A Christmas kitty.

Christmas Kitty
By Jacinta

“Oh, Daddy, please let me keep the kitty,” cried four year old Jessica Wells.

Her father answered firmly, “Pipe down, Jess. You know we can’t afford this kitten.” He drove up to a subdivision entrance and dropped the kitten off, leaving quickly. Trying to get Jess to stop crying, Daddy told her, “See, Jess. Daddy left her in a safe place.”

Jessica cried all the way home. She promised herself she would never be cruel to animals. Jess kept that promise by becoming a vet. She had nightmares for nights after her daddy abandoned the kitten. Jess kept dreaming of the kitten being hungry, or run over by a car. These dreams haunted her throughout her entire life.

Jess’s daddy was so kind in all other ways. So she never understood his cruelty towards the kitten. The incident with the kitten left Jessica with a subconscious fear of abandonment. It affected her relationships, especially with her peers. She always put up a wall, when she found herself feeling close to someone.

Jessica moved to a farming community, becoming the town’s livestock vet. She mostly treated horses, never wanting to be around kittens. Mental images from childhood emerged every time she saw a kitten. Jessica’s business had picked up so much over the years; she needed an assistant.

For some reason, she found something wrong with every applicant. At the end of the first day of interviews, Jessica was mentally fatigued and hungry. She decided to close shop an hour early. Just as Jess approached the door, a man walked in. He was tall and handsome, with coal black hair and gorgeous blue eyes. “Wow!” thought Jessica. “A cowboy if ever I’ve seen one.”

She wasn’t accustomed to feeling attraction, especially not one so strong. Jessica suddenly felt bashful and tongue-tied. The cowboy just grinned sheepishly and told her he had come to apply for the position. Jessica fibbed by telling him the position was filled. He looked really disappointed. Jessica felt badly for lying, but it was too late to back down. They said good night and he left.

The next afternoon, the cowboy was back. He told Jessica, “I thought your position was filled. Then what’s this?” He showed her a note from the front window, “Vet assistant needed. Apply within.” Luckily, the last patient had left and Jessica wouldn’t have to play this scene out in front of anyone.

She looked very uncomfortable, so the handsome applicant told her, “I’ll make this easy on you. You need an assistant and I need a job. I have a little girl to support and the clinic where I worked just went out of business. Give me a try for a month and if I don’t work out, you don’t owe me a penny. Now let’s shake on it and call it a deal.” Jessica shook his hand and he held hers a little longer than was necessary. She felt herself blushing.

That trial month passed quickly. They got acquainted, exchanging names and life stories. Beginning to feel comfortable with her new cowboy friend, Jessica told him of her emotional fear of kittens and of the fear of abandonment that had haunted her all her life. Her cowboy, Owen Tate was easy to talk to. He had been a widow for a year. His wife, Alice had died of cancer, leaving him to take care of their four year old daughter, Caitlin. Owen and Alice had been high school sweethearts and married at 19. They had been married 10 years before his wife’s death. Theirs had been a fairy tale life. Now, life was lonely.

One month slipped into two and soon a year passed. Owen had inherited his childhood farm and Jessica spent many happy hours visiting there with Owen and Caitlin. The farmhouse was a two-story, gingerbread style Victorian. It was beige, with pale yellow shutters and a stained glass door. There was a pond and an acre of farmland. It was such a wonderfully peaceful place.

When Jessica and Owen weren’t working, they were playing with Caitlin. The three of them were inseparable; romping across the farmland like children, fishing in the pond, and picking vegetables from the garden. There was a chicken yard and the three of them gathered eggs. Owen laughed when Jessica fed the chickens and they pecked her feet. He was secretly dropping feed on her shoes. Jessica would scream, until Owen picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the chicken yard. The trio was having such a wonderful life together. Jessica had long ago let down her guard with Owen.

Christmas Eve arrived and the couple accepted an invitation to a neighbor’s party after getting a babysitter for Caitlin. Dancing in the moonlight in the arms of her cowboy, Jessica felt loved and secure for the first time in her life. She knew she had found someone who would never leave her. Owen was someone she could trust for the rest of her life.

Christmas morning there was a knock on the door. On the porch was a basket. Inside was a precious black kitten. A note taped to the basket read, “Please give me a home and marry your crazy old cowboy.” She looked up when she heard someone say, “Well, will you?” Jessica threw herself into her cowboy’s arms and never left them again.

