Harold, the ice keeper at the Charlottetown curling club, had a beef with one of the club members. He resolutely and erroneously believed if he used tape to mark the lines under the ice surface on the curling sheets, instead of painting them on, the water would freeze smoothly and uniformly, leaving no obstacles for curlers.
Wendell MacDonald, an avid curler, disagreed. And that is where the problem had its genesis. MacDonald, otherwise known affectionately among curlers in the area as Dr. Wen, contended the water did not actually freeze smoothly, but, in fact, would leave an edge over which curlers would have to operate; essentially making for more challenges in the game than were necessary.
Harold decided to settle the conflict with a challenge. He used tape on one sheet of ice – and on one sheet of ice only – sheet #3 – without conveying to Dr. Wen which one he had marked in this fashion. So the contest was on, officially.
Dr. Wen was to curl on the ice surfaces, testing each one to determine if he could find any difference between ice surfaces. He would look for drag on a rock, a tell-tale sign he was correct and an edge had been created by the strip of tape, as he had suggested.
What he did not tell Harold was he had secretly ferreted out the truth from Carole Kennedy, a curler at the club who knew what Harold had done. Kennedy had overheard Harold telling another curler his secret. Dr. Wen entered the contest with a decided advantage. He curled rocks on all surfaces, doing his best to hide the fact he already knew what Harold had done – coming to the end of the contest with a rather startling statement. “The taped surface is under sheet #3.” Harold never did find out how he had been ratter out and from that day forward, painted the lines on all the sheets of ice at the club.
Kennedy, who started curling when she was about 50 and was named rookie of the year her first season, tells the story with a giggle and tone of voice which conveys respect and affection for the two men. She says even if Harold had discovered Dr. Wen’s deception, he would have realized it was all good fun. No feelings would have been hurt and the story has lived on as part of the chronological personality of the Charlottetown Curling Club.
“At the curling club, there is so much camaraderie; nobody takes offence at anything that is said. It’s a delightful fun thing just to be there.”
Lloyd Lawless, former president of the Silver Fox Curling and Yachting Club in Summerside, P.E.I. agrees with Kennedy about the nature of the sport on Island; indeed, all over the world.
“Curlers are tight knit,” he says. And there is a “comradeship amongst curlers.”
Lawless began curling in Summerside at age 20 and caught on quickly to the rhythm of the game, he says.
“I became fairly adept at it because I was athletic.”
Lawless served as club president at the Summerside rink from 1979-1981 and from 1987-1988. He also became a proficient skip, leading his teams skilfully and with passion. He stands about 5’9” and leaves no doubt to his listeners he knows the business of curling. Yet, the business end is often punctuated by the dedicated which he says curlers have for each other, even outside the rink.
Many times, as he travelled, he would be on lengthy layovers at airports. Lawless would remember he knew a fellow curler who lived near any given airport. He would call the person and take time to spend time reminiscing about the game.
“I know people right across Canada,” he says.
The role curling plays on P.E.I. has changed over the years, he says. It was more of a social thing years ago and more curling was done on weekends. Today, the focus is more on weekdays. Seniors dominate the mornings and a junior team uses the rink after school hours on Fridays in Summerside. P.E.I. has caught up to the pace of advancing technology and there is simply more to compete for leisure dollars on the Island, so curling has taken more of a backseat. What had also changed a great deal is how it used to be frequented by those of station and influence. Now, anymore with a membership fee, love of the game, a few spare hours and a slider can join in the fun.
And Kennedy says curlers do have a lot of fun. The Charlottetown club plans a women’s event every year called the Momma-Mia bonspiel, she says. Karen McIntee organizes the event. The theme for this year’s event is a PJ party.
“It’s the greatest bonspiel you ever saw.”
“It gets into your blood because it’s fun,” she adds.
The unifying trademark of curlers all over the planet is every club produces pins which they trade with one another during both social and competitive events. Curlers collect and display their pins with pride and affection. P.E.I. curlers are no exception. And young curlers are taught etiquette very early on, says Lawless. They have to learn to shake hands before and after each game, he says.
“That is synonymous with curling. It’s very important that the juniors develop that.”
So the gentlemanly influence of elitist curlers from the sport’s early years has remained intact. Perhaps curling had lived on here on Spud Island as a testimony to the reluctance of Islanders to trade the old ways for the new...For now it is healthy, thriving and continues to engage young players and fans on a regular basis.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Freelancing frugalities, freedoms and frustrations
A few years ago, Allan Lynch, a Holland College Journalism School graduate from the early 1970s, was compelled to leave work and return to his home province of Nova Scotia from Ontario to help care for his ailing father. Until then he had been writing and editing for community newspapers for about 17 years.
While in Nova Scotia, he concluded that when he returned to the job market it would not be in newspaper writing or editing. He was bored with that kind of journalism.
“When he (Lynch’s father) died that freed me up to do some more freelance.”
He decided freelancing would give him the variety he craved.
“I can throw myself with a passion into something and then move on.”
As he did not have a family to support, he realized the lack of a salary wouldn’t be a factor in the decision.
“It suits my lifestyle,” Lynch said.
For most freelancers, freelancing provides mad money, above their regular earnings.
For Kevin Yarr, a Holland College graduate of 1985 and now webmaster at CBC in Charlottetown, freelancing gave him and his partner a small income as she pursued graduate studies at Guelph University. There was a recession, he said.
“Freelancing was what was out there.”
Yarr spent almost two years in Guelph freelancing, then moved to England and back to the Maritimes, where he freelanced until about 2006.
Lynch said to be a freelancer, a writer has to think about his life and priorities. Sometimes lifestyle changes need to be made to accommodate a lower, less predictable income.
“You’ve got to step things down. You learn that you don’t really need as much as you think.”
When Yarr started out, he and his partner had no children and were living off her graduate studies and his freelancing incomes.
“We were poor.”
And there are other considerations, Lynch said.
Like time management.
“You have to be organized.”
Yarr said organization was definitely a key issue. Most importantly, a freelancer has to be constantly on top of the six-month cycle of pitching, writing and cashing the paycheque.
“I came into it pretty early on that there was a business aspect to it.”
Lori Mayne, a Carleton journalism school graduate of 2001 and a full-time reporter and photographer at the Journal Pioneer in Summerside, picks up some freelance work every month or two, she said.
“I’m learning to set deadlines for myself.”
Elizabeth Patterson agreed. She’s a 1983 Kings College journalism honours graduate with experience at CBC TV, CTV and as an editor and reporter at the Cape Breton Post who freelances occasionally.
“It’s all about timing. You’re not going to get paid professionally if you don’t act professionally.”
She advises anyone wanting to succeed at freelancing not to procrastinate. After finishing an interview, writing should start immediately.
“Get it done when you get it done.”
Lynch stresses a writer also needs to know when and how to pitch a story idea to an editor.
“An editor can usually recognize a dilettante from far away.”
Mayne has never had to pitch a story idea as she freelances part-time and depends on her newspaper employment for income. In the beginning, Mayne was approached by editors who got her name either from a former university professor or someone has called the Journal Pioneer looking for a local writer.
“I enjoy it when I do it but I don’t pitch it.”
Patterson has been approached mainly on the merit of her work. In addition, she plays the flute and has produced two CDs which have seen great success. She doesn’t need to depend on her freelancing as her only source of income, but she has made some good money from it, she said.
“I’m not really good at pitching myself.”
Lynch said editors get hit with a lot of pitches.
“You’ve got to be good to stand out.”
Over the years, he has developed a schedule that works well for him. He does the bulk of his writing from about 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. each day, Monday to Friday.
“By about 3:30 to 4 p.m. I’m brain dead.”
Then he uses evenings and weekends to think about ideas, most of which he gets from newsstands, libraries and other writers’ profiles. Often he will get a new idea from his travels, which have been extensive. During travels he often meets editors but resists the temptation to pitch an idea to them while at leisure.
