Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
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My relationship with my biological father was … complicated, at best. So adding another ‘father’ to the mix when my mother met Roger, 23 years ago now, felt unnecessary and a little awkward: after all, I was a 31-year-old woman, not a child looking for a stepfather.
Don’t get me wrong, Roger is kind, honest, creative and a host of other positive adjectives and our family welcomed him into its fold easily. But our exact relationship with one another was, initially, a little on the blurry side, undefined. We were two people who had a loved one in common more than we were two people with a shared relationship to one another.
Today Mom is 85 and Roger is 86. They live in the charming waterfront community of Annapolis Royal, N.S. No matter what country I am living in – I have moved a lot – I visit them once or twice a year. Sometimes I am alone, sometimes with my husband and two boys. Most recently I travelled with my 15-year-old son.
When I first started visiting them, we were all trying on this new family dynamic for size. Together, we made our way through the list of local must-dos, like eating fresh-off-the-boat Digby scallops and more lobster rolls than you can shake a claw at, and hopping ferries to destinations like the colourful fishing community of Brier Island. A few years later, after we had logged enough tourist miles, Roger and I started logging a different kind of mile. By walking. Just the two of us. Walking and talking.
Initially, we stuck to the French Basin Trail, locally known as the Marsh. It’s within easy walking distance of their home and the 1.2 kilometre gravel path hugs a wetland habitat teeming with waterfowl. This simple, quiet, act became my favourite thing to do together. On our walks, I learned things I never knew about Roger’s previous life as an airplane designer and builder of homes, of favourite holidays taken, and of the artistic endeavours he continues to undertake in the workshop that he fashioned out of their garage. He was working on a stained-glass window on my last visit.
During these mini hikes, Roger has preferred spots to take a break. Sometimes it’s a bench beneath the canopy of a maple tree, other times you are perched right on the edge of the water, behind the cattails or bulrushes (I’ve never been able to tell the difference) where you might catch a beaver or muskrat swimming by if you’re lucky. I had never considered taking a break on a 1.2km walk before. Now it is a perquisite on any solo walk I do, long or short. Stop, slow down, take it all in.
As time went on, it became apparent that these walks were about more than exercise. This time together became equally about the moments spent being still as they were about moving forward.
Roger is spry and so our walks have lengthened and the terrain we traverse has become more rugged. We often take the Bohaker Trail at Delaps Cove, a 2.4 km loop that includes challenging rocky segments. When you exit the trees, it is disorienting to be standing before a seemingly endless expanse of water: the Bay of Fundy. I have learned enough facts on these walks about this unique body of water to answer actual Jeopardy questions. Fundy’s high tide ranges between six and 16 metres. You can see two high tides and two low tides daily and they say that 160 billion tons of seawater rushes up the bay twice a day. Pretty cool.
On the walk back, a perfectly placed green wooden bench sits overlooking a 43-foot waterfall, and from that vantage point you are surrounded by the forest. Roger mused during our last pit stop on this now-familiar bench that he would love to know the names of some of the unfamiliar trees and bushes we were looking at. I pulled out my phone and introduced him to a plant app that can identify shrubbery after just a quick scan of a leaf. Mind blown.
Currently, I live just outside San Francisco and the journey to Annapolis Royal is not an easy one. Two flights, at awkward times, then a two-hour drive from the airport. But as the years have passed I have come to appreciate that when I am in Nova Scotia it is all about my mother and Roger. There are no distractions. Walking together gave new meaning to ‘step’ father, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
Jo Anne Kenny lives in Tiburon, Calif.