Jacinta is a 60 year old writer, residing in Louisiana with her husband, oldest daughter and puppy named Mimi. She hopes to become a children’s book author and has frequently participated in Bread ‘n Molasses magazine’s 12 Days of Christmas event.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

An angel.

Angel Robe
By Jacinta

“Momma,” yelled five year old Sebrina, as she rushed through the door. “I’m gonna be an angel.” Then she giggled, “I mean an angel, in the Christmas play. Mrs. Kathy chose me. It is the specialist part in the whole play.”

“Most special,” corrected her mother, Audrey. “Do you have to bring your own costume?” she asked her daughter.

“Yes ma’am,” answered Sebrina.

Faye was concerned about the cost. They had been living on a fixed income, since her husband’s death a year ago. Her waitress job didn’t leave room for extras. Sebrina would have a very meager Christmas this year. Faye prayed, asking Jesus to provide a way for her to make the needed costume.

The play was to be presented Christmas Eve night. It was now the beginning of Christmas week. Audrey sure hoped her beloved Jesus would act soon. There was less than a week to finish the angel robe.

Audrey was dragging the tiny artificial Christmas tree and box of ornaments from the attic. Suddenly, she saw her wedding gown inside a plastic garment bag, hanging on a nail in the wall. Her memories called to her.

She was remembering happier times, when she and Jack were newlyweds. They had been high school sweethearts. Audrey was a waitress at the local soda shop. Jack came in one night after a football game with his team mates. He smiled and winked at her across the room. Audrey’s heart had done an instant flip-flop.

Soon, they started dating and were inseparable. They both attended the same college for a year. They quit college to get married. Jack became manager of the local hardware store, where he worked for 10 years. They had bought this little house and lived a happy carefree life, until his death to cancer, last year.

Audrey’s thoughts were interrupted by her daughter’s voice, calling, “Momma, where are you?” Audrey returned to the living room. The pair decorated the tiny tree, drank cocoa and went to bed. Audrey’s sleep was invaded by mental images of her husband. She eventually gave up on sleep and decided to get a cup of cocoa.

As she sipped the hot beverage, an inspiration came to mind. She would make an angel robe from her wedding gown. Tears came to Angie’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks as she thought of having to cut her dress. Her love for her daughter outweighed her personal feelings.

She sewed all night, finishing the angel gown just before awakening Sabrina for school. The morning before the play, Sebrina found the angel robe draped across a kitchen chair. The twinkle in her eyes and the beautiful smile on her face were thanks enough. Audrey had sewn the gown by hand, not owning a sewing machine. She had learned from her mother, a professional seamstress. Her stitches were all uniform and quite tight.

Angel wings were made of cardboard and a halo of bent clothes hanger. Both were spray painted gold. Audrey had found the paint in a clearance bin at the corner store. She only paid a dime for it. Jesus had indeed provided a costume, in answer to Audrey’s prayer.

Christmas Eve arrived. Sebrina was so excited; she hardly ate two bites of supper. At last, hand in hand, the pair walked to school. The play was a great success. Sebrina made a beautiful angel, with her blonde curls and green eyes. Audrey was very proud of her. She felt her husband’s presence, smiling at the loving sacrifice his wife had made. What better angel robe than one made of a sacrificial wedding gown?

Jacinta is a 60 year old writer, residing in Louisiana with her husband, oldest daughter and puppy named Mimi. She hopes to become a children’s book author and has frequently participated in Bread ‘n Molasses magazine’s 12 Days of Christmas event.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

This post was submitted by Mary Achee'.

The Fiddlehead, Atlantic Canada’s International Literary Journal

$1,500 Ralph Gustafson Prize for Poetry
$500 Each for Two Honourable Mentions

Entries must be original and unpublished elsewhere. No simultaneous submissions. Do not put your name and address on your manuscript. Include a cover page that has on it the entry’s title(s), the category your entry goes in (short fiction or poetry), and your name and contact information.

All entries must be submitted by mail. No faxed, digital, or emailed submissions are allowed.

One short-fiction entry is one story (6,000 words maximum).
One poetry entry is up to 3 poems; no more than 100 lines per poem.

Entry Fee: $30 for an entry from Canada and $36 for an international entry. The entry fee includes a one-year subscription to The Fiddlehead.

Multiple entries are allowed; however, each entry must be accompanied by its own cover letter and entry fee.