“Never, ever pitch an editor when you’re on a trip like that.”
He advises writers to use the opportunity to strike up a rapport and pitch the idea to the editor as soon as they return to the office. Lynch’s experience as an editor in small town newspapers isn’t hurting him in this respect.
When he gets an idea for a story, he thinks ‘Who would be interested in that?’
“It’s got to interest my readers and I’ve got to be able to pitch it to somebody.”
If the topic interests him, he uses that as a gauge to know it will interest his readers.
“I really know my readers.”
Lynch writes for the travel industry and for trade magazines. Three American and one Canadian.
“A lot of writers don’t consider trade magazines. There is steady work.”
He doesn’t write about technology, but said it is good to be prepared to write about anything.
Yarr is versatile too.
“I write about whales, beer and business financing.”
Patterson has also written on diverse subjects. Anything from how a canal system works to book reviews for the Halifax Herald, her latest labour of love.
“You write exactly what they tell you.”
Lynch said the idea of writing for blogs appeals to him as it seems lucrative. Most blogs probably generate between $5,000 and $6,000 per month.
However, Yarr thinks the Internet works against the freelancer.
“It’s made writing in general seem less expensive.”
Sometimes, Lynch feels disconnected from people as the bulk of his interviews are done over the phone.
Mayne agreed. When she is writing freelance articles in her apartment she feels disconnected from the community. Phone interviews from home have the same effect. She misses the activity of the newsroom and can’t see the day when she would freelance full-time, she said.
“It can be very lonely.”
Lynch has experienced success with editors who turn to him regularly for his professionalism and product.
“I’ve been really blessed with the editors I’ve worked with.”
To get a good start, you need to market yourself. It’s not unlike being a musician, but you are on your own, he said.
“You need to sell yourself. You always need to be pitching.”
As for ego, that fragile idea soon gets lost in the workload.
“It’s not about yourself.”
While in Nova Scotia, he concluded that when he returned to the job market it would not be in newspaper writing or editing. He was bored with that kind of journalism.
“When he (Lynch’s father) died that freed me up to do some more freelance.”
He decided freelancing would give him the variety he craved.
“I can throw myself with a passion into something and then move on.”
As he did not have a family to support, he realized the lack of a salary wouldn’t be a factor in the decision.
“It suits my lifestyle,” Lynch said.
For most freelancers, freelancing provides mad money, above their regular earnings.
For Kevin Yarr, a Holland College graduate of 1985 and now webmaster at CBC in Charlottetown, freelancing gave him and his partner a small income as she pursued graduate studies at Guelph University. There was a recession, he said.
“Freelancing was what was out there.”
Yarr spent almost two years in Guelph freelancing, then moved to England and back to the Maritimes, where he freelanced until about 2006.
Lynch said to be a freelancer, a writer has to think about his life and priorities. Sometimes lifestyle changes need to be made to accommodate a lower, less predictable income.
“You’ve got to step things down. You learn that you don’t really need as much as you think.”
When Yarr started out, he and his partner had no children and were living off her graduate studies and his freelancing incomes.
“We were poor.”
And there are other considerations, Lynch said.
Like time management.
“You have to be organized.”
Yarr said organization was definitely a key issue. Most importantly, a freelancer has to be constantly on top of the six-month cycle of pitching, writing and cashing the paycheque.
“I came into it pretty early on that there was a business aspect to it.”
Lori Mayne, a Carleton journalism school graduate of 2001 and a full-time reporter and photographer at the Journal Pioneer in Summerside, picks up some freelance work every month or two, she said.
“I’m learning to set deadlines for myself.”
Elizabeth Patterson agreed. She’s a 1983 Kings College journalism honours graduate with experience at CBC TV, CTV and as an editor and reporter at the Cape Breton Post who freelances occasionally.
“It’s all about timing. You’re not going to get paid professionally if you don’t act professionally.”
She advises anyone wanting to succeed at freelancing not to procrastinate. After finishing an interview, writing should start immediately.
“Get it done when you get it done.”
Lynch stresses a writer also needs to know when and how to pitch a story idea to an editor.
“An editor can usually recognize a dilettante from far away.”
Mayne has never had to pitch a story idea as she freelances part-time and depends on her newspaper employment for income. In the beginning, Mayne was approached by editors who got her name either from a former university professor or someone has called the Journal Pioneer looking for a local writer.
“I enjoy it when I do it but I don’t pitch it.”
Patterson has been approached mainly on the merit of her work. In addition, she plays the flute and has produced two CDs which have seen great success. She doesn’t need to depend on her freelancing as her only source of income, but she has made some good money from it, she said.
“I’m not really good at pitching myself.”
Lynch said editors get hit with a lot of pitches.
“You’ve got to be good to stand out.”
Over the years, he has developed a schedule that works well for him. He does the bulk of his writing from about 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. each day, Monday to Friday.
“By about 3:30 to 4 p.m. I’m brain dead.”
Then he uses evenings and weekends to think about ideas, most of which he gets from newsstands, libraries and other writers’ profiles. Often he will get a new idea from his travels, which have been extensive. During travels he often meets editors but resists the temptation to pitch an idea to them while at leisure.
“Never, ever pitch an editor when you’re on a trip like that.”
He advises writers to use the opportunity to strike up a rapport and pitch the idea to the editor as soon as they return to the office. Lynch’s experience as an editor in small town newspapers isn’t hurting him in this respect.
When he gets an idea for a story, he thinks ‘Who would be interested in that?’
“It’s got to interest my readers and I’ve got to be able to pitch it to somebody.”
If the topic interests him, he uses that as a gauge to know it will interest his readers.
“I really know my readers.”
Lynch writes for the travel industry and for trade magazines. Three American and one Canadian.
“A lot of writers don’t consider trade magazines. There is steady work.”
He doesn’t write about technology, but said it is good to be prepared to write about anything.
Yarr is versatile too.
“I write about whales, beer and business financing.”
Patterson has also written on diverse subjects. Anything from how a canal system works to book reviews for the Halifax Herald, her latest labour of love.
“You write exactly what they tell you.”
Lynch said the idea of writing for blogs appeals to him as it seems lucrative. Most blogs probably generate between $5,000 and $6,000 per month.
However, Yarr thinks the Internet works against the freelancer.
“It’s made writing in general seem less expensive.”
Sometimes, Lynch feels disconnected from people as the bulk of his interviews are done over the phone.
Mayne agreed. When she is writing freelance articles in her apartment she feels disconnected from the community. Phone interviews from home have the same effect. She misses the activity of the newsroom and can’t see the day when she would freelance full-time, she said.
“It can be very lonely.”
Lynch has experienced success with editors who turn to him regularly for his professionalism and product.
“I’ve been really blessed with the editors I’ve worked with.”
To get a good start, you need to market yourself. It’s not unlike being a musician, but you are on your own, he said.
“You need to sell yourself. You always need to be pitching.”
As for ego, that fragile idea soon gets lost in the workload.
“It’s not about yourself.”
Seniors confused by bus schedules: deputy mayor
Many seniors who use Charlottetown’s new public transit system are complaining the schedules are too confusing, says the city’s deputy mayor, Stu MacFadyen.
“We had some concern with the schedules,” MacFadyen said at a city council meeting on Jan. 12.
Yet, the bus drivers are very helpful, he added.
Until the last couple of years, P.E.I. had been the only province without a publicly funded public transit system. Trius was given the go ahead after 2005 to implement a bussing system with city council subsidization to decrease with each year of business. Routes began in Charlottetown only and have branched out to include outlying areas since it started.
“No matter what bus you are on, you are never on the wrong bus,” MacFadyen said. A user can always get a transfer once he discovers mistake.
Coun. Rob Lantz of ward three agreed with MacFadyen’s synopsis.
“I find it very hard to parse the schedules myself. These concerns have been brought to my attention a number of times.”
