In a place like this, at a time like this, the pictures take themselves. It’s like walking in the woods and finding yourself in a clearing full of roses, already tied up in bouquets and ready for the picking.

I’d forgotten what a comfort the Husky gas station and diner is. It’s the only chain built on that bastion of small hospitality (and therefore of Christendom), the leathery, blunt old waitress with a heart of gold. Countless weary truckers would turn nowhere else to fulfil the sacred rite of breakfast. You may suspect as much when she asks the second patron in a row: “Just the usual, Bob?” But you know it with perfect certainty when she greets you, an obvious out-of-towner, with a cup of coffee and a well worn “Do you need a menu this morning, sir?”

I will never know exactly how many hours I stood at the Huron’s transom, watching the Pacific go by, trying to stay awake, and waiting to pitch a lifebuoy after some poor sailor on his way to the bottom. In the end, it’s the old dear herself that’s found her final rest, leaving the lifebuoy and I to meet over a beer in the Lower Deck pub in Halifax. Here’s to her memory.

Last time I visited Peggy’s Cove, I tried, and loved, Solomon Gundy and fish hash with beans and green tomatoes. This time, I discovered blueberry grunt. It may have been invented to disguise a dropped upsidedown cake, by breaking it in pieces and serving it in bowls. But it was certainly named for the noises of animal satisfaction you make as you eat it.

“Well, the first year students don’t drink as much as they used to; just have their heads in their books. I lost a lot of clients when the school year changed over, and it takes a while to build up a clientele. And the competition is STIFF.”

Dear Father,

Bad news: When I set the tenth Sunday after Pentecost as the first day for the Kinkoriites to sing the Propers, I’d forgotten that my boss is expecting me to attend the World Congress on Thyroid Cancer in Toronto. So I probably can’t make it. I am raking south-western Ontario for a replacement cantor for you. Very sorry for the mess.

In Christo,

Ditch

Hilaire Belloc, The Path to Rome

’07 Pear wine – Forbidden Fruit Winery, Cawston (These guys also make a DELICIOUS cherry port, but it costs $30 a half bottle.)

In justice, I really ought to mention Burrowing Owl, the first Oliver winery we visited. Very good reds we couldn’t quite afford, but I neglected to take notes, so I forget which ones we tried.

’07 Kerner – Oliver Twist Winery, Oliver

’06 Pinot Noir and ’05 Late Harvest Kerner – Stoneboat Vineyards, Oliver
The Pinot is dark and flavourful, and the Kerner is an ambrosian desert wine, well worth the $20 for half a bottle. For general delectability of range, this winery was the find of the trip.

’07 Pinot Blanc and ’06 Meritage – Lake Breeze, Penticton
There was also an interesting Gewurtztraminer, so spicy it was almost hot, but we had to leave it behind.

’07 Gewurtztraminer – Township 7 Vineyards, Penticton

’06 Pinot Noir – Greata Ranch Vineyards

’06 Cabernet Sauvignon – Mission Hill Family Estate
Mission Hill is B.C.’s foremost winery, perched on a hill with a bell tower that makes it look like an abbey. The von Mandl family’s coat of arms contains a pelican feeding its young with its own blood. I asked the keeper of the guest book if she knew what it meant. She said “Uh, something about altruism…” I set her straight.

’06 Pinot Meunier – Recline Ridge Winery, Tappen

’05 Kerner – Granite Creek Estate Winery, Tappen
This winery and the last are not actually in the Okanagan, but the Shuswap Lake region a bit further north, the distinguishing features of which seem to be extravagant mixes of exotic flavours and a tendency to sweetness. Neither winery is large or widely acclaimed, but both Recline’s reds and Granite’s whites are plenty tasty for me. Granite Creek’s store is in the basement of a log cabin that seems to be the family home, next to a vineyard that backs onto pine forest. A semi-surreal and utterly worthwhile trip down the spur line.

*For my American friends, the Okanagan is Canada’s southern California. Dried up hills covered in sage brush, just waiting for a little irrigation to bloom like Eden. Resort towns, unbearable summer heat, lots of wine and lots of orchards. The most obvious differences are snow in the winter and fewer Mexicans.