Music is the Rhythm of Life Here

The sun gives a final wink to the day, gently pulling the inky dark shade of night time over the city. The cool November air lays calm upon another average Saturday evening. The house hums with the tapping of a keyboard, the background of an iPod stereo and soft chatter of the dinner question. It is the ebb and flow of life, those moments of contentment in just being.

The intrusion of the doorbell breaks the stupor of the moment. And what begins is another one of those little things that make Nova Scotia just what it is and adds the exclamation mark of living here. The musical moment has arrived. A dear friend with a guitar and a bottle of wine. The phone cranks it's disjared melody and what flows is what flows.

Not an hour later there are two guitars thrumming on knees, the bells come out, a didgeridoo gets dusted off and the laughter and kind teasing commences. Of their own accord the teens in the house come to sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor, which in Nova Scotia might also be called a studio with an oven and sink.

The traditionals are sung, James Taylor, Cat Stevens, some silly made-up ditties. Attempts at the didgeridoo call for laughter and shakes of the head. As always though in Nova Scotia, the songs turn to the rhythm of this province; the Irish and Scottish songs, a smattering of Gaelic and those songs made so well loved by the Rankins; Tell My Ma, Fare Thee Well and on.

Music, old and new, permeates this province. Perhaps it is what carries us through the dark cold February nights? or lifts our heart in the humid heat of August. Undeniably it seeps into ones life here, the talent runs across all communities and the harmonies bring us together no matter where we've been or where we're going.

(Photo Credit: Standing in the Shadows on Flickr)

We Don't Build Big Fences Around Here

Although they do come in handy for hanging clothes to dry in the summer sun, we're not that into fences in Nova Scotia. It might seem like a small thing, but fences can somehow throw barriers in the way of a happy neighbourhood.

This summer we had new neighbours move in behind and slightly up from us. They arrived from Ottawa. A week after moving in, we noticed yellow construction ribbon going around their property. This included the lovely copse of woods that provides a home for moles, voles, mice, raccoons and the odd deer...and of course, a mystical land for the children of the neighbourhood.

The next day the new lady of the house knocked on our door. She wanted permission for a work crew to come through our yard to clear their piece of the back woods. I asked why the ribbon. "For a fence" she stated as if I was somewhat daft (on certain Saturday mornings this may be the case, but not that day.) I asked why a fence. Because that's what they do in Ottawa she replied. Everyone has a fence.

I heard some sounds from the back of the house. I asked her to follow me around the rear of the house. The summer sun was playing through the yards, lawnmowers buzzing, the warm day inviting laziness with open arms. As we came around the back, I said to her "watch for a minute, and listen." She gave me evils with her eyes, parked her fists on her hips, pursed her lips and cocked an ear.

In moments a parade of kids came barreling through the woods, dashing in and out of the backyards of the houses, gales of laughter and peels of squeals, arms and legs akimbo. Her children were among them, their ages from five to twelve. Boys and girls. We parents simply didn't exist in their magical trance.

She looked at me a moment. I said, "Imagine the games your children might miss, behind a fence." And I tried a big smile. She looked at me a moment, then asked if the crew could still come in to clean, after all she said, she didn't want to children to hurt themselves on some of the tree fall.

Later that afternoon the yellow tape came down. No fence has gone up. I think the kids have discovered where the forest fairy's live, where a troll is supposedly hiding and the racoons go in winter...but no castle walls to keep laughter out.

Image: Mahones on flickr