Those who approached him had previously used transit systems all over the world, he added. Many of them found the Charlottetown system hard to use. The major complaint had been about the overuse of asterisks in the printed schedules.
Lantz had taken a bus earlier in the day and he noticed it was half to three-quarters full. H e noted UPEI students use them a lot.
“And it’s true; the bus drivers are very helpful.”
MacFadyen added once a user learned what route to take, the schedules were easier to use.
“We’re going to ask Trius to take a look at it.”
“We had some concern with the schedules,” MacFadyen said at a city council meeting on Jan. 12.
Yet, the bus drivers are very helpful, he added.
Until the last couple of years, P.E.I. had been the only province without a publicly funded public transit system. Trius was given the go ahead after 2005 to implement a bussing system with city council subsidization to decrease with each year of business. Routes began in Charlottetown only and have branched out to include outlying areas since it started.
“No matter what bus you are on, you are never on the wrong bus,” MacFadyen said. A user can always get a transfer once he discovers mistake.
Coun. Rob Lantz of ward three agreed with MacFadyen’s synopsis.
“I find it very hard to parse the schedules myself. These concerns have been brought to my attention a number of times.”
Those who approached him had previously used transit systems all over the world, he added. Many of them found the Charlottetown system hard to use. The major complaint had been about the overuse of asterisks in the printed schedules.
Lantz had taken a bus earlier in the day and he noticed it was half to three-quarters full. H e noted UPEI students use them a lot.
“And it’s true; the bus drivers are very helpful.”
MacFadyen added once a user learned what route to take, the schedules were easier to use.
“We’re going to ask Trius to take a look at it.”
The making of a magazine
Inside a small, blue and white century home at the crest of a steep hill in Tyne Valley, P.E.I., a lone secretary waits for one of her employers, Karla Kordyban, to show up to discuss the day’s business.
The dark-haired woman, Kelly Murphy, doesn’t waste her time while she waits. There is always something to keep her hands busy.
Murphy first met Kordyban in an employment interview that was supposed to take place in Island Living magazine headquarters in Tyne Valley. She showed up, but nobody was there. She had to go to O’Leary.
“I was out of work and looking for work.”
So she consulted with Jodie Gavin of the O’Leary office of the provincial Employment Development Agency (EDA), who told her Kordyban was looking for an office administrator.
Murphy was struck with Kordyban’s elocution and obvious education. Kordyban apologized, with a smile, for the mix up over the location for the interview.
“And this is why I need someone like you,” Kordyban, a former theatre arts and creative writing professor, told Murphy in a stage whisper.
Murphy started on June 2, 2008. She works 32 hours a week and has Fridays off.
“I always have a long weekend, which I always enjoy.”
Her duties include reception, subscriptions and invoicing. Her daily routine is predictable. She arrives at 8:30, listens to phone messages and checks emails, addressing anything urgent immediately. Often that routine gets interrupted, she said.
“I do some trouble shooting.”
For example, Transmedia, the printing company Island Living uses, once sent an email saying there was something wrong with a CD they got from the magazine. Murphy had to call Patty Hardy, one of the co-publishers and the magazine’s layout artist and photo editor, who sent another CD to the printing immediately.
Murphy’s duties often take on a creative bent, she added.
“I really like to do research.”
Often the publishers have asked her to find people to interview and she has happily complied.
“I’ve been a resident of western P.E.I. all my life.”
Kordyban and Hardy, the co-publishers, are from Kentville, Nova Scotia and London, Ontario, respectively, so Murphy’s knowledge of P.E.I. community personalities comes in handy.
Hardy asked her to find a candle maker and she was able to find one right away, she said.
“I am way underpaid,” she said, laughing.
And often it has been incredibly humorous to work for the two women.
Murphy recalled a phone call from a potential subscriber in which a toilet flushed suddenly in the background. It’s experiences like that which make the day go by quickly, she said.
It’s almost 11 a.m.
Kordyban bursts through the front door, hustling quickly into the small, inner office. She doesn’t bother to remove her outer jacket or place her belongings at her desk, just behind her secretary’s.
With bright yellow briefcase in hand, Kordyban hovers over Murphy’s desk, speaking crisply and getting right to the point, discussing email communications and other magazine distribution details with the younger woman. She has a big smile on her face.
Kordyban stands about 5’3”, has short, light brown hair and wears a gold-brown leather jacket and green and gold, flowing skirt. On her feet are brown leather high-heeled boots. She wears no jewelry except a wedding and engagement ring. And there is no sign of makeup.
Within a minute or so, she moves to her desk and shuffles and rearranges the desk’s surface to her liking, putting away books, moving aside other items. The smile has disappeared. She plunks down on her chair and begins to write cheques. Within 15 minutes of her arrival, two servicemen from the phone company show up. It is time for them to add two phone lines to the office space upstairs. One of the men ask her about the service they already have.
“I think we have the computers on all the time,” Kordyban says.
She leads them upstairs to the second level of the little house, which has the two other offices, one for co-publisher/photo editor/layout artist Patty Hardy and the other for advertising manager Jeff Ellsworth, who came on staff on Dec. 1, 2008. Ellsworth studied recreation management at Holland College from 1995 to 1997 in Summerside. Born and raised in St. Lawrence, in western P.E.I., Ellsworth found employment upon graduation as the recreation director in Alberton. He had no real conflicts for the 12 years he was with the town and his strength was organization, he said.
“Festivals came easy to me.”
Ellsworth is also known in P.E.I. for his softball talent and in September, 2008, Island Living did a story about him. Shortly after, Kordyban pitched him the idea of becoming the publication’s advertising manager. He made the decision to do it on Oct. 1, he said.
“My initial job was to be the marketing/advertising manager for the magazine.”
Ellsworth is medium height with dark hair and eyes.
“Then I got there and started taking on several other things,” he said. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.
Ellsworth day timer maps out meetings, events and business mixers. A business mixer is a formally organized event which CEOs and business owners attend. He rarely passes up an opportunity to promote the magazine to potential advertisers or sellers. He’s even been known to give away stacks of old issues for free just to get the word out.
“I’ve been making a lot of positive connections across the Island.”
The magazine has produced quarterly issues since 2007 and up until now it has used one phone line to get the job done. Some of the original employees have never worked in the office. One is Cathy Sprague of Stratford, P.E.I., who met Kordyban at a meet-the-artist weekend at Best of P.E.I. in Charlottetown. Sprague, a retired home economics teacher, was showcasing her photography. Kordyban was impressed with her work and asked her to use some of it in Island Living. Sprague agreed.
Soon she was selling ads.
“I was blown away by the magazine. I thought it was absolutely beautiful.”
She had no advertising sales experience and learned as she went along. She plunged in with nothing more than a copy of the magazine and a persistent smile.
“I don’t know how I got the ads at all.”
Most business people she contacted asked her for numbers, which she did not have.
“I’d be sitting there with a blank look on my face.”
Finally a media kit was put together by the publishers and Sprague used that, as well as the Internet to make a case for the lifestyles magazine.
Sprague used contacts she has established over the years, she said. Often, a potential advertiser would mention she had taught them in school.
“I had a good rapport with them.”
With a planned expansion to bi-monthly editions, effective January, 2009, Kordyban and Hardy decided it was time to bring in new staff. Hence, the decision to hire Ellsworth so Sprague wouldn’t have to work alone. With the addition of staff has come the need for more technology.
One of the servicemen wants to know about some of the hardware they have. Kordyban asks Murphy where the hardware manual is. Murphy goes to a storage box and pulls out a large paper book. She grins widely.
“That’s why we pay her the big bucks,” says Kordyban.
Everyone chuckles.
One of the servicemen is leaning on a door frame, scratching his head. He tells Kordyban his mother was interviewed for a heritage article. He wonders if it is Island Living.
Kordyban says no, it wasn’t.
“Ours is contemporary so we don’t step on each other’s toes.”
