The Catalyst
Every tiny town in my homeland seems to have a building at heart, an architectural figure that you could put on a poster or postage stamp, and say with some certainty that consensus would ratify your choice. Could be a lighthouse or the oldest homestead, maybe a church or one-room school. But for anyone passing through Caledonia – perhaps the most land-locked village in seabound Nova Scotia – I'll make my bets that this weather-worn façade would be their choice. Built in the 1860s by Jonas Parker as the Caledonia Hotel, it was later known as Golden House before settling on the final name Alton House, as it's been known since early last century. This was one of several stagecoach stops along what's now called Highway 8. Each were placed just twelve miles apart, the preferred distance for horses to travel in a day. Now we all fly past just as quick as time itself.
In the deep blue fog this evening, gloom and moisture takes the edge off. Perhaps you won't quite catch the peeling paint or rotting trim, or the colour palette that somewhat clashes. You could start dreaming about a return to purpose, as a hotel once more or a home full of life. I sure know it makes me feel more alive whenever I'm passing, staring out as if windows are the eyes to the soul. On all the slow swirl down to darkness, blinking with each cast of passing headlights. Could this be your arrival at the end of a long and dreamlike journey? Is someone seeing this image tonight, and marking the start of what took them here? I always like to imagine my stories are inspiration for relocation. That someone might unexpectedly learn that some previously unknown place exists, and I'll be the catalyst that brought them there. There are worse things you could call me.
December 11, 2024
Caledonia, Nova Scotia
bluesky | etsy | facebook | instagram | threads | tumblr | youtube
You can support my work
get things in the mail
and see everything
first on Patreon
The Catalyst
Every tiny town in my homeland seems to have a building at heart, an architectural figure that you could put on a poster or postage stamp, and say with some certainty that consensus would ratify your choice. Could be a lighthouse or the oldest homestead, maybe a church or one-room school. But for anyone passing through Caledonia – perhaps the most land-locked village in seabound Nova Scotia – I'll make my bets that this weather-worn façade would be their choice. Built in the 1860s by Jonas Parker as the Caledonia Hotel, it was later known as Golden House before settling on the final name Alton House, as it's been known since early last century. This was one of several stagecoach stops along what's now called Highway 8. Each were placed just twelve miles apart, the preferred distance for horses to travel in a day. Now we all fly past just as quick as time itself.
In the deep blue fog this evening, gloom and moisture takes the edge off. Perhaps you won't quite catch the peeling paint or rotting trim, or the colour palette that somewhat clashes. You could start dreaming about a return to purpose, as a hotel once more or a home full of life. I sure know it makes me feel more alive whenever I'm passing, staring out as if windows are the eyes to the soul. On all the slow swirl down to darkness, blinking with each cast of passing headlights. Could this be your arrival at the end of a long and dreamlike journey? Is someone seeing this image tonight, and marking the start of what took them here? I always like to imagine my stories are inspiration for relocation. That someone might unexpectedly learn that some previously unknown place exists, and I'll be the catalyst that brought them there. There are worse things you could call me.
December 11, 2024
Caledonia, Nova Scotia
bluesky | etsy | facebook | instagram | threads | tumblr | youtube
You can support my work
get things in the mail
and see everything
first on Patreon