With one exception, eight generations of Newcombes beginning with Deacon John in 1760 have tilled the soil in Kings County, says a direct descendant.

“I was a blip, the exception,” retired Upper Dyke school teacher John Newcombe said when addressing the Fieldwood Historical Society in Canning recently. “Until I came along all the Newcombes descending from Deacon John farmed in this area.”

During his address, John Newcombe talked about a Planter family that was among the first settlers here after the expulsion of the Acadians. The Newcombes arrived in 1761 and among them was Deacon John Newcombe, so named because he had been a church deacon for over 40 years.

At age 72, Deacon John was ancient by 18th century standards when he emigrated to Nova Scotia from Lebanon, Connecticut, with his offsprings and brothers. In his history of Kings County, A. W. H. Eaton calls Deacon John a “Cornwallis grantee” but apparently this isn’t the case. While the Newcombes were among the original grantees, Deacon John apparently had given up farming due to his age when the Planter movement took place and never applied for a land grant. His sons Captain Eddy and John Jr. and brothers Benjamin and Simon were Cornwallis grantees, however, and it is from this family that most Annapolis Valley Newcombes have descended.

After 28 years of teaching in Kings County schools, John Newcombe took early retirement and began to work on his family history. His Upper Dyke home was built in 1880 and he is the third generation Newcombe to live there. John’s property is surrounded by a landscape steeped in history. Looking out an east side window, he can see the old house on Newcombe Branch Road that was home to four generations of his immediate ancestors. Nearby is a stream, once tidal, on which the Acadians built one of the first aboiteaus in Kings County; the dykework mound is still partially visible and can be seen from John’s kitchen window.

Visible from John’s parlour window to the south is the historic Canard River. The Acadians made their first attempts to tame the Minas Basin tides on the Canard, building a series of running dykes, cross dykes and aboiteaus that stretched for miles downstream; these works later inspired the Planters massive Wellington Dyke which Newcombe’s ancestors helped to build.

In John Newcombe’s dwelling history is literally oozing from the walls. John has compiled a detailed Newcombe genealogy starting with the Deacon, and has collected many artifacts relating to the immediate family. There are more than a few Planter artifacts, some of them coming from Deacon John, and reams of Newcombe family documents from the early 1800s and 1900s – letters, legal agreements, receipts, banking documents and so on.

John Newcombe speculates that his grand sire, the Deacon, passed his remaining years in Kings County with his son, John Jr. The Deacon lived long enough to see his brothers and sons become prominent farmers and landholders in Nova Scotia. Some of the Deacon’s descendants left Nova Scotia but John Newcombe keeps track of most of them in his genealogy; a few descendants were world travellers and all records of them have vanished.

When the Deacon and his family emigrated to Nova Scotia during the Planter movement, many of his fellow Cornwallis grantees from Lebanon, Connecticut, bore surnames that can still be found in Kings County today. Among them are Barnaby, Bill, Brewster, Calkin, Cogswell, Fitch, Fuller, Tupper, Webster and Woodworth. These families have a common bond, the Planter emigration to the Annapolis Valley.

Nova Scotia has the proud distinction of being the only province of Canada and the first colony of Great Britain to possess, through Royal Charter, a flag of its own, a flag that originated in 1621. This is often proclaimed in various government publications, tourist literature, etc. – sometimes with a 1625 date – and it is generally accepted as a fact. In the field of vexillology, however, this “fact” is questionable.

Vexillology, the study of flags, is a hobby of Dr. Robert Raeside, Wolfville, head of the geology department at Acadia University. Recently Dr. Raeside addressed the Kentville Gyro on his hobby; during his presentation, Raeside remarked that the Nova Scotia flag had never been adopted officially. In effect, Dr. Raeside said (even though he didn’t use these exact words) there is no official Nova Scotia flag.

Intrigued by his comment, I asked Dr. Raeside to elaborate. A few days later the strange story of the Nova Scotia “flag” arrived via e-mail. It’s a complicated tale of which a whittled down version follows.

“The story started in 1621 when the area including what is now Nova Scotia was given by grant to Sir William Alexander by King James V1 of Scotland. Mention is made of a flag at that time, but no description of it was made.

“By the 17th century the concept of a national flag was not well developed, and, of course, the province didn’t yet exist. More important was the grant of arms, which happened for New Scotland in 1625 by decree of King Charles 1… The arms were granted by the chief herald of Scotland. No flag is known from that time – the first use of a flag for Nova Scotia (of the modern design) was as a presentation to the Halifax Cricket Club in 1858.