The men leave.
Kordyban bends over Murphy’s desk again. She’s reading emails. Something she sees makes her face light up.
“Hallelujah! That’s great!”
Ralph Kordyban shows up. He is Kordyban’s husband and submits photography occasionally. He also assists with distribution. He stands about 5’11”, has a full head of grey hair and wears a neatly trimmed, grey beard. His voice is soft and he doesn’t say much. In stark contrast, nothing his wife does is executed without tremendous energy and speed, so in similar style, she goes to her car. Ralph Kordyban follows.
They get in and she drives. The first stop is the Evangeline Credit Union in Tyne Valley, where she makes a deposit, taking only minutes.
When she returns to the car she explains even though she did not arrive at the office until 10:45 a.m. she was working at home since 8:30 a.m.
“My day started real early and it happens all the time.”
She’s not complaining.
After getting back on the road, Kordyban’s purse rings. It’s her cell phone. She hands the purse to her husband, who is sitting quietly in the back seat. He finds the phone and answers it.
It’s Kelly from the office.
He hands it back to Kordyban.
“Hey!...OK...Yeah...”
She hangs up.
“Before we had Kelly I had to do everything,” she pauses and nods her head.
“It was bad.”
In the summer she prefers to walk to do her business banking but it isn’t always possible in Tyne Valley during the cold season, she said.
She punctuates her words with hand gestures, crisp elocution and resonant volume.
Kordyban retired from her teaching position in western Canada and she and her husband first moved to P.E.I. just before the magazine was begun in 2007. She kept hearing of artisans, Island-wide, who nobody really knew anything about, she said.
“I kept meeting all these people with all this talent but they weren’t making a living at it. That was the purpose of the magazine.”
To showcase the talent and unify Island culture.
“Local people don’t do the Island.”
Kordyban hopes to change that with her photograph-strong, feature article magazine.
As the cars near Summerside, her phone rings again. She looks at the call display.
“Patty,” she says, flipping it open.
She listens.
“I’m near Slemon Park.”
She pauses.
“How much of it...? Do you remember?”
Another pause.
“I’m picking it up.”
Patty Hardy , who was made Kordyban’s full business partner in the autumn of 2008, embarked on her photographic career purely as a by product of another hobby. Coaching baseball, she said. She began to take pictures of the children while they were playing and giving copies to the parents. She started out with a little Kodak digital.
“I loved the action.”
After a couple of years, she got a better camera and one of the players’ mothers, Anne Phillips, began encouraging her to go somewhere with her talent.
“She created the monster in me to get out there.”
During that same period she was helping a writer, June Ellis, with some layout work. Ellis knew Kordyban was starting up Island Living magazine and kept pressuring Hardy to submit her work. The two were introduced and Hardy finally ended up going on a photo shoot with Kordyban. The photographer has been with Island Living since its first issue, Hardy said.
“I’m not educated. It was an opportunity a lot of people wouldn’t give to me.”
Indeed, Hardy is completely self taught.
And promotion within the ranks came quickly as Kordyban realized the gem she had in Hardy. Soon after starting work with the magazine, Hardy was hospitalized with pneumonia and when she got out she found out she had been named photo-editor. That meant she got to veto all the art work and do the layout. She picked up on the technology immediately and became proficient with it.
“I understand the calibration process.”
Calibration is what photo editors do, with the help of a piece of software, to ensure the colours they choose stay true during printing. The potential for change is quite dramatic, she said. It can make or break your photos. And Hardy is a perfectionist, taking factors like lighting and surrounding reflective colours into consideration.
“I even wear grey sometimes when I do skin tones.” If she wears bright or dark colours, it might reflect back on the screen and distort her perception, thereby affecting the calibration process and the final colours printed.
The two co-publishers make an odd couple, as Hardy stands about 5’6”, taller with her trademark, spike heeled boots. When they show up to do a combination photo shoot and interview , sometimes eyebrows are raised, Hardy said.
Once, the duo covered the Irish Moss Festival and Hardy didn’t know the horses were not restrained, she said, laughing. She was following them along and almost got trampled.
“I just assumed they’d stop the beasts, but they didn’t.”
Hardy has learned to work under stress and how to be ready at a moment’s notice.
“I’ve met a lot of people and I’ve learned what not to do.”
And communication is a big part of the magazine’s success – which means frequent cellphone use.
Kordyban hands up again and asks her husband when he has to be back home.
“Why can’t I just drop you off at Frank’s?”
He tells her she can’t do that. They agree he will drop a camera off to a freelance photographer the magazine uses while she runs other errands.
Since things got started, freelancers have provided Island Living with articles and photographs. June Ellis has been writing for the publication for about two years.
Ellis works full-time as an administrator at Stewart Memorial Hospital in Tyne Valley. She met Kordyban at a P.E.I. Business Women’s Association lunch and learn at the Loyalist Hotel in Summerside, she said.
She took a writing course through correspondence about four years ago and wrote an article on abuse for a women’s issues newsletter shortly after. She had one article published in Island Living about a foster mother due to receive an honourary doctorate in UPEI’s spring convocation exercises, she said.
“She says it was because of my article.”
Ellis loves how Hardy always chooses photos which flow well with her work. Most of all, she enjoys the interviewing process and never uses digital recorders.
“I just take notes. Sometimes people aren’t comfortable with a digital recorder.”
Technology and publishing work hand in hand, though.
Kordyban reads a gauge in front of her.
“I have 10 kilometres of gas left.”
The car pulls in to the Loyalist Inn parking lot in Summerside.
“It’s 11:29 and I said 11:30. Perfect.”
Ralph Kordyban is dropped off and his wife continues on to Office Depot, where she purchases accounting software.
It’s 12 p.m.
“We budget our time. It’s what we do,” she says.
She drives to a computer business in a strip mall in downtown Summerside and picks up a laptop computer the magazine had ordered.
The clerk sees her entering and smiles widely.
“I got ‘er done for you,” he says and brings the flat box containing the computer for her to examine.
She asks about another computer Hardy had looked at.
“We’re just waiting for the drives to come in. Corel is installed,” he tells her.
“OK,” Kordyban says.
She looks at the computer, puts it back in the box and pays for it.
“I can now take my work home.”
It’s 12:15 p.m.
She drives back to the hotel to pick up her husband and takes him to their ocean-view home nestled between the old and new Roman Catholic churches just past Abram Village.
After dropping him off, she drives back to the Tyne Valley office, shuffles some more paperwork, speaks briefly with Kelly and leaves to go to Hardy’s home. There, she will look at and make decisions about photographs for the rest of her very long day.
And it’s only 3:25 p.m.
The dark-haired woman, Kelly Murphy, doesn’t waste her time while she waits. There is always something to keep her hands busy.
Murphy first met Kordyban in an employment interview that was supposed to take place in Island Living magazine headquarters in Tyne Valley. She showed up, but nobody was there. She had to go to O’Leary.
“I was out of work and looking for work.”
So she consulted with Jodie Gavin of the O’Leary office of the provincial Employment Development Agency (EDA), who told her Kordyban was looking for an office administrator.
Murphy was struck with Kordyban’s elocution and obvious education. Kordyban apologized, with a smile, for the mix up over the location for the interview.
“And this is why I need someone like you,” Kordyban, a former theatre arts and creative writing professor, told Murphy in a stage whisper.
Murphy started on June 2, 2008. She works 32 hours a week and has Fridays off.
“I always have a long weekend, which I always enjoy.”
Her duties include reception, subscriptions and invoicing. Her daily routine is predictable. She arrives at 8:30, listens to phone messages and checks emails, addressing anything urgent immediately. Often that routine gets interrupted, she said.
“I do some trouble shooting.”
For example, Transmedia, the printing company Island Living uses, once sent an email saying there was something wrong with a CD they got from the magazine. Murphy had to call Patty Hardy, one of the co-publishers and the magazine’s layout artist and photo editor, who sent another CD to the printing immediately.
