Gros Morne is a national park that is about 1.5 hours drive from our house. It also is a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its unique geology. It is truly a stunning place and it is an amazing thing to live so close to it. It also has several towns in it or next to it, including Woody Point, where Molly White runs her shop Molly Made, which was our destination yesterday.
Did all that stunning natural beauty stop Finn and Lucy from fighting and complaining the whole way up, the entire time we were there, and the whole way back?
Although I wasn't much in the mood to fulfill promises after their shocking display of teenaged behavior, I did stop to pick up some strawberries at a roadside stand on the way home. Sounds romantic, right?
Local farmer sells delicious produce directly to the person who will consume it. It is what everyone is striving for these days, or so it seems. But this isn't Jamie Oliver in Sicily. This is Route 430 between Deer Lake and Wiltondale. This is a farmer with a pack a day habit, a farm stand that smells like it and a voice that sounds like it. This isn't romance. This is just getting by.
Fortunately, the cigarette smell did wash off the berries. They are lovely, aren't they.
My second promise was that we could stop at a craft store in Deer Lake where we have found some treasures in the past. Once we found a little hand turned bowl with a lid that we use as a salt cellar. On the bottom of the bowl, there was a tag put there by the maker whose name is G. Gordon. Forever after, we call our salt cellar G. Gordon Liddy.
But Mr. Liddy or Gordon has never produced another perfect salt cellar like that one. We have looked. Yesterday, however, other treasures awaited us.
This is a child's toy.
His companion. A little sunnier, don't you think?
When I saw them, I pounced. The shop was empty save for the two teenaged girls at the counter who were wearing what looked like prom dresses for reasons that could not be explained. Competition for the goods was not stiff so I probably didn't need to pounce. Anyhoo, before I looked at the price tag, I tried to imagine what my upper price limit would be...it was a tough call. At first glance, I thought the tag said $35. A bit steep for my budget but....clearly these were works of great integrity. A battle raged in my head for a moment as I tried to justify the price, "just one!..it's handmade....think of the time....who made this??...you must have it!..." and on and on in a split second while I blinked and held the tag just a wee bit further away to get a better look at it (it goes like that these days).
Not $35. $3.50
Three fifty!!! Each.
At once wonderful and horrible. Wonderful: these two gentlemen (or whatever they are) were coming home with me. Horrible: how in the world could they charge so little? Someone was being taken advantage of here.
I thought about lecturing the two teenaged girls in the prom dresses about how handwork has value and should be priced accordingly and how it brings everyone down when things are sold for well under their worth. They were already looking at me as if I was totally insane and like they couldn't wait for me to leave so they could update their facebook status: "OMG!!! Crazy tourist lady just bought ugliest items! ROFL! LMAO!".
No. No lecture. I just paid my seven dollars + HST and we headed back for the car, clutching our little men or bears or whatever they are. Despite the complaining, despite the cigarette-smelling strawberries, despite the teenaged girls in prom dresses, all seemed right with the world.