people in the Maritimes have a well-deserved reputation for friendliness. Let me give you an example:

When we checked in at our Inn, I explained my Internet needs to the attractive young woman who helped us. She promptly invited me-the-stranger to use her family's computer two doors down from our cottage.

I took up most of her vacationing husband's morning with a large download-upload job. Gordon Matheson couldn't have been more gracious.

Pat came home from her daily run and made me a cup of hazelnut coffee with Kona beans someone sent her from Hawaii. It turns out she was at Acadia University at the same time as our son Kevin, although their paths didn't cross directly.

I'm heading back up to Chez Matheson a little after 7 a.m. to upload this latest drivel and take a look at Gordon's photographs. When was the last time you asked a stranger into your home at the crack of dawn to use your computer, I ask myself.

Gordon and Pat, if you read this, many thanks for your hospitality and help.

TODAY: Fortress Louisbourg.

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