For further information visit:
www.thefiddlehead.ca
or e-mail us at: fiddlehd@unb.ca

Deadline Postmarked by December 1, 2011

Send entries to:

The Fiddlehead Contest • Campus House
11 Garland Court • UNB PO Box 4400
Fredericton, N.B. • E3B 5A3

Click here for our downloadable/printable registration form.

Registration – $90 – is required to reserve space in the Lynch and Pelley workshops, the MacLeod reading and also covers lunch and Soirée fees. Events with (R) require registration.

Friday May 13
Venue: SUSSEX ARTISTS CO-OP, Tea Room, 12 Maple Ave.

6PM Wine and Cheese Reception (provided by SLICE, Sussex Literary Initiatives and Cultural Events)

7PM WordsSpring opening, Local Writers & BOOK LAUNCHES with readings (line-up to TBA)
Singing Telegram Karen Gallagher, Mary Lea Stafford, Patricia Stout

8PM Highlighting Local Youth Talent
Liam Keith (acoustic guitar); Steven Kryev (reading); Thomas Ans (crooner); Caitlyn Post.
Acts from GLEE VARIETY SHOW
Wine, Cheese, Finger food

Saturday May 14
Venue MASONIC HALL, 482 Main Street (coffee and donuts available)

9AM – 10:30AM WFNB AGM

10:30 Coffee Break

(R) 10:45 – noon – Writers Workshop by Allan Lynch “Monetize Me!”

(R) 12 noon LUNCH BUFFET (during lunch: 15 min Reader’s Theatre – Tammy Morris with Sussex Corner School Children)

(R) 1 – 2:30PM Chad Pelley Fiction & Publishing Workshop

(R) 2:45 – 3:30PM 30-minute reading by Alexander Macleod, followed by Q&A

(R) 3:45 – 4:30PM Discussion with MacLeod, Pelley, and Powning (Beth as moderator)

And (weather/time permitting):

4:30 pm WALKABOUT available with SLICE guides.
Mural Tour – Lorraine Pollock
Trout Creek Walking Tour – Anita Anita Hallyburton
Pub Crawl – Mason Jar, Broadway Café… Bonny Hill

SUPPER – left up to individual choice of restaurant (recommendations to follow)

7PM Literary Awards Soirée w/ Spring Theme, art, decor and flowering plants from Corn Hill Nursery
Venue: LION’S DEN, 58 Willow Court
Honouring of 2 WFNB Members, then a 10-minute reading by Chad Pelley

7:30 – 8:30 : Literary Competition Awards & Brief (5 minute) Readings from winners (suggested $10 donation)
Desserts and Cash Bar
Entertainment: Sarah Hallyburton & Mike Ross –opera
Sussex Choral Society, directed by David Mitchell, accompaniment Karen Gallagher.
“Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” “Blue Skies” “Tell My Ma”; Harp

Sunday, May 15
Venue: Lions Club, 58 Willow Court

10 am – noon OPEN MIC Brunch – Open to public and WFNB ($10 for brunch)

For those wishing to stay overnight, contact WFNB for suggestions regarding hotels, B&Bs, and billeting. We hope to have an announcement soon re. special rates for WFNB members.

Click here for our downloadable/printable registration form.

If you’re having trouble viewing the registration form, write us: wfnb@nb.aibn.com.

For more information about WordsSpring or the Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick visit our website.

Comedy writers of all genres will be eager to grab a pen and some paper during the next Frye Festival. Internationally known comedic writer Randy Pearlstein will be in town to offer a Writing for Comedy Workshop on Saturday April 30 from 12:30 pm to 3:45 pm. The event is part of the workshop series offered by the Frye Festival, Atlantic Canada’s largest literary happening, which will take place from April 25 to May 1 in the Greater Moncton region. Other workshops on the schedule include poetry and fiction, as well as writing workshops for kids.

“No matter what kind of comedy writing you do: fiction, screenplays, stand-up or sketch, this is the workshop for you!” says Dawn Arnold, Chair of the Frye Festival. “Comedy is a booming industry these days and we are happy to announce the support of Enterprise Greater Moncton for this event.” The Writing for Comedy Workshop will take place at the Dieppe Arts and Culture Centre on April 30.

Tickets for the comedy, fiction and poetry workshops are on sale at www.tickets.moncton.ca. Children’s workshops are free and will take place during KidsFest on Saturday, April 30, starting at 10:30 am.

Randy Pearlstein, Writing for Comedy workshop.