Murphy’s duties often take on a creative bent, she added.
“I really like to do research.”
Often the publishers have asked her to find people to interview and she has happily complied.
“I’ve been a resident of western P.E.I. all my life.”
Kordyban and Hardy, the co-publishers, are from Kentville, Nova Scotia and London, Ontario, respectively, so Murphy’s knowledge of P.E.I. community personalities comes in handy.
Hardy asked her to find a candle maker and she was able to find one right away, she said.
“I am way underpaid,” she said, laughing.
And often it has been incredibly humorous to work for the two women.
Murphy recalled a phone call from a potential subscriber in which a toilet flushed suddenly in the background. It’s experiences like that which make the day go by quickly, she said.
It’s almost 11 a.m.
Kordyban bursts through the front door, hustling quickly into the small, inner office. She doesn’t bother to remove her outer jacket or place her belongings at her desk, just behind her secretary’s.
With bright yellow briefcase in hand, Kordyban hovers over Murphy’s desk, speaking crisply and getting right to the point, discussing email communications and other magazine distribution details with the younger woman. She has a big smile on her face.
Kordyban stands about 5’3”, has short, light brown hair and wears a gold-brown leather jacket and green and gold, flowing skirt. On her feet are brown leather high-heeled boots. She wears no jewelry except a wedding and engagement ring. And there is no sign of makeup.
Within a minute or so, she moves to her desk and shuffles and rearranges the desk’s surface to her liking, putting away books, moving aside other items. The smile has disappeared. She plunks down on her chair and begins to write cheques. Within 15 minutes of her arrival, two servicemen from the phone company show up. It is time for them to add two phone lines to the office space upstairs. One of the men ask her about the service they already have.
“I think we have the computers on all the time,” Kordyban says.
She leads them upstairs to the second level of the little house, which has the two other offices, one for co-publisher/photo editor/layout artist Patty Hardy and the other for advertising manager Jeff Ellsworth, who came on staff on Dec. 1, 2008. Ellsworth studied recreation management at Holland College from 1995 to 1997 in Summerside. Born and raised in St. Lawrence, in western P.E.I., Ellsworth found employment upon graduation as the recreation director in Alberton. He had no real conflicts for the 12 years he was with the town and his strength was organization, he said.
“Festivals came easy to me.”
Ellsworth is also known in P.E.I. for his softball talent and in September, 2008, Island Living did a story about him. Shortly after, Kordyban pitched him the idea of becoming the publication’s advertising manager. He made the decision to do it on Oct. 1, he said.
“My initial job was to be the marketing/advertising manager for the magazine.”
Ellsworth is medium height with dark hair and eyes.
“Then I got there and started taking on several other things,” he said. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.
Ellsworth day timer maps out meetings, events and business mixers. A business mixer is a formally organized event which CEOs and business owners attend. He rarely passes up an opportunity to promote the magazine to potential advertisers or sellers. He’s even been known to give away stacks of old issues for free just to get the word out.
“I’ve been making a lot of positive connections across the Island.”
The magazine has produced quarterly issues since 2007 and up until now it has used one phone line to get the job done. Some of the original employees have never worked in the office. One is Cathy Sprague of Stratford, P.E.I., who met Kordyban at a meet-the-artist weekend at Best of P.E.I. in Charlottetown. Sprague, a retired home economics teacher, was showcasing her photography. Kordyban was impressed with her work and asked her to use some of it in Island Living. Sprague agreed.
Soon she was selling ads.
“I was blown away by the magazine. I thought it was absolutely beautiful.”
She had no advertising sales experience and learned as she went along. She plunged in with nothing more than a copy of the magazine and a persistent smile.
“I don’t know how I got the ads at all.”
Most business people she contacted asked her for numbers, which she did not have.
“I’d be sitting there with a blank look on my face.”
Finally a media kit was put together by the publishers and Sprague used that, as well as the Internet to make a case for the lifestyles magazine.
Sprague used contacts she has established over the years, she said. Often, a potential advertiser would mention she had taught them in school.
“I had a good rapport with them.”
With a planned expansion to bi-monthly editions, effective January, 2009, Kordyban and Hardy decided it was time to bring in new staff. Hence, the decision to hire Ellsworth so Sprague wouldn’t have to work alone. With the addition of staff has come the need for more technology.
One of the servicemen wants to know about some of the hardware they have. Kordyban asks Murphy where the hardware manual is. Murphy goes to a storage box and pulls out a large paper book. She grins widely.
“That’s why we pay her the big bucks,” says Kordyban.
Everyone chuckles.
One of the servicemen is leaning on a door frame, scratching his head. He tells Kordyban his mother was interviewed for a heritage article. He wonders if it is Island Living.
Kordyban says no, it wasn’t.
“Ours is contemporary so we don’t step on each other’s toes.”
The men leave.
Kordyban bends over Murphy’s desk again. She’s reading emails. Something she sees makes her face light up.
“Hallelujah! That’s great!”
Ralph Kordyban shows up. He is Kordyban’s husband and submits photography occasionally. He also assists with distribution. He stands about 5’11”, has a full head of grey hair and wears a neatly trimmed, grey beard. His voice is soft and he doesn’t say much. In stark contrast, nothing his wife does is executed without tremendous energy and speed, so in similar style, she goes to her car. Ralph Kordyban follows.
They get in and she drives. The first stop is the Evangeline Credit Union in Tyne Valley, where she makes a deposit, taking only minutes.
When she returns to the car she explains even though she did not arrive at the office until 10:45 a.m. she was working at home since 8:30 a.m.
“My day started real early and it happens all the time.”
She’s not complaining.
After getting back on the road, Kordyban’s purse rings. It’s her cell phone. She hands the purse to her husband, who is sitting quietly in the back seat. He finds the phone and answers it.
It’s Kelly from the office.
He hands it back to Kordyban.
“Hey!...OK...Yeah...”
She hangs up.
“Before we had Kelly I had to do everything,” she pauses and nods her head.
“It was bad.”
In the summer she prefers to walk to do her business banking but it isn’t always possible in Tyne Valley during the cold season, she said.
She punctuates her words with hand gestures, crisp elocution and resonant volume.
Kordyban retired from her teaching position in western Canada and she and her husband first moved to P.E.I. just before the magazine was begun in 2007. She kept hearing of artisans, Island-wide, who nobody really knew anything about, she said.
“I kept meeting all these people with all this talent but they weren’t making a living at it. That was the purpose of the magazine.”
To showcase the talent and unify Island culture.
“Local people don’t do the Island.”
Kordyban hopes to change that with her photograph-strong, feature article magazine.
As the cars near Summerside, her phone rings again. She looks at the call display.
“Patty,” she says, flipping it open.
She listens.
“I’m near Slemon Park.”
She pauses.
“How much of it...? Do you remember?”
Another pause.
“I’m picking it up.”
Patty Hardy , who was made Kordyban’s full business partner in the autumn of 2008, embarked on her photographic career purely as a by product of another hobby. Coaching baseball, she said. She began to take pictures of the children while they were playing and giving copies to the parents. She started out with a little Kodak digital.
“I loved the action.”
After a couple of years, she got a better camera and one of the players’ mothers, Anne Phillips, began encouraging her to go somewhere with her talent.
“She created the monster in me to get out there.”
During that same period she was helping a writer, June Ellis, with some layout work. Ellis knew Kordyban was starting up Island Living magazine and kept pressuring Hardy to submit her work. The two were introduced and Hardy finally ended up going on a photo shoot with Kordyban. The photographer has been with Island Living since its first issue, Hardy said.
“I’m not educated. It was an opportunity a lot of people wouldn’t give to me.”
Indeed, Hardy is completely self taught.
And promotion within the ranks came quickly as Kordyban realized the gem she had in Hardy. Soon after starting work with the magazine, Hardy was hospitalized with pneumonia and when she got out she found out she had been named photo-editor. That meant she got to veto all the art work and do the layout. She picked up on the technology immediately and became proficient with it.
