Trip Report - Part 3

We were invited to Quirpon Island by friends who live there. We hadn't seen them in quite a while. Another friend of theirs whom we hadn't met was also there and had caught the fish they were serving only 3 hours after the fish was in the water.

Quirpon (pronounced Carpoon - I know!) is a small island off the Great Northern Peninsula.

Here is the view from the front door of their house:

And a view of the local lighthouse (also an inn):

The fish was to die, fresh out of the water, lightly battered in that Newfoundland way and served with fresh cut fries and coleslaw like it should be.

Our host had gone through many cancer treatments and had stopped. He's a writer, performer, broadcaster and composer. A massive multi-talented artist. He also paints, photographs and makes documentaries. Their house was full of his work.

Over dinner, he was quiet and then told us his daughter, a doctor, had died in childbirth two years before. There wasn't a dry eye at the table. He mentioned the reason that he had brought it up, even though difficult for him, was we tend to be complacent about modern medicine. Her obgyn had panicked and the birth was traumatic and appalling and his daughter bled to death and the baby died. We moved on to discussing authors and books and writing and art. And I noted he was eating very little, a man of formerly lusty appetites. My observation over the years has been that the death of a child can trigger disease and dementia. I've seen it in my own family along with others.

After dinner, we sat down around the fire (their home was exquisite - two huge windows over the water in their bedroom AND a Japanese style bathtub in the ensuite) and his partner asked him to play. He first of all shook his head. I don't believe in wheedling anyone so we resumed conversation and then he picked up one of his guitars.

And I'm telling you, my eyes are flooding with tears as I write this, as it was a magical ending to the day. His songs were beautiful and personal and enchanting.

I would link to his YouTube, etc., but I think it best to protect his anonymity due to the heartbreak he has kept so very private.

As we were leaving, his partner, with tears in her eyes whispered to us, "He hasn't played a note in two years. Thank you. Thank you!"