Writing for Comedy Workshop with Randy Pearlstein
Toronto native Randy Pearlstein will share numerous storytelling techniques that can be used with almost any form of comedy: screenplay, fiction, stand-up or theatre. Participants will write jokes and scenes together and see how they play when amended to fit your voice and current projects. This workshop is offered in English.

Pearlstein is a professor of film and television at Rutgers University in New Jersey. Currently, Randy lends his voice to Leonard on the animated series Ugly Americans (Comedy Network) and tours with his sketch group New Exc!tement (2010 Montreal Just For Laughs Festival). Other credits include Chappelle’s Show, Onion Sports Network, Michael and Michael Have Issues and co-writing the film Cabin Fever. Tickets for this event are $50 ($45 for PWAC members).

Fiction and Poetry Workshops
All poets (published and closet!) are invited to get creative with a poetry workshop with award-winning writer Tammy Armstrong. Her work has appeared in literary magazines and anthologies in Canada, US, Europe, the UK and Algeria. She has published two novels and four poetry collections. Her newest poetry collection is The Scare in the Crow from Goose Lane Editions. She currently lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick. Tammy’s poetry workshop will be held on Thursday, April 28, from 10 am to 12 pm at the Moncton public Library. This workshop is offered in English.

On Friday, April 29, join author Hélène Dorion for a creative writing workshop in French at the Moncton Public Library. Born in Québec City, Dorion has published over 20 books of poetry, stories and essays. Her work has been widely translated and published in 15 countries, and garnered a number of honours and prestigious literary awards in Québec and abroad. The 90-minute workshop starts at 10:30 am. (This workshop will be in French.)

On Saturday April 30, join Mark Anthony Jarman for a fiction writing workshop from 10 am to 12 pm at the Riverview Public Library. Jarman is the author of 19 Knives, My White Planet, New Orleans Is Sinking, Dancing Nightly in the Tavern and the travel book Ireland’s Eye. His novel, Salvage King Ya!, is on Amazon.ca’s list of 50 Essential Canadian Books and is the number one book on Amazon’s list of best hockey fiction. Jarman teaches at the University of New Brunswick where he is fiction editor of The Fiddlehead.

For the kids
The Frye Festival always offers writing workshops for youngsters during KidsFest (Saturday, April 30, from 9:30 am to 12 pm). Children writer Helaine Becker will lead a workshop targeted to kids 10 to 12 years old in English, while storyteller Christine Adjahi will present a writing workshop for children aged 8 to 12 in French. Both workshops will be held at the Moncton Public Library. There is no need to register and both workshops are free!

Tickets
Tickets for all adult workshops are on sale at www.tickets.moncton.ca at the cost of $10 each, except for Randy Pearlstein’s Writing for Comedy Workshop, which is $50 ($45 for PWAC members).

For more information regarding the 12th edition of the Frye Festival and its program, visit www.frye.ca.

Poems, stories, and essays are welcome, in English or in French. Stories and essays should be 4,000 words maximum.

Contributions do not necessarily have to be directly influenced or shaped by Frye’s thought, as long as they are submitted in honour of Frye on his 100th birthday.

A section of the journal will also be devoted to Memories of Frye, from former students, colleagues, and friends. Please submit in the range of 1,000 words or less.

This special edition will be launched in Moncton at the Frye Fest, April 24, 2012, with readings by some of the contributors.

Ellipse, under the direction of Jo-Anne Elder, is a journal that focuses on Canadian Writing in Translation / textes littéraires canadiens en traduction. Some of the selected pieces will be translated for this special edition.

Co-Editors for this special issue will be Ed Lemond and Suzanne Cyr, Co-Chairs of the program committee for the Frye Festival.

Deadline for submissions is September 15, 2011. E-mail submissions are preferred. Please send submissions to ellipsefrye@gmail.com

By regular mail send to:

revue ellipse mag
180 Liverpool Street
Fredericton, NB E3B 4V5

The competition is open to New Brunswick writers, both amateur and professional, and all members of WFNB. Submissions must be postmarked no later than February 28 and will be judged blind by professional out-of-province authors.

The results of the 2011 competition will be announced at WordsSpring, WFNB’s annual gathering and AGM. This year’s event will be held in Sussex, May 13-15. Winners will be invited to attend and read from their work. In addition to receiving a cash prize and provincial recognition, the competition has been a springboard for previous winners who have gone on to publish their work in magazines and with major publishing houses.

