I’ve always viewed two things as marks of great achievement in life: a wooden house and a pair of dogs. A good kettle falls under that distinction as well. But I’m a strange girl born and raised by idealists on a farm in Cape Breton, so I’ve always considered my version of achievement a bit unorthodox. Sandy and Maria however, seemed to agree with me.

Their beautiful home and two dogs were the main stage of our next show: a house concert in Peterborough. I admit I don’t remember seeing a good kettle, but I do remember sipping hot water and whiskey while I sang (to calm the throat and cool the nerves, of course) so there must have been a kettle somewhere nearby.

A clamour of bright young things crowded in. They watched me sing with the kind of inquisitiveness only very young, very smart people do. I gave what I could and I felt it went well. It turns out they were mostly students in the local sustainable forestry program. I guess I should have told them my dad was a silvaculture worker and my living room was a second home to teams of tree planters for part of the season each year when I was growing up. Instead I just sang them fiction.

I placed my typewriter on the end of the kitchen counter and waited for the first brave entry. It came from a slight girl. Others followed and soon the page was mostly full. A boy in a wheelchair took the typewriter into his lap and typed for a long time.

Second set was soon over, the night aged, my wine glass empty, and I was dancing to disco in the middle of the living room with a stranger. Typical.

My typewriter, guitar, and keys, stayed the night. Kim and I snuck away from the dance party and eagerly to beds a few blocks away. I retrieved my gear and typewriter the next morning and started a long drive west to London, Ontario.

"Waywords" is supported by the Nova Scotia Department of Culture & Heritage