With a greater clarity of the knowledge of the area, we walked from the church a little farther inland to what used to be the post office and the school that our mother attended, the skeletal shells of which were still standing precariously. From there, stopping periodically to eat some edible berries, we struggled behind our cousins through the heavily brush and shrub covered footpaths to Black Duck Cove to visit the cemetery where our grandmother, whom we never knew, was buried. This sacred ground was in very bad condition, with many badly corroded gravestones buried under brush and long grass. After searching for a few minutes in the midst of tangled vegetation, we found our grandmothers resting place beside which we paid our respects. It was a good thing that our cousins stayed with us, as the footpaths that traversed the island, were overgrown with brush. It would have been virtually impossible for my brother and me, to walk to the other communities on the island.
We made our way back to the church on the hill and descended to the boat for a half hour boat ride to the other side of the island. Sailing through a number of islets, we arrived at what remains of the small village of Traytown, where our grandparents had lived. There, we met some more long lost relatives at a small cottage. One, a bit of an eccentric, who now lives in Toronto but takes summer refuge in Traytown, showed us the remnants of what had once been our grandparents house. Beside these ruins, was the still flourishing cluster of wild rose bushes, planted there many years ago by our step grandmother. A lot of people, many whom were more lost cousins, continually dropped in or gathered on the porch outside.
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