“In 1868 a strange twist happened.” Dr. Raeside continued. Along with other British colonies, Nova Scotia was granted a coat of arms by the College of Arms in London. Dr. Raeside called this the thistles and salmon shield and it commemorates the Scottish settlers and the wealth of the waters. “From 1868 to the early 20th century the flag used for Nova Scotia was usually a blue ensign with the thistles and salmon shield in the fly.”

Nova Scotia now had two official sets of arms, “one set by the Scottish herald and practically forgotten, one by the English herald.” When in 1916 one James Stewart published a paper pointing this out, support for the ancient arms grew. In 1928 the Nova Scotia government asked the College of Arms to set aside the 1868 arms in favour of the 1625 arms. “This happened,” Raeside writes, “and Nova Scotia could now adopt its own flag – but it never did.”

Summing up the situation, Dr. Raeside said that “the flag that flies today is derived from the arms that were presented in 1625, but because it was only the arms that were confirmed when the thistles and salmon arms were abandoned, the flag has never actually been adopted officially.

“We can look back to the text of the 1625 decree, that the arms were ‘to be borne for the said Province of Nova Scotia upon Seals Shields Banner or otherwise according to the Laws of Arms.’ From that it is not too big a step to add ‘flags’ to ‘banners’ and say that Nova Scotia’s flag is 375 years old, even though it is the only provincial or territory flag that has never actually been proclaimed.”

But, adds Dr. Raeside, we shouldn’t let this omission worry us. “The Union Jack, the flag of the United Kingdom, has never been formally adopted as a national flag either!”

Writing about early industries in his Kings County history, A. W. H. Eaton names the people who were leading fruit growers and pioneer orchardists. Among the early fruit growers Eaton writes about, Ralph Samuel Eaton is given prominence and there are flattering references to his development of Hillcrest Orchards.

Many people will remember Hillcrest Orchards. Famous in their day, Hillcrest Orchards were renowned across the Maritimes, and perhaps across Canada, if we accept the judgment of Eaton the historian.

There may have been substance to this claim of renown. The provincial government published a glossy tourist guide in 1923, featuring Hillcrest Orchards in a full-page photograph. In the photo the orchard is in blossom with horse-drawn farm equipment in the background; this is a folksy picture from pre-apple blossom festival days and its inclusion in the guide hints at Hillcrest’s tourist appeal and prominence.

A showplace in the 1920s and 30s, Hillcrest Orchards were once said to be the largest orchard of mixed fruit in Canada. The original orchard was located north of Kentville near Chipman Corner on Middle Dyke Road. An attractive, well-maintained apple orchard owned by Sterlings now occupies this site.

While older generation natives of this area will recall Hillcrest Orchards and its golden period, few remember Ralph Samuel Eaton. Who was this man who pioneered fruit growing and was instrumental in establishing Annapolis Valley orchards as a major industry and tourist attraction?

Eaton the historian included Ralph in his who’s who of early fruit growers along with the likes of Bishop Charles Inglis (of Bishop Pippin fame) the Hon. Charles Ramage Prescott (dubbed the “father of the apple industry”) and the Starrs (Samuel, Robert, William and John). Eaton mentions Hillcrest Orchards and Ralph several times in his history, referring to him as a genius and “one of the acknowledged masters of fruit culture (who) conceived and brought to successful issue the famous Cornwallis Hillcrest Orchards.”

As an additional tribute to Eaton the fruit grower, Eaton the historian includes an essay on the fruit industry by Ralph in his Kings County history. This historical sketch begins with the fruit growing efforts of the Acadians, takes us to the formation of the Fruit Grower’s Association – one of the oldest agricultural organizations in North America – and the opening of the experimental station in Kentville.

Ralph S. Eaton was descended from the planter Eatons who came to Kings County after the expulsion of the Acadians; and like most of the Eaton clan, he had scholarly leanings and an interest in the soil. He was a prominent pioneer fruit grower and his Hillcrest Orchards were undoubtedly a showplace of national repute But aside from the praise for Ralph and his orchards and inclusion of his essay in Eaton’s Kings County history, little information about him exists.

Eaton’s history has a detailed genealogy of the Kings County Eatons starting with David who settled here in 1761. All the Eatons with a Kings County ancestry are descended from David. Ralph can be found in the genealogy as a fifth generation descendant but no birth and death dates are given. James Fry’s sketch of Chipman Corner pays tribute to Ralph and Hillcrest Orchards but contains no biographical information. I was unable to find mention of Ralph and his contributions in the excellent history of the apple industry by Anne Hutten, Valley Gold. Ralph it seems is practically a mystery man.