“I understand the calibration process.”
Calibration is what photo editors do, with the help of a piece of software, to ensure the colours they choose stay true during printing. The potential for change is quite dramatic, she said. It can make or break your photos. And Hardy is a perfectionist, taking factors like lighting and surrounding reflective colours into consideration.
“I even wear grey sometimes when I do skin tones.” If she wears bright or dark colours, it might reflect back on the screen and distort her perception, thereby affecting the calibration process and the final colours printed.
The two co-publishers make an odd couple, as Hardy stands about 5’6”, taller with her trademark, spike heeled boots. When they show up to do a combination photo shoot and interview , sometimes eyebrows are raised, Hardy said.
Once, the duo covered the Irish Moss Festival and Hardy didn’t know the horses were not restrained, she said, laughing. She was following them along and almost got trampled.
“I just assumed they’d stop the beasts, but they didn’t.”
Hardy has learned to work under stress and how to be ready at a moment’s notice.
“I’ve met a lot of people and I’ve learned what not to do.”
And communication is a big part of the magazine’s success – which means frequent cellphone use.
Kordyban hands up again and asks her husband when he has to be back home.
“Why can’t I just drop you off at Frank’s?”
He tells her she can’t do that. They agree he will drop a camera off to a freelance photographer the magazine uses while she runs other errands.
Since things got started, freelancers have provided Island Living with articles and photographs. June Ellis has been writing for the publication for about two years.
Ellis works full-time as an administrator at Stewart Memorial Hospital in Tyne Valley. She met Kordyban at a P.E.I. Business Women’s Association lunch and learn at the Loyalist Hotel in Summerside, she said.
She took a writing course through correspondence about four years ago and wrote an article on abuse for a women’s issues newsletter shortly after. She had one article published in Island Living about a foster mother due to receive an honourary doctorate in UPEI’s spring convocation exercises, she said.
“She says it was because of my article.”
Ellis loves how Hardy always chooses photos which flow well with her work. Most of all, she enjoys the interviewing process and never uses digital recorders.
“I just take notes. Sometimes people aren’t comfortable with a digital recorder.”
Technology and publishing work hand in hand, though.
Kordyban reads a gauge in front of her.
“I have 10 kilometres of gas left.”
The car pulls in to the Loyalist Inn parking lot in Summerside.
“It’s 11:29 and I said 11:30. Perfect.”
Ralph Kordyban is dropped off and his wife continues on to Office Depot, where she purchases accounting software.
It’s 12 p.m.
“We budget our time. It’s what we do,” she says.
She drives to a computer business in a strip mall in downtown Summerside and picks up a laptop computer the magazine had ordered.
The clerk sees her entering and smiles widely.
“I got ‘er done for you,” he says and brings the flat box containing the computer for her to examine.
She asks about another computer Hardy had looked at.
“We’re just waiting for the drives to come in. Corel is installed,” he tells her.
“OK,” Kordyban says.
She looks at the computer, puts it back in the box and pays for it.
“I can now take my work home.”
It’s 12:15 p.m.
She drives back to the hotel to pick up her husband and takes him to their ocean-view home nestled between the old and new Roman Catholic churches just past Abram Village.
After dropping him off, she drives back to the Tyne Valley office, shuffles some more paperwork, speaks briefly with Kelly and leaves to go to Hardy’s home. There, she will look at and make decisions about photographs for the rest of her very long day.
And it’s only 3:25 p.m.
The vision and product of a creator
About 12 years ago, Lucie Bellemare had a colleague and friend who had brain cancer. The woman had dedicated her life to her love of teaching and that passion and focus made an impact on Bellemare.
She told Bellemare to follow her desire to pain because maybe tomorrow it would be too late. Up to that point, she had been restrained by distraction and a bit of self doubt, but the woman’s words riveted her, so she plunged into exploring how she could make her mark in the world of art.
“You don’t need to be a Rembrandt or Cezanne,” she says in her francophone-accented English.
And that was how she slowly began to transform her larger home near Abram’s Village in to a cluttered, beguiling art studio, in which she would go on to create myriads of things of wide variety and influence; anything from large, splashy canvasses, wrought with bright colours, lines of determination and chaotic purpose, to small series of miniatures which have become vignettes for those browsing through the wood framed, secluded retreat.
Bellemare began her professional life as a linguist in Quebec and later, moved into teaching. Her studies include training at Universite du Quebec a Chicoutimi, the University of Ottawa, Laval and the University of Moncton. In some ways, her attendance at these institutions prepared her for her creative bent, as everything she has done, everything she has experienced, finds its way into her work, she says.
“All of the arts are mixed together. I think it’s musical too,” she adds.
She often works with music playing in the background. And she keeps a detailed journal of thoughts and impressions. Most of her art is inspired by what goes down in life on a day-to-day basis.
“I meet something that gives me a feeling of emotion or a feeling of equilibrium.” Bellemare says, pushing her black framed, rectangular glasses up the bridge of her nose. That instinctual urge generally fuels her next project or series of projects.
Arriving at her home is an experience in itself. A friendly mongrel greets everyone who visits, with a wriggling, joyful whimpering and a willing tongue, ready to bestow affection in doggie terms; his version of a kiss. It is clear there are very few unseen borders surrounding the property and Bellemare gives further evidence to the fact with affectionate hugs for her visitors. There is even a large pet bunny that roams the grounds, undaunted by the canine presence. Brightly lit rooms reveal their contents through many large windows; indeed the structure almost seems to consist more of glass panes than shingles.
Bellemare had been in P.E.I. for nine years, coming to the Island to take a teaching position at the Evangeline School in Abrams Village. Her art is not a means of generating income and people ask her, all the time, how she manages, she says.
The petite but intense, long haired brunette is a Christian who looks to her faith for both inspiration and providence, she explains.
“Lord whatever you want me to do, that’s it. And it’s if it’s freeing someone somewhere, then I feel I am doing my job.”
Pragmatically, her inspiration can come from almost any source and she changes her techniques almost deliberately about every six months. Once, back in 2004, she went through a phase in which she used hundreds of sea shells in her work.
“I’m getting out of my red period,” she offers, holding up several small pieces which showcase earth tones.
And recently, she has been using good old P.E.I. sand and paint to produce dozens of miniatures; allowing each new work to inspire and give rise to the next in the series, often taking the same subject or scene and producing a very different perspective, but keeping thematic influence intact. There are artefacts from the past in sand, she says.
“They know more than I do,” she reflects with a small smile.
Bellemare sees her art as a constant display of an ever-evolving metaphor and she tries to please herself with its creation. This is a truth which drives all artists, she says.
The francophone artist has been known to manufacture her own oils and acrylics and prefers to purchase natural pigments from suppliers all over, she says. But she will use most anything, to which rows of spray paint cans lining a couple of top shelves in her upstairs studio attests. She buys most of her paints and other necessities off-Island, from suppliers in Montreal, Toronto and Moncton.
Her passion for producing art became evident when she was only five, she says. She refused to use colouring books, but instead, drew her own. And visual art is not her only discipline. She is writing and illustrating four books on literacy.
She supplements her income with caricatures for La Voix Acadienne, a newspaper published in Summerside for and by the Island’s francophone community. She also arranges for exhibitions from time to time. The Acadian Museum in Miscouche displayed her work in the spring and summer of 2008. And she does sell it as well, but has been known to give friends samples of her work as well. She’s been busy and has to battle to do her own work, she says.
“Being an artist looks easy,” she adds. But it is deceptive.
And she is constantly questioning herself. Often, she experiences incubation periods and then suddenly shifts into a production phase. For Bellemare, it means always being at work in her head.