The competition’s major awards are The Richards Prize for a collection of short stories, a short novel or a substantial portion of a longer novel, and named in honour of highly acclaimed New Brunswick author David Adams Richards and The Alfred G. Bailey prize for poetry manuscripts. The Sheree Fitch Prize for Fiction, named for the sponsor of this award, is open to youth, ages 14 to 18 years.

For more information on the competition, including genres, entry fees, word limits and other rules, visit the WFNB site at www.wfnb.ca.

Miss Bessie Mae and the Christmas Biker

Ninety-year-old Bessie Mae Davenport decided to head to Helen, Georgia on Christmas Eve. She wanted to get a Christmas present for her pastor.

She put a red sweater and Santa’s hat on Roscoe. He jumped into her 1970 Grand Marquis and yelp, yelp, yelped.

Miss Bessie shuffled to the car. “Hang on!” she scolded. “I’m not a spring puppy,” she said with a chuckle and tickled the beagle’s chin. He licked her hand.

She started the old Mercury and let out the clutch. It bucked like a Bronco and Roscoe pitched across the front seat. Miss Bessie grabbed him before he tumbled on the floor.

“Sorry, boy. This old car’s like me, creaking with arthritis. How about going to Helen? There’s a neat gift shop and I want to get Preacher Ashley a Christmas present.”

Roscoe barked and thumped his tail. His black eyes sparkled as he watched snow twirl and splash on the windshield.

“Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas,” said Miss Bessie, “but we’ll make it home before it lies.”

As Miss Bessie chugged up the mountain, people tooted their horns and passed her like a rocket.

“My goodness, Roscoe. I didn’t know so many folks knew us,” said Miss Bessie and waved at the passing motorists. She reached the top of the mountain just as the engine coughed and sputtered. Fortunately, she pulled off the pavement before the car stalled.

Miss Bessie crawled out and lifted the hood. Smoke boiled out. Roscoe howled and darted back into the car.

“Oh, my goodness! This is not a good Christmas present, Roscoe. We’ll just wait in the car until someone helps us. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

Roscoe climbed into Miss Bessie’s lap and she stroked his ears. A big Mac truck soon roared up the mountain. Miss Bessie rolled down her window, waved and shouted. The driver blew his horn and zipped by.

Traffic just flew past Miss Bessie. Sleet tapped her car and snow covered the road. Miss Bessie prayed someone would stop and help. It was getting dark. Her heart thumped when a motorcycle roared to a stop.

A young man jumped off the Honda. He was wearing red trousers and a red coat, wind whipped his black hair. He peered into her car and asked, “Do you need help, lady?”

“Yeah,” Miss Bessie said with a squeaky voice.

“Slide over and I’ll see if I can start your car.”

Miss Bessie trembled. What if he kidnapped her? She stared at the man with the long black beard. He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled. He looked like a nice young man. He tried to start the car, but it just growled. He looked under the hood, beat on some parts, jiggled some wires, but the old car was dead.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to go to the gift shop in Helen.”

“You better forget that. The snow’s too deep. I’ll take you home.”

The young man helped Miss Bessie on his Honda. She clung to him as they roared across the mountain to Hayesville, North Carolina. Roscoe whined and curled up in the man’s backpack.

They slipped and slid on the slippery pavement, but finally made it to Miss Bessie’s house. Her Christmas lights sparkled on the new fallen snow. She invited the man into her house for hot apple cider and gingerbread cookies. When the clock stuck midnight, he wished Miss Bessie and Roscoe a merry Christmas and rushed out the door.

“My goodness, Roscoe. I forgot to ask that nice man his name.”

She noticed a wallet on the floor. “That young man dropped his billfold. We’ve got to catch him.”  Just as she opened the door, he roared away on his motorcycle.

“Well, maybe I can mail the wallet to him.” Miss Bessie took out his driver’s license and read, “Santa Claus, Junior. Address:  The North Pole.”

Brenda Kay Ledford is listed with “A Directory of American Poets and Fiction Writers”. Her work has appeared in Country Extra, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Journal of KY Studies, Grit, and other journals. She received the Paul Green Award from NC Society of Historians for her three poetry chapbooks. Brenda is a member of NC Writers’ Network and NC Poetry Society. She’s former editor of Tri County Communicator, a publication of Tri-County Community College, and she’s a retired educator.