The Acadians built the first dykes and aboiteaus in Hants and Kings County, a fact well documented in history books.

But what the history books don’t tell you is that after the expulsion, the people who came here built dykes and aboiteaus on an even grander scale than the Acadians. One example is the Wellington Dyke, a magnificent sea wall and aboiteau constructed by the Planters over a five, ten year period. Completed in 1812 and nearly a mile long, the Wellington Dyke stands guard over some 3,000 acres of prime agricultural land, in effect determining the agrarian character of eastern Kings County.

A number of papers and books have been written on the Wellington Dyke and the dykes of the Acadians; the most definitive work, in my opinion, is a study by Advertiser columnist Brent Fox. A history major while attending Acadia University, Fox completed his Masters degree in 1985. Later, while employed at the Old Kings Courthouse Museum as a researcher, Fox wrote a history of the Wellington Dyke and the Canard River dyke system. His bound manuscript was available for a time at the Museum but it’s nearly impossible to purchase a copy today.

Fox’s work on the Wellington Dyke appropriately begins with the Acadians. The Acadians began dykeing on a modest scale, their first attempts taking place well up the Canard River at Steam Mill. Gradually moving downstream, the Acadians built a second aboiteau where the highway crosses the Canard River at Upper Dyke; a third aboiteau was constructed near the highway bridge on Middle Dyke Road. Moving downriver again, the Acadians placed a fourth aboiteau in the vicinity of the bridge on the highway running between Port Williams and Canning.

By the time of the expulsion the Acadians had reclaimed nearly 2000 acres of land from the sea and were undoubtedly eyeing the area near the mouth of the Canard River. Summing up the achievement of the Acadians, Fox writes that they had claimed almost two-thirds of the Canard River flood plain from the sea. This area, Fox said, remains “the only memorial to the miracles worked by those anonymous farming folk.”

Spurred on by the example set by the Acadians, the Planters were to perform another miracle, the building of the Wellington Dyke. The Planters began serious discussions on building a great dyke and aboiteau on the Canard River in 1809. Tenders were let three years later but actual work didn’t begin until 1817. The Wellington Dyke was completed in 1825 after “fifteen years of trial, error, washed away materials, hard toil and hitherto unheard of expenses.”

Fox documents the Planters’ struggle to complete the Wellington Dyke from the first meeting of dykeholders in 1809 to the controversy over surveying expenses at the Dyke’s completion. A great storm with high tides washed out a partially completed dyke in 1822, and there were periods when work lagged because the labour force was called away to maintain and repair the old Acadian dykes.

Wellington Dyke was built in an age when there was no machinery and the tons of material that went into it were moved by man and beast. It can be said, literally, that Wellington Dyke was built with rum and sweat. Fox has amusing references to the amount of rum required to grease the labour force. “Rum was included among the many necessities during construction” Fox writes. “The body of dykeland proprietors had to provide (rum) to the workers, usually twice a day.”

The New Englanders who became Cornwallis Planters had inherited a solid tradition of rum consumption, Fox writes, a habit “dutifully carried on in Kings County… on the dykes.”

When leaving downtown Kentville and travelling eastward towards the flat, one crosses what most residents call the smelt brook. This is Mill Brook, which at one time was Magee Brook after Kentville’s first merchant, Henry Magee. Mr. Magee’s trials and tribulations during the American Revolution and his eventual arrival in the Annapolis Valley were chronicled in this column several weeks ago.

Mr. Magee left his mark on the Valley and in particular the Kentville area in several ways. Kentville historian Louis Comeau told me that the straight stretch of Mill or Magee Brook above the bridge on east Main Street is an artificial channel. Mr. Comeau believes that Magee’s grist mill was located near the bridge and the original channel of the brook was diverted to run by it. Comeau said that at one time Magee Brook ran across the flat, perhaps just below Wickwire Hill. Magee also erected a sawmill on the lake south of Kentville that bears his name, Magee Lake.

After I talked with Louis Comeau, another reader called to tell me that Henry Magee had been profiled in one of the vignettes published by the Kings County Historical Society. This account can be found in volume four of the Kings County Vignettes, which is available in local bookstores and the Courthouse Museum on Cornwallis Street, Kentville.

