On the luck of the Rabbit part two

Ste-Cecile

“I knew I should have made that right turn in Albuquerque!” to quote the immortal Rabbit, or in this case Lamecque. Actually, where I went mildly wrong was following the bike path through Lamecque without realizing that it bypassed the junction with Route 113 and instead took me out on Route 313. That road followed at a distance the Western side of Lamecque Island. I had planned on taking it on the way back to Shippagan, but by the time I realized my error, the best option was to keep on going. 

The main reason for doing so was to see the church of Ste-Cecile  in the hamlet of the same name. In 1968, the parish priest got permission to redo the wooden interior of the church which had become very dark brown owning the repeated applications of linseed oil. I wonder to what degree he had informed his superiors and the parish as to his plans. It was painted mostly in pale pastels in rows of alternating irregular ovals of colour. Irregular, as it looks to me the work of an amateur painter, as in one who doesn’t really know how to paint. There is a logic and an aesthetic to the whole, but the individual elements struck me as second rate. It is now described as a notable naïve psychedelic artistic achievement but it struck me as ho-hum.

It is hard to miss the fact that Acadians live on the islands of Lamecque and Miscou. There are plenty of Acadian flags and folk art in the Acadian colours. What is less obvious is how shallow the Acadian roots are. There are a lot of British place names hither and yon. One information plaque said that the Acadian only moved into the area in significant numbers in the early 20th century! In Shippagan, there isn’t a single restaurant that could be called Acadian. 

For that matter, there is a shortage of decent restaurants. I had supper last night in the best place in town, an upscale pizza place. There was seafood on the menu, but I got the sense that the locals didn’t know what to do with seafood. Generally the seafood dishes went along the lines of take a common Italian dish (pizza or pasta) and plunk crab, lobster and shrimp on it. Then charge an arm and a leg.

Lamecque and Miscou are also a bit depressing in what they say about how the mostly Acadians live. It was mile after mile of rural suburban housing. New-built suburban style homes on lots long rural roads with the occasional, unoccupied old house falling into decay. Paved driveways typically held pickups, smaller SUVs or small cars such as Honda Civics. I interpreted this as “the work pickup” and the practical car for errands. Sometimes, there would be a vehicle for recreation such as a muscle car, a camping trailer, a motor home or even a sailboat. There were also the odd forty plus foot fishing boat in storage. (I saw one about to be loaded onto a flatbed trailer.)  Stores were virtually absent outside of the town of Lamecque.

I got the feeling that the locals generally worked in well paying blue-collar jobs in the fisheries, peat extraction or road construction or the in supporting businesses. The “cleverness” of some of them was illustrated to me by a pickup that pulled out a small port evidently supporting the fisheries. At the back of the pickup was a single row of firewood stacked above the top of the bed with the back gate open. One bump and best case scenario there is firewood on the road. Worst case scenario, there is firewood in someone’s windshield.

Yeah, I’m probably showing my upper middle class prejudice here.

The Miscou Lighthouse dates from a little before Confederation. Typically, pre-Confederation, there was bickering between New Brunswick and the Province of Canada over who should pay for it. The lighthouse itself was very nice and there was a lovely café in a reproduction of the lighthouse keeper’s house or store. I forgot which it was. The mosquitos were driving me nuts despite a layer of bug dope. So after a hasty picture taken with a timer, I went into the café for lunch. It is possible to visit the lighthouse, however, it was lunchtime and I didn’t want to wait 45 minutes with the mozzies.

Coming back, the wind was largely in my face. It also began to cloud over to the point I felt a bit cold. I might have put on a long sleeve jersey had I thought about it. However, the mozzies had driven me a bit buggy. They were sometimes biting me through my bike shorts!

I got back to Shippagan where I washed myself and my clothes. After a doze, I found some supper and wrote up this blog entry.