Non Fiction, Judged by Jon Tattrie

1st – “The Pentecostalist Wedding,” Noeline Bridge, Moncton, NB
2nd – “A Deaf Sense of Smell,” Jessie Carson, Almonte, ON
3rd – “Les Pierres de Paris,” Elaine Amyot, Dieppe, NB

“The Pentecostal Wedding is a great, high-energy story that captures the wedding better than any video camera ever could. It starts in a whirlwind of activity and keeps up the manic pace right to the end, giving a feel for an emotionally and physically stormy, wild day. The wedding guests come across as giddy, almost crazed, and you can feel the narrator being pulled back into that world, but resisting.”

Individual Poem, Judged by Shoshanna Wingate

1st – “The Carnage” Nancy King Schofield, Grand Barachois, NB
2nd – “Crow Impressions” Edith Miller, Fredericton, NB
3rd – “Upon Leaving the Branch,” Debbie Okun Hill, Camlachie, ON

“[The Carnage] slips between a storyteller’s distance and a witnesses’ remembrance. It gains its strength from the marriage of the two. And yet “Carnage” also weaves in language reminiscent of our favorite myths, and so the story is given a dreamlike quality, a rhythm that suggests we are allowed, even expected, to hang our realist’s hat on the hook at the door and are welcomed in to sit at the fire and listen to a strange tale about ourselves.”

Short Fiction, Judged by Steven Mayoff

1st – “The Weaver,” Roger Moore, Island View, NB
2nd – “Incomplete,” Chuck Lovatt, Carroll, MB
3rd – “Puzzles,” Paul Healey, Rothesay, NB
HM- “The Pellet Gun,” Paul Healey, Rothesay, NB

“In [The Weaver] the cultural and economic divisions between a tourist and an aboriginal weaver are bridged through the weaver’s craft. The author employs concise and evocative prose that seems in itself to unfold like a tapestry. A skillful balance between poetic imagery and political reality keeps the reader engaged at all times.”

Writing for Children, Judged by Noreen Smiley

1st – “The Afterthoughts at Christmastime,” Paul Rowe, St. John’s, NL
2nd – “Skink on the Brink,” Lisa Dalrymple, Fergus, ON
3rd – “Rosella’s Messy Room,” Judy Stoddart, Winnipeg, MB
HM – “The Promise,” Wendy Kitts, Moncton, NB
HM – “Trixie, Who is Wonderful,” Harriet Zaidman, Winnipeg, MB
HM – “K.C. The Super Sleuth: The Cat that Swallowed the Canary,”
Kelly Trevors Picard, Quispamsis, NB

“[The Afterthoughts at Chistmastime] is steeped in nostalgia, embracing the reader like a warm familiar blanket. A fine attention to detail captures a time and place when life was more innocent and when sledding in the dark was full of magic. The writer deftly offers up one strong image after another, slowly building a picture of this loving and slightly eccentric family and managing to pull off a satisfying and quite perfect ending.”

David Adams Richards Prize, Judged by JoAnne Soper-Cook

Winner – “The Meaning of Children,” Beverly Akerman, Montreal, QC
HM – “The Burning Bush and Other Stories,” Laura M. Robinson, Kingston, ON
HM – “Black Ice,” Noeline Bridge, Moncton, NB

“The author [of The Meaning of Children] shows a keen, incisive vision into the hidden world of children as well as intimate knowledge of the secret spaces that exist between the everyday events of life. There is knowledge here, knowledge of those important, life defining moments of puberty, the birth of a sibling, an encounter with a possibly dangerous stranger. Overall, a work with a brilliant sense of story.”

Alfred G. Bailey Prize, Judged by Mark Callanan

Winner – “The Wailing Machines,” Rob Taylor, Vancouver BC

“The poems here, whether celebrating small moments of tenderness and intimacy, or contemplating the horrors humanity so often visits upon its own, seem to answer the question posed by Mary Oliver in an epigraph that adorns the first section of this book: “how to love this world.” The answer is to find the primal, animal energy that animates our race, and to reflect back to us that energy so that we can more clearly see ourselves, in all our beauty and in all our ugliness.”

by Kellie Underhill

Part 1 Part 5 Part 9
Part 2 Part 6 Part 10
Part 3 Part 7
Part 4 Part 8

A Peaceful Easy Feeling
Normally, Sammy would have thrown himself into the throng, but after so many days of being on the go he just wanted to relax. He needed to get off Main Street and find a quiet place by the river to collect his thoughts. He walked back to the bridge, went down to the river, jumped in and started to swim. The water always felt so good on his skin. He swam upstream, saw some cabins by the water and decided to have a closer look. There were a quite a few cottages, some larger than others. They were spread out for privacy and surrounded by grass and trees. It was beautiful, so peaceful and relaxing. A dirt road meandered from cottage to cottage and Sammy followed it until he came to a big cottage marked Office. He stepped onto the front porch just as the door opened and a woman rushed out.

