The campground is dark and quiet this Monday evening.  We are exhausted but warm and happy after our last day of exploring Mt. Desert Island and Acadia National Park.  Our northern expedition is drawing to a close, but we will make a two-night stop at Twin Mountain in the New Hampshire White Mountains region and then stay for the weekend at Schenectady before returning to our home and winterizing our motorhome, “Harley,” for the season. 

Today we left the famous Bay of Fundy with its large tides to arrive here near the southernmost point of this province of Canada.  We were last camped near the south end of the Digby Spit, a rocky spine of Basalt that extends southwest from the town of Digby parallel to the main body of Nova Scotia and separated from it by the narrow St. Mary’s Bay. The Whale Cove Campground is situate on the ridge above a break in the rocky shoreline that is Whale Cove. 

Beautiful afternoon in the Scotia Pines Campground.  Anne and I walked over smooth limestone, the beds vertical, at the point of land north of Halifax Harbor this morning watching flocks of migrating sandpipers.  We picked up my sister, Laurie, at the airport at lunch time and brought her home here.  The hurricane is passing by to the east and is providing a stiff breeze, lots of clouds, and very clear air.  We're glad its going because Anne and I are planning to boat with a group into the North Atlantic in search of seabirds tomorrow.  We hope to see Atlantic Puffi

Our motorhome is parked this afternoon at Shady Lane.  Anne, Mary Helen and Mom Woods are out shopping.  Dad is relaxing inside on this rainy day.  Mark Davidson and Frank and Tim left for home with the masses yesterday.  At least here the weather for the weekend was marvelous. 

I am driving at 55 mph and a police car is passing me.  The speed limit is posted at 30 mph, but I am much more worried about horrendous potholes than the cruiser.  We dash out from the Clinton Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn, Elley’s home in the Big Apple, on I-278, the Brooklyn-Queens (or Q-E) Expressway toward the Verazanno Narrows Bridge and the relative suburbia of Staten Island on our way home to PA.  This atherosclerotic vessel is pumping us forward with traffic, taking us from full stops to full acceleration.  I, a provincial, attempt to keep a couple of car

This evening is dank on South Mountain.  Anne is with friends watching the movie, Buck, at a nearby senior center.  I, Chuck, stay home recovering from intense soreness associated with a week of scrubbing and staining our log house and its porches and rails.  The place looks like new and we have not even coated the walls.

Tommy (#71) and the Plattsburgh North Stars, Saturday night, July 9, at the Charles (Tinky) Leigh, Sr. Field at Bleecker Stadium, 721 Clinton Ave., Albany against the Albany Metro Mallers. 

Jim, Mark and Margaret

Our campground, Fort Wilderness, lies near historic Qualla Town at the edge of the Qualla Boundary, the designated lands of the Eastern Branch of Cherokee Indians.  At the top of the hill on this property is a small graveyard, about twenty feet square.  Most of the folk who reside there bore the names Conley and Wallace.  The stones are mostly simple and old.  Small tablets, a couple of narrow meter tall spires, and a few small standard round-top blocks make up the display.  A small square well-etched horizontal stone marks the grave of James and Robert T.