The Orpin account, which I used in my column, and the vignette piece differ in details but they both have Magee fleeing the Revolution and arriving in Nova Scotia, where he is eventually reunited with his family. Elizabeth Rand wrote the vignette article and like everything the late historian worked on, it is well researched. Rand describes a Henry Magee who was an entrepreneur first class and one of the Valley’s early merchants kings.

Besides the store and grist mill in Kentville and the lakeside sawmill, Magee also erected a grist mill and saw mill on the appropriately named Magee Brook in Auburn. Rand tells us that Magee’s clientele came from a wide area. “Customers came from Wilmot, Aylesford, Cornwallis, Horton, Falmouth, Windsor and even as far as Parrsboro,” Rand writes. In addition to grinding their grain in his mills and supplying lumber and firewood, Magee’s store stocked everything the settlers of this area required; everything “from a needle to a plow,” Rand says, which suggests to me that this may have been Magee’s store motto.

Magee was more than a merchant, miller and lumber mill operator. Rand describes him as a “friend of the whole community” as well as a “trader (and) pawnbroker.” In the days when there was little “hard money,” Magee apparently bartered goods for goods and goods for services. In his store account books, for example, are entries indicating the local schoolmaster provided his services in exchange for goods.

As mentioned in the previous column, Magee’s loyalty to the Crown was rewarded with a grant of land in what is now the township of Aylesford. Magee decided to settle at Horton Corner/Kentville, however, and he built a home and store there in 1788. Louis Comeau tells me that when Magee settled in Horton Corner there were only 14 homes in the village. It is safe to assume that Magee’s store and mills were the embryo of Kentville’s evolvement as the business, social and political centre of Kings County.

Henry Magee is buried in Kentville’s oldest cemetery, Oak Grove, and a large headstone marks his resting place. The stone salutes his Irish ancestry but surprisingly fails to mention his contributions as a pioneer merchant.

“Much valuable history has been lost through being left unwritten,” Abram E. Jess wrote some 60 years in the introduction to his “History of Scotts Bay.”

Indeed, as Jess wrote, much valuable history has been lost because no one took the time to record it; to those who like Mr. Jess have made an effort to preserve our records, we owe a debt that can never be paid.

To be precise, it was 1941 when Mr. Jess penned his Scots Bay history. Jess compiled the history from various sources which he duly notes in his introduction. Besides some detective work of his own, in compiling the history Mr. Jess consulted the Layout Books of Cornwallis, the Book of Records in the Registry of Deeds and other records. As deputy Registrar of Probate, he had access to many old ledgers, journals and deed of which he made good use.

Along with several other community histories, I discovered Mr. Jess’ work recently in a list of historical books available through the Annapolis Valley Regional Library. It was a happy discovery. Until I happened to peruse that list I was unaware that Mr. Jess’ history existed – and by the way, he did have two “t”s in the title of his history, which was the old way of spelling Scots Bay. Mr. Jess tells us there was another way of spelling the community’s name – Scotch Bay.

Another happy discovery was a history of Hants County written in 1865 by J. Churchill Cox. Also, there was a book I’ve been looking for, a history of Margaretville entitled “Over The Mountain And Down To The Bay.” Several readers have mentioned this history but I was unable to find a copy until now.

As mentioned, community histories are invaluable. Often the compilers/writers have close ties with the community they are profiling and the result is often a history that’s the opposite of stuffy, pedantic and dull. Mr. Jess appears to have personal knowledge of many of the older Scots Bay families, for example; he profiles many of these families in his history and for anyone tracing ancestors, these sketches must be priceless.

In fact, much of Mr. Jess’ work is devoted to Scots Bay people – who the early pioneer were, the names of people who held land in the Bay in the 18th and 19th century, and so on. Even when Jess writes about the early roads of the community, the names of residents connected with them are mentioned; which to repeat myself, is invaluable for anyone doing family research.

Cox’s Hants County history is more scholarly perhaps than Jess’ work but is no less interesting. His work is worth reading because it was written 135 years ago. He wrote in a time when Acadian cellars and pieces of Acadian dykes were still visible in the countryside and the willows planted by the Acadians still flourished.

Like Jess, Cox writes about people. To give one example, his sketch of Falmouth, which was part of Kings County until 1875, includes the names of settlers who arrived after the expulsion of the Acadians. Some of the old surnames and the variations in spelling in this list are amusing. Amateur genealogists tracing their ancestors in Hants and Kings County will be delighted with the Cox history.