Whether working in her head or working in her studio with the corporeal, Bellemare can often be found celebrating life with her family and pets in the large house they call home, on a little dirt road just south of Abrams Village, relishing in her calling; surrounded by the congestion of her work. There is hardly a wall or piece of furniture that does not support a canvass produced over the years...studio or home, it matters not to the owner of the woodstove-heated, sprawling building how it’s labelled. What matters is, she took the advice of a friend who knew the wisdom of the ages and hasn’t looked back since. It’s clear, Bellemare’s vision and productivity have become one:
“I try to help people in my community know what an artist is all about."
She told Bellemare to follow her desire to pain because maybe tomorrow it would be too late. Up to that point, she had been restrained by distraction and a bit of self doubt, but the woman’s words riveted her, so she plunged into exploring how she could make her mark in the world of art.
“You don’t need to be a Rembrandt or Cezanne,” she says in her francophone-accented English.
And that was how she slowly began to transform her larger home near Abram’s Village in to a cluttered, beguiling art studio, in which she would go on to create myriads of things of wide variety and influence; anything from large, splashy canvasses, wrought with bright colours, lines of determination and chaotic purpose, to small series of miniatures which have become vignettes for those browsing through the wood framed, secluded retreat.
Bellemare began her professional life as a linguist in Quebec and later, moved into teaching. Her studies include training at Universite du Quebec a Chicoutimi, the University of Ottawa, Laval and the University of Moncton. In some ways, her attendance at these institutions prepared her for her creative bent, as everything she has done, everything she has experienced, finds its way into her work, she says.
“All of the arts are mixed together. I think it’s musical too,” she adds.
She often works with music playing in the background. And she keeps a detailed journal of thoughts and impressions. Most of her art is inspired by what goes down in life on a day-to-day basis.
“I meet something that gives me a feeling of emotion or a feeling of equilibrium.” Bellemare says, pushing her black framed, rectangular glasses up the bridge of her nose. That instinctual urge generally fuels her next project or series of projects.
Arriving at her home is an experience in itself. A friendly mongrel greets everyone who visits, with a wriggling, joyful whimpering and a willing tongue, ready to bestow affection in doggie terms; his version of a kiss. It is clear there are very few unseen borders surrounding the property and Bellemare gives further evidence to the fact with affectionate hugs for her visitors. There is even a large pet bunny that roams the grounds, undaunted by the canine presence. Brightly lit rooms reveal their contents through many large windows; indeed the structure almost seems to consist more of glass panes than shingles.
Bellemare had been in P.E.I. for nine years, coming to the Island to take a teaching position at the Evangeline School in Abrams Village. Her art is not a means of generating income and people ask her, all the time, how she manages, she says.
The petite but intense, long haired brunette is a Christian who looks to her faith for both inspiration and providence, she explains.
“Lord whatever you want me to do, that’s it. And it’s if it’s freeing someone somewhere, then I feel I am doing my job.”
Pragmatically, her inspiration can come from almost any source and she changes her techniques almost deliberately about every six months. Once, back in 2004, she went through a phase in which she used hundreds of sea shells in her work.
“I’m getting out of my red period,” she offers, holding up several small pieces which showcase earth tones.
And recently, she has been using good old P.E.I. sand and paint to produce dozens of miniatures; allowing each new work to inspire and give rise to the next in the series, often taking the same subject or scene and producing a very different perspective, but keeping thematic influence intact. There are artefacts from the past in sand, she says.
“They know more than I do,” she reflects with a small smile.
Bellemare sees her art as a constant display of an ever-evolving metaphor and she tries to please herself with its creation. This is a truth which drives all artists, she says.
The francophone artist has been known to manufacture her own oils and acrylics and prefers to purchase natural pigments from suppliers all over, she says. But she will use most anything, to which rows of spray paint cans lining a couple of top shelves in her upstairs studio attests. She buys most of her paints and other necessities off-Island, from suppliers in Montreal, Toronto and Moncton.
Her passion for producing art became evident when she was only five, she says. She refused to use colouring books, but instead, drew her own. And visual art is not her only discipline. She is writing and illustrating four books on literacy.
She supplements her income with caricatures for La Voix Acadienne, a newspaper published in Summerside for and by the Island’s francophone community. She also arranges for exhibitions from time to time. The Acadian Museum in Miscouche displayed her work in the spring and summer of 2008. And she does sell it as well, but has been known to give friends samples of her work as well. She’s been busy and has to battle to do her own work, she says.
“Being an artist looks easy,” she adds. But it is deceptive.
And she is constantly questioning herself. Often, she experiences incubation periods and then suddenly shifts into a production phase. For Bellemare, it means always being at work in her head.
Whether working in her head or working in her studio with the corporeal, Bellemare can often be found celebrating life with her family and pets in the large house they call home, on a little dirt road just south of Abrams Village, relishing in her calling; surrounded by the congestion of her work. There is hardly a wall or piece of furniture that does not support a canvass produced over the years...studio or home, it matters not to the owner of the woodstove-heated, sprawling building how it’s labelled. What matters is, she took the advice of a friend who knew the wisdom of the ages and hasn’t looked back since. It’s clear, Bellemare’s vision and productivity have become one:
“I try to help people in my community know what an artist is all about."
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Winter mussel harvesting in P.E.I.
Last winter, Kent Noye’s truck went through the ice as his fellow mussel harvesters looked on. Noye was busy working in the tank, where the mussels being harvested were first loaded as they came off the long ropes being hauled up from under the ice.
The driver of the truck allowed it to slip down into the hole carved out to bring up the shellfish from the icy water.
It took eight men to bring it back up, said Noye, grinning.
“The driver was half asleep.”
Noye, who is from the Tyne Valley area on P.E.I., harvested oysters until about seven years ago. He considered going to Alberta like many of his peers, but realized he could do just as well harvesting mussels at home. The money was better than oyster harvesting and he could stay close to home. He is now joined by two brothers-in-law.
The day starts early, is long and it is cold out on the ice, he said.
When he began, he wore a survival suit but he found it too not, so now he only wears regular winter clothing and special gloves.
Randall Clow of Pleasant Grove, P.E.I. used to harvest mussels in Tracadie Bay until about five or six years ago. He agreed with Noye. A lot of mussel fishers wear special clothing, like survival suits and gloves. A survival suit can cost $250 and a pair of gloves about $40.
“If you’re not dressed for it, it’s a miserable job.”
Most wear special tinted glasses or sunglasses as well.
The gloves available at industrial fishing supply stores are better than the older kinds.
“There are better gloves now. Ones that go right up to the shoulders,” Clow added.
Noye said a lot of men wear boots with cleats to keep them from slipping on the ice. He doesn’t have that luxury, however, as he is usually in the tank where the mussels are first put. He needs to walk around on top of the shellfish, jumping on them to press them down, making room for more, so cleats are out of the question, he said. When Noye is manning this station, he doesn’t get to work the hole, where the mussels are brought up with the help of a crane and pulleys.
A scuba diver is brought in to cut a hole through the three-foot-thick ice. Often a truck with a plow attachment is brought in to keep a pathway open for the other machinery and vehicles. It is not uncommon to see four-wheel, all-terrain vehicles and snowmobiles being used.
Typically, mussel harvesters will bring up three to four lines a day, depending on how much the wholesalers need.
The season begins with socking, the setting of mussel larvae on many long ropes suspended by an A-frame. The A-frame gets lowered into the salt water where it is left about a year and a half. This usually happens in the fall.
In the new year harvesting begins. It lasts about six weeks.
Clow said it is hard work.
“You earn your money. It’s not an ideal job. It’s a cold job.”
Noye echoed the sentiment.
“It’s not for a lazy person.”
Clow said there are perks.
Being on the ice instead of open water means it is usually calm and there are no waves to contend with. But fishers still have to be cautious.
“If it’s a windy day, you come off the ice and your face is burnt.” They try to keep their backs to the wind.
Noye likes seeing birds and enjoys the fresh air. And it gives him something to do in the winter. As for getting rich, both men laugh at the thought.