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “Are you waiting for me?” She taped a sign to the window that read, “O’Donnell’s Cottages & Expeditions, Back in an hour” and without waiting for Sammy to respond she continued, “Come on, come on, we’re late! They’ll all be getting antsy down by the boats.” He followed the speedy little woman to the shore where a group of people were waiting by some bright coloured canoes.

“Now, on to the fiddleheads!” the woman exclaimed and everyone started climbing into the canoes. “C’mon,” she nudged Sammy. “Get in, you can come with me.”

“Fiddlehead Fiesta!” a little girl yelled and they took to the river. Sammy’s boat, with the woman navigating, led the others to various places where they pulled onto shore and picked ferns called fiddleheads. Sammy found the rocking of the canoe soothing. There was something about the river that helped him relax. When they returned, the group looked forward to learning how to prepare, preserve and cook the fiddleheads in a variety of different ways including in soup and omelettes. Sammy couldn’t wait to eat. After learning how to prepare the delicacy for dinner, they gathered around a big table in a conference room to await the meal. The plates starting coming and people were oohing and aahing over the dishes, but Sammy’s stomach churned with disgust. Something smelled fishy and he didn’t like it. When his plate was set in front of him he recoiled as if stung by a bee. He couldn’t help himself. The sight of the pink flesh on the plate turned his stomach. He quickly excused himself and fled the building.

The Chase Continues

He ran down the steps, onto the dirt road, out toward the river and smack dab into another group of people. These people hadn’t been gathering fiddleheads. They carried rods and nets and wore vests, hats and rubber boots that came all the way up to their chests. They gave him that knowing look he’d seen before and as he made a mad dash for the river, they followed.

“Look at the size of him!”

“Think he’s legal?”

“I’ve got a tape, we’ll soon see.”

“Get him boys!” He heard the tape measure being pulled out and dove for the water. His belly scraped the bottom and he pushed off swimming as far and as fast as he could. He swam some way before he felt comfortable enough to look back and see if they were still there. He breathed a huge sigh of relief; he was alone. Obviously all these men knew who he was, and they weren’t about to let him in on the secret anytime soon. They probably knew where he needed to go too, and they really didn’t want him to get there. The trip had taken a dangerous turn and Sammy needed a plan. When he thought he was far enough away he got out of the water and headed off through the woods to find the highway, a new town, a safe place to rest.

One-Stop Shopping

He came onto the road at a place called McCloskey’s General Store. Surely they’ll have something to nibble Sammy thought as he entered. Once inside he discovered a few aisles at the back devoted to nothing but groceries, there was even a meat counter. The store was amazing! One-stop shopping like he had not seen anywhere else. The shelves were stocked with everything from china, glassware, toasters and tea kettles to luggage, watches, porcelain dolls and dart supplies. Everywhere he looked there was something different and unique. Plush toys, tea towels, bolts of fabric, stereos, curtain rods, hand saws, socks, belts, bird seed, hunting gear, camping supplies, ice skates—it was a treasure trove! Downstairs he found several bins and racks of shoes and clothing. He had an idea. He picked out some green workpants, a red and black checked snap shirt, a pair of tan coloured work boots, and a black ball cap with a truck logo on the front. Slipping off to a dark corner he clothed himself and then found a mirror. Yes, this was much better! Now he would blend in. As he walked around the store deciding what he’d like to eat, he noticed another counter. This one had rods, reels, nets, waders, fly hooks, and a few men gathering supplies. He could smell the river off them. One of them looked his way and nodded. “Great day to be on the river,” he said.

“G’day,” Sammy said nodding like he’d seen other people do.

“Yep, great day for her!” The men returned to their shopping without giving Sammy another glance. His disguise worked! He gathered his supplies, exited the store and started walking. Before too long he came to a wooden building with a sign that said Central New Brunswick Woodmen’s Museum. Remembering the insightful afternoon he’d spent at the Tabusintac Library, Sammy decided to visit this museum also and look for clues or information. It seemed like he was getting closer to figuring out who he was. The further he travelled, the more people seemed to recognize him.

Encountering a Ghost

Inside was quiet, he couldn’t see anybody around. He browsed the gift shop’s wide selection of local books and music, wood crafts, quilts, t-shirts, souvenirs and more. He studied the many paintings and prints. He was looking at the head of a deer mounted on a wall when a woman shrieked behind him.

