Diary of a Bipolar Wandering Woman
June 25, 2025
A Maritimes Morning: Kindness, Kinship, and History
The Maritimes never cease to amaze me. The scenery is storybook perfect, the people are uncommonly hospitable, and the pace of life—the famous “East Coast lifestyle”—is unhurried and easy-going in all the right ways. There’s a gentleness here, a collective wisdom that says: life is too short to race through, so slow down and savour it. Every community here is steeped in the kind of Canadian history that stays with you—the kind that predates Confederation, that’s woven from the arrival of the first settlers, welcomed by the Mi’kmaq, through to today, where, in most places, people still find ways to live and work together.
What we don’t often talk about enough is the deep, living legacy of Black communities in Nova Scotia and the Maritimes. Their stories are integral, not just to this region, but to Canada itself—stories of resilience, leadership, and, so often, of firsts that changed the rules for everyone.
This morning I’m waking up in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, after a night in a beautiful historic Airbnb, reflecting on yesterday’s long and winding day. My daughter and Susan are with me—two generations of strong women on the road, and the conversation and laughter linger even after the coffee is gone.
We left Digby and boarded the Fundy Rose ferry—named for Rose Fortune, who arrived here as a ten-year-old escaping slavery with her family in 1783. Rose would go on to become the first female police officer in North America, ensuring that every man, woman, and child, no matter their colour or origin, could move through Annapolis Royal with safety and dignity. What a legacy, what a way to launch ourselves into New Brunswick, land of so many strong women, including the indomitable Elsie Wayne. Every stop on this trip has connected me to women’s history in a new way.
In Saint John, we met Shelley Snodgrass—VP at Acadia Broadcasting—another powerful, dynamic East Coast leader who you just know will become a lifelong friend. Coffee in a harbour city, a quick tour, and the sense that wherever you go down here, the connections run deep and the stories matter.
Susan had her first “Big Stop” meal at an Irving, and anyone who grew up out here knows that’s a rite of passage. Then across the Confederation Bridge—always a little nerve-wracking for me, but I made it, and the moment we hit Prince Edward Island, the earth turns red and you feel like you’ve crossed into another world. Victoria-by-the-Sea stole our hearts with its little wharf, bright lighthouse, and the softest evening light. And Charlottetown—timeless, historic, and full of its own quiet pride.
But what stands out most about yesterday isn’t just the scenery or the history. It’s the small, profound moments of kinship—like starting the day at an Acadian bakery, welcomed by the musicians who played at the ceilidh the night before. Baking bread with them, sitting around the table, realizing that bannock in the North and bread in Acadia are almost twins—same basic ingredients, one with sugar, one with raisins.
And then there’s Alain Melanson, a historian and keeper of stories, who hugged me like an old friend and shared a stone given to him by a Mi’kmaq elder—passed through 450 generations, now placed in my hands for calm and protection, even though I hadn’t told him I was living with bipolar disorder. That gesture—his insistence that I was meant to have it—was humanity in its purest form. It was kindness without expectation, connection without borders, a lesson for a country that’s too often divided.
As I look at what’s happening elsewhere—so much anger, so much division—I wish more people could learn from the wisdom passed from Mi’kmaq woman to Acadian man to a Pictou County Celt woman, all on Nova Scotia soil. We could all be in better places.
So today, as we set out for another ferry and another homecoming—this time to Pictou County, the birthplace of New Scotland—I carry that stone and those lessons in my pocket. This journey isn’t just a tour for women over 50, or a test of my own wellness as a bipolar woman—it’s proof that connection, history, and kindness are the true treasures, wherever you find them.
With love, Lisa.