Still, Noye said the bank is happy with them.
Clow said there are certain days and certain leases which produce better harvests. But there are no guarantees. When he first began back around the time the Confederation Bridge was completed, the price of mussels was 60 cents per pound for harvesters, he said.
“It was 65 cents for a couple of years but it went down.”
Almost 20 years later, the price is still at 60 cents a pound. The market has opened up worldwide, but large companies have bought out the smaller producers, making it more challenging for harvesters to get what they think is a fair price from wholesalers. Adding to that is the recent problem with parasites such as the tunicate. Because of this, the work has intensified, leaving harvesters putting in longer hours to bring in the same size harvest.
As a result, harvesters are hard to find. Nobody wants to do the hard work of having to not only remove the mussels from the ropes as they come up from below the ice, but painstakingly pressure-wash the gelatinous globs of parasites clinging to many of them.
Yet, business is booming and P.E.I. mussels are found in restaurants, bars and grocery stores, worldwide.
And each year, the winter harvest brings hard-working, resilient P.E.I. fishers returning to the long hours and harsh temperatures on the ice - perhaps a testimony to the well-established work ethic found around the Island.
Neither man sees the day coming soon when the winter tradition will end.
As Noye put – with a smile on his face, “What else would you rather be doing?”
The driver of the truck allowed it to slip down into the hole carved out to bring up the shellfish from the icy water.
It took eight men to bring it back up, said Noye, grinning.
“The driver was half asleep.”
Noye, who is from the Tyne Valley area on P.E.I., harvested oysters until about seven years ago. He considered going to Alberta like many of his peers, but realized he could do just as well harvesting mussels at home. The money was better than oyster harvesting and he could stay close to home. He is now joined by two brothers-in-law.
The day starts early, is long and it is cold out on the ice, he said.
When he began, he wore a survival suit but he found it too not, so now he only wears regular winter clothing and special gloves.
Randall Clow of Pleasant Grove, P.E.I. used to harvest mussels in Tracadie Bay until about five or six years ago. He agreed with Noye. A lot of mussel fishers wear special clothing, like survival suits and gloves. A survival suit can cost $250 and a pair of gloves about $40.
“If you’re not dressed for it, it’s a miserable job.”
Most wear special tinted glasses or sunglasses as well.
The gloves available at industrial fishing supply stores are better than the older kinds.
“There are better gloves now. Ones that go right up to the shoulders,” Clow added.
Noye said a lot of men wear boots with cleats to keep them from slipping on the ice. He doesn’t have that luxury, however, as he is usually in the tank where the mussels are first put. He needs to walk around on top of the shellfish, jumping on them to press them down, making room for more, so cleats are out of the question, he said. When Noye is manning this station, he doesn’t get to work the hole, where the mussels are brought up with the help of a crane and pulleys.
A scuba diver is brought in to cut a hole through the three-foot-thick ice. Often a truck with a plow attachment is brought in to keep a pathway open for the other machinery and vehicles. It is not uncommon to see four-wheel, all-terrain vehicles and snowmobiles being used.
Typically, mussel harvesters will bring up three to four lines a day, depending on how much the wholesalers need.
The season begins with socking, the setting of mussel larvae on many long ropes suspended by an A-frame. The A-frame gets lowered into the salt water where it is left about a year and a half. This usually happens in the fall.
In the new year harvesting begins. It lasts about six weeks.
Clow said it is hard work.
“You earn your money. It’s not an ideal job. It’s a cold job.”
Noye echoed the sentiment.
“It’s not for a lazy person.”
Clow said there are perks.
Being on the ice instead of open water means it is usually calm and there are no waves to contend with. But fishers still have to be cautious.
“If it’s a windy day, you come off the ice and your face is burnt.” They try to keep their backs to the wind.
Noye likes seeing birds and enjoys the fresh air. And it gives him something to do in the winter. As for getting rich, both men laugh at the thought.
Still, Noye said the bank is happy with them.
Clow said there are certain days and certain leases which produce better harvests. But there are no guarantees. When he first began back around the time the Confederation Bridge was completed, the price of mussels was 60 cents per pound for harvesters, he said.
“It was 65 cents for a couple of years but it went down.”
Almost 20 years later, the price is still at 60 cents a pound. The market has opened up worldwide, but large companies have bought out the smaller producers, making it more challenging for harvesters to get what they think is a fair price from wholesalers. Adding to that is the recent problem with parasites such as the tunicate. Because of this, the work has intensified, leaving harvesters putting in longer hours to bring in the same size harvest.
As a result, harvesters are hard to find. Nobody wants to do the hard work of having to not only remove the mussels from the ropes as they come up from below the ice, but painstakingly pressure-wash the gelatinous globs of parasites clinging to many of them.
Yet, business is booming and P.E.I. mussels are found in restaurants, bars and grocery stores, worldwide.
And each year, the winter harvest brings hard-working, resilient P.E.I. fishers returning to the long hours and harsh temperatures on the ice - perhaps a testimony to the well-established work ethic found around the Island.
Neither man sees the day coming soon when the winter tradition will end.
As Noye put – with a smile on his face, “What else would you rather be doing?”
Theft from cars down for month of March in Summerside: station sergeant
There were 10 reported thefts of less than $5,000 from cars in Summerside in March, says station sergeant Barry Arsenault, a 25-year veteran with the force.
“That is low,” he said.
Fifty-five thefts of the same nature were reported over the past year. An online site which provides crime statistics for areas all over North America is used by Summerside police to gather data, he said.
“It’s only as good as the data put in.”
And these statistics only reflect reported crimes. Police realize many crimes are not reported.
That was the case for Don Thompson of Kensington, who had his truck broken into early in March. He had between $450 and $500 worth of items stolen when he parked his car in the Airforce Association parking lot in Summerside overnight, he said.
“The truck was locked but the window was open a bit.”
He got home and returned the next day to get his truck and noticed the door to the vehicle was open.”
“Everything was all over the place.”
Two containers of coins, a stopwatch he used for horseracing and a special kind of flashlight called a maglight, as well as a few other items, were taken from the truck. Thompson wondered if it was kids who broke into the truck.
“It was a random act of theft. It could have been anybody.”
Arsenault said those caught and incarcerated for this type of crime are usually between their late teens and early 20s.
“The younger teens are just experimenting.” But often, older criminals think of themselves as career criminals.
“It’s called car shopping.”
The thief looks in the windows of a vehicle to see if there is something they need.
“The answer to it all in the end is don’t leave anything valuable in your car.”
Thompson did not report the theft because he thought there was very little chance of police retrieving the stolen items.
“That is low,” he said.
Fifty-five thefts of the same nature were reported over the past year. An online site which provides crime statistics for areas all over North America is used by Summerside police to gather data, he said.
“It’s only as good as the data put in.”
And these statistics only reflect reported crimes. Police realize many crimes are not reported.
That was the case for Don Thompson of Kensington, who had his truck broken into early in March. He had between $450 and $500 worth of items stolen when he parked his car in the Airforce Association parking lot in Summerside overnight, he said.
“The truck was locked but the window was open a bit.”
He got home and returned the next day to get his truck and noticed the door to the vehicle was open.”
“Everything was all over the place.”
Two containers of coins, a stopwatch he used for horseracing and a special kind of flashlight called a maglight, as well as a few other items, were taken from the truck. Thompson wondered if it was kids who broke into the truck.
“It was a random act of theft. It could have been anybody.”
Arsenault said those caught and incarcerated for this type of crime are usually between their late teens and early 20s.
“The younger teens are just experimenting.” But often, older criminals think of themselves as career criminals.
“It’s called car shopping.”
The thief looks in the windows of a vehicle to see if there is something they need.
“The answer to it all in the end is don’t leave anything valuable in your car.”
Thompson did not report the theft because he thought there was very little chance of police retrieving the stolen items.
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