“Oh my goodness!” she screamed. “It’s the ghost of Peter Emberley!”

Sammy jumped and looked around wildly. “Where?!” he yelled. “Where?!”

The woman giggled and raised her palm over her chest. “My soul,” she said. “You scared me near to death! I thought you were the ghost of Peter Emberley.”

Sammy chuckled, “You gave me quite a fright too.”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” the woman continued.

“Sorry,” Sammy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Who is Peter Emberley?”

“It’s a long story,” the woman said. “There have been songs written about him. He was a young man from PEI who came to the logging camps of Miramichi and was killed when a log rolled on him.”

“That’s terrible,” Sammy said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You can learn a lot more about him and all kinds of other woodmen’s stories if you take a walk around and look at all the displays. If I can help you in anyway just let me know.”

Sammy nodded. The woman’s voice sounded familiar. It’s funny, he thought, all the women on this journey have sounded the same. They all sound like Rachel. And Sammy peered more closely at this woman’s face as she backed away and started to go. She had the same big eyes. It was very curious. Suddenly he felt weak in his stomach and he fell back on a handmade wooden bench. “Excuse me,” he said. “I do seem to need some help.” The woman came over. “What can I do for you?” she asked with concern.

“I haven’t slept in awhile. I wondered if there were any motels or cottages or anything close by.”

“The Red Pines Park is just across the road, you could tent there.”

“I don’t have a tent,” Sammy said as the room tilted. “Can I just sleep outside?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll rig you up.” The woman called some of the regular campers to help Sammy across the road and set him up in a place to rest. She even loaned him a sleeping bag. He was so drowsy he had a vague recollection of many hands carrying him, but nothing more.

The Sky is Falling

When he woke it was late and the moon was high. He felt a lot better as he lay snugly in the warm sleeping bag. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight,” he recited. “Please help me get home,” he whispered. He lay there studying the moon, turning the journey over in his mind. He didn’t know where to go from here. He didn’t know what was next. He’d met so many people, many who had helped him and some who hadn’t. Even as he thought it, he heard Joe’s voice in his mind, follow the lights. He had followed lights but still hadn’t found his way. As he lay there deep in thought, a star streaked across the sky like a fireball, and then another, and another. Sammy had never seen anything like it. The sky was falling. All the stars were shooting this way and that. It took his breath, his own private light show was happening in the sky.

Lights! He sat up suddenly. The sky was full of them! This had to be it. Sammy leapt to his feet. He ran until he found the river and then he jumped in and started swimming. He swam over rapids and around islands, against a strong current. He swam toward the moon, following the meteor shower. He swam close to the surface with his eyes trained on the sky. He didn’t see the big rock until it was too late. He smacked into the side of the boulder and the last thing he saw was shooting stars on the inside of his eyelids as he passed out.

Awake in a Dream

“Sammy? Sammy?” The voice sounded far away, hollow.

“Rachel?” Sammy squeaked.

“He’s waking up!”

“Gladys?” Sammy mumbled. He felt like he was swimming deep, slowly rising to the surface.

“I’m here, Son.” Sammy recognized the voice.

“Papa?” he said as his eyes fluttered open. “Papa, is that you?” The world came into focus and Sammy saw his father hovering over him.

“Oh Sammy! I’ve been so worried!” Papa pulled him into a hug.

“What happened?” Sammy asked but didn’t wait for a response. “Oh, Papa! I had a dream, I was lost and I didn’t know who I was and I couldn’t find you and a lot of really nice people tried to help me and a few tried to catch me and I learned about different cultures and tried different dancing and, and, and—”

“You hit your head in the storm surge,” Papa explained. “You’ve been unconscious for days. Everybody took turns helping to carry you up the Mighty Miramichi River to the headwaters. I was worried you’d never wake up again. If it hadn’t been for Samantha, I don’t know how I would have gotten through this.”

“Samantha,” Sammy said. He remembered his father had arranged everything.

“Yes, she refused to give up on you, been by your side the whole time. She insisted you would come back for her.” Papa stepped aside and Sammy could see a girl. “Rachel?” He squinted. She stepped from the shadows and it was the girl of his dreams! The one he had seen in the ocean with the beautiful bulging eyes and the sparkling skin.

“Sammy, I’d like you to meet Samantha,” Papa said, and the jitterbugs started to dance in Sammy’s stomach.

… The End … (or is it?)