When small towns think big
Some communities are simply bigger than others. Not in area, or population, or strategic location (if such a distinction still applies in our post-explorer society). It takes a visit or two and then you realize: this is a big town.
One big town here on the Island is Montague, the Beautiful. The little town that can. How many other towns of its size can boast a necklace of first string fast food restaurants? Or supermarkets, super drug stores, super marinas. Super everything. Not a single seater to be seen, anywhere. It even has a pair of bridges on the main street.
My visit to the museum this afternoon (the oldest museum on the Island) showed that even the twin bridges is not a first for the town. Back when the existing, under replacement, bridge was constructed in 1954 (a lifetime ago, for me) the same pairing of bridges was used. Look at Charlottetown; it can only claim one bridge and one cormorant roost. Souris; one causeway. Montague wins the bridge contest.
The museum is also analomous. A really cool old building with a superb view that has a collection with depth as well as guides, plural, on duty. I admit, the idea of deciding what gets shelf space in most museums must be a political minefield. Here, the curators have tried to keep a collection that started out very humbly (I’ve been here many times before) interesting. Lots of photos with complete identifications. A school room that would only be better if my original school books were there (I do want to see my grade IV geography book again, if only to renew acquaintance with Netsook & Klaya, Simba and all the rest of the gang). The railway collection even had a photo of the turntable.
I almost escaped without having to present my credentials, but the camera gave me away. A tourist, with a son in tow. So, where are you from? By the time the visit finished, we’d compared cousins, discussed a source of rock salt and paid tribute to the passing of the darkroom. And you thought museums were dull.
