>Car trouble. Prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. Whatever can go wrong may do so at the worst possible time. Could be worse; could be raining. All came true on our last day in Canada.

We had checked out of the cottage, packed the van and the bikes, and hit the road for Yarmouth where we would have lunch, take a few final pictures, and then board the Cat ferry, when it happened. The dreaded “What’s that sudden noise under the car?”

We pulled over to the shoulder for diagnostics. The van’s rear tire on the passenger side was flat. Changing it wasn’t easy; take off the bikes and the rack, find the jack and spare, and use them. Thanks in part to the good weather, all was proceeding smoothly until we lowered the jack and found the spare was flat.

Husband got on the cell phone to call a tow, at the very least. I picked up a bright colored cloth at the side of the road and flagged down a passing car. These people saved us time, headaches, and money. They said, “Grab the spare and hop in.” They took him to a nearby garage, helped him interpret the metric measurements on the air pump, and brought him back to the disabled van. All in all, Amigo and I were waiting less than half an hour. (A half hour in which Amigo retreated to the safety of his headphones and radio and I devoured the one remaining candy bar from our campfire s’mores, washing it down with the last ounces, er, milliliters of my morning coffee.)

We rode gingerly on the spare the rest of the way to Yarmouth, arriving at the Pontiac dealer just before the service center closed. Husband already knew where it was, but that’s another story. The people there were incredibly generous. The mechanic stayed an extra half hour beyond his usual time to put on the replacement tire (ours had a punctured sidewall), and the service center clerk took Amigo and me to McDonald’s so we could get lunch before he melted down. The repair took less than forty mintes, Husband joined us at McD’s, and we still had time to search and photograph the gravesites and memorials for the missing link on his geneology chart.

And yes, we made the Cat Ferry in plenty of time for boarding.

Luck? Yes, some. But most of all, the kindness of strangers made all the difference in the world.

>We arrived in Portland, Maine, on the first leg of our trip, and checked the turn signal that had been clicking at double speed. Sure enough, one bulb in the front signal was out. The others, the main bulbs, were working, so if we couldn’t replace it immediately we’d still be safe. We got a good night’s sleep and boarded the ferry from Portland to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.
While Husband was in Yarmouth looking up his family history, he stopped in at the local Pontiac dealer to inquire about a replacement bulb. He didn’t bring his interpreter or a dictionary.
First, the mechanic on duty said he wasn’t allowed to take apart an assembly like ours because it was very easy to break. Husband asked to buy the replacement part and install it himself, and the worker agreed and led him back to the parts department. The man on duty was new in the job and in the country; he had arrived just months earlier from London — England, not Ontario. Between Husband’s Midwestern twang and the Londoner’s dialect was the Canadian mechanic as translator. The conversation went something like this.
“What part do you need?”
“A bulb.”
Silence. “Oh, a lahmp.”
Time spent looking over the diagram, discerning the proper part, noticing that there were two bulbs: a front-facing white bulb, and a side-facing amber.
“One lahmp or two?”
Silence, while Husband figures out it’s not teatime, but time to purchase one item, be it lump, lahmp, or bulb.
“One, please.”
He bought it, fixed the signal, and came ‘home’ to the cottage for supper.
Little did he know that finding the Pontiac dealer would be essential knowledge later on…stay tuned.

>We landed in Lockeport, Nova Scotia, after a journey by minivan and ferry, to let Husband continue his research on the family history. Lockeport was a conscious choice: the family members in question were Lockes and their direct descendants, the Danes.

The first night, tired and hungry, we settled into a local diner, sampled the local cuisine, and introduced ourselves and our mission. Husband mentioned he would be looking for local cemeteries, among other things, with the aim of getting photographs of his Locke ancestors. “My mother was a Locke,” replied the waitress. She gave him directions to a couple of cemeteries that were so far off the beaten path that he wouldn’t have found them himself and added the name of a woman down the street who might have more stories to tell him.

And that was just the first night!

The next day (Monday) he went to Yarmouth and dug through the archives of the historical society. While he worked, one of the archivists said, “Oh, you might beinterested in this.” This was a booklet, copied in a lovely and legible hand, titled The Dane Book, copied by Eunice Brown, 1788. Oh, my goodness, what a gem! The historical folk allowed him to photocopy the whole thing and photograph the cover. I’ll share a few of the letters copied into the collection later; they’re treasures.

Tuesday we had a touristy morning, exploring the nearby town of Shelburne and walking along the historic Dock St. Small place, loads of history. Great food, too. Coffee from Beandocks, lunch at the Sea Dog, all was well.

Tuesday afternoon Husband went to the town offices of Lockeport to ask about continuing his research. While he was there, the woman working turned to a man who had just come in and said, “Oh, Councilman, I think you can help this man better than I can.” Sure enough, this man not only had the key to the archives, he knew where the pioneer cemetery with the Locke family plot was located. Instead of giving directions, he said, “Give me a lift home and I’ll take you there.”

To make a long story short, he was right. The cemetery was very secluded, and Husband was thrilled to see and photograph the family stones. When Husband called him the next day to make an appointment to see the archives; Councilman said, “How about now?” Wow!

Husband has found so much through hard work, and now he’s having a little bit of good luck to help him along. In My Humble Opinion, he’s earned it. The research part of this trip has gone very, very well.