I Always Forget How Beautiful Newfoundland Is

erinsjourney
Part One: St. Johns to Stephenville

As some of you may know, there’s a river that runs by my property. It goes through a circular culvert (or, it was circular until 2 months ago), under the road, and then out past this open field we’ve always called The Meadow. When I was a kid, I used to run through this culvert in my rubber boots, with Mom calling out encouragements from the other end. I tried to do this 18 months ago, and I understood why Mom never ran through it with me; it’s cramped!

Anyways. My point is that last night as I lay in bed, my chest felt like it was that culvert, except it was getting smaller and smaller. Every breath was a push through this shrinking space, and the more I thought about it, the smaller the cavity became.

Yes, I was freaking out. I was singing the first verse of Anastasia‘s “Journey to the Past” over and over again, crying on my mom’s shoulder, and texting one of my best friends trying to explain that my laptop could potentially be squashed by some crazy accident on the ferry ride and that would be terrible. (Thanks for listening, btw.)

My dad calls it The Law of Inertia. You know the one: an object at rest stays at rest, an object in motion stays in motion. Basically this means that that old cliche about the first step being the hardest one is completely accurate. I didn’t want to leave my house this morning. No matter how much I have shook the last couple of days (with excitement, mind you), I decided that it wasn’t worth it and I should just hide in my house for the next 7 weeks.

I got out of the house. I made it onto the highway. And I’m cool now.

Really.

I think Michael is still excited; I’m just tired. I’m running on 4 hours of sleep; I had to pull out my stuffed dog named Spot that I’ve had for literally as long as I can remember in order to sleep that much. I thought that when I woke up at 4, Spot would be hanging off the end of the bed like he used to before I stopped sleeping with him years ago; but no. When I woke up at 2:30 am, I was gripping him as tightly as I had been when I fell asleep. And I lay there for almost an hour, listening to my sister, Jessica, turn in her sleep and breathe, and I thought: How am I supposed to go 7 weeks without hearing this? I won’t be able to sleep properly!

I still don’t know the answer to that one, J. Hopefully you can still sleep without my mutterings.

I always forget how beautiful Newfoundland is. I think I take it for granted – it’s like when someone shows up at your house and tells you how great it is. Uh, no? It’s just my house? I mean, yeah, my bed is pretty great, and I do like the trampoline, but it’s just home. Newfoundland is like that to me. Tourists tell me it’s lovely, and I say, “Uh, I guess? I mean, it’s mostly just gray in the winter, and we lose our power at least 3 times a year, and the fog is kinda awful – but we do get nice falls!”

Newfoundland, you are beautiful. Don’t ever let me say differently. You have trees that come in multiple colours, and hills, and flat lands. Thou art noble.

(I’m writing this in a McDonald’s, so please take all this with a grain of salt.)

Anyways, now that I’ve seen a dead moose (Michael had to point out that a car had a broken windshield; I was focused on the blood on the road), a dead crow, and two dead gulls, I have nothing more to say. We have to catch the ferry tonight, so I’ll let all of you know tomorrow if my freak out was as ridiculous as everyone (not pointing any elbows, but.. ) claims it was.

God bless,
Erin

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