I haven’t touched on the Margaretville history but that will be a topic in a future column. As mentioned, these community histories are available in your local library but you will probably have to put a request in to obtain them.

In [a recent] column, I wrote about the failed scheme in 1889 to build a giant aboiteau between Kingsport and Long Island. As I said, it was a mind-boggling scheme; on paper, the aboiteau would reclaim some 600 acres, a figure scoffed at by the editor of the Wolfville newspaper, The Acadian.

The reason for scoffing?

Following an editorial panning the proposed giant aboiteau, the editor offered readers a tale about the engineer who was surveying for the project. The scene described by the editor probably didn’t happen. A century ago newspapers were free and easy with the truth and were often openly obnoxious. Can you imagine a newspaper today daring to print an editorial as slanderous as the following:

“A funny story is told about the proposed dike between Kingsport and Long Island. It is said that an engineer was out making a survey and calculations the other day and managed to fall into the mud nearly to his neck. Not being very well acquainted with the locality, he became confused, and in making up his calculation got on the wrong side of the proposed dike and reckoned up the area outside instead of that inside. This is said to account for the big stories about the vast amount of land to be reclaimed to be in circulation.”

With newspapers of the day reporting frivolously on the proposed aboiteau, is it any surprise that it never was constructed.

In a column several weeks ago on the old Pickett’s Wharf the origin of its name came into question. It seemed likely since there are two “T’s” in Pickett, the way the surname is spelled, that the wharf was named after an actual person. I also mentioned the possibility that historian Elizabeth Rand had suggested in her book, Canard Street. That the wharf was so named due to a picket fence along the road leading to it.

An old document in the hands of Jim Borden, Lower Canard, suggests that Pickett’s Wharf may indeed be named for a picket fence.

The document is a deed dated 1874 that records the leasing of a piece of dykeland to Borden’s great great grandfather. The old wharf is used in the document as a reference point Mr. Borden said when he called to tell me about it. The document refers to the wharf as “the picket wharf;” this suggests that pickets of some sort, a fence or whatever, distinguished the wharf from others in the area and the pickets became a commonplace reference.

In my mind, this old document is a rare piece of local history; I expressed an interest in reading it and perhaps quoting the document here and Mr. Borden has agreed to this. I’ll get back to the document in a future column.

A call from a reader who has been doing a lot of genealogical work offers a hint on how the old Six Rod Road may have acquired its name.

In a search for information on his ancestors, Eric Brewster of New Minas discovered that part of Saxon Street in Kings County is referred to on one old map as the “sixty rod highway.” Mr. Brewsters’s ancestor, Samuel Brewster, received a grant of land on this road in 1761, which is why he has a special interest in it.

Mr. Brewster believes that designating some early roads in rod lengths may be connected with lands grants. We know that some land grants were given with the understanding that grantees were to build and maintain passable roads along the edge of the property – roads that would connect with the thoroughfares built by other nearby grantees. Is it possible that roads bordering a grantee’s property were identified at one time by the actual measurement of its frontage in rods?

Born in Ireland in 1756, Henry Magee emigrated to America, establishing a mill in Pennsylvania. During the American Revolution, Magee was separated from his family and imprisoned for his Loyalist views. Magee escaped and fled to Canada. After wandering in the wilderness he eventually arrived in Nova Scotia where he was reunited with his family. Magee settled in the Annapolis Valley, first establishing a grist mill in Windsor and later a mill and general store in Kentville. He is mentioned in Eaton’s Kings County history as one of the first Kentville settlers and a Loyalist grantee.

Magee’s emigration from Ireland and his flight from war-torn 18th century America is recorded in a document written by Eliza Orpin, a great-granddaughter; this document is in the possession of another Magee descendant, Harry Smith of Port Williams. While lacking details, Orpin’s account gives us a glimpse of the turmoil in North America in this period and the effect it had on Nova Scotia. We will see that during their battle for independence, tyranny and oppression were used by the Americans.

The Orpin account opens with Magees move to Pennsylvania and tells of his success in the milling trade after recovering from an unnamed malady. With the War of Independence Magee’s troubles begin. Magee refuses to side with the rebels and his mill is seized; he is imprisoned along with other British sympathizers. Magee’s wife and eight-year-old son are driven away, literally at sword point, and it will be years before he see’s them again.

Magee’s wife and son eventually reached New York where they are offered passage to Halifax. “Meanwhile the husband and father lay like a chained lion in prison with his companions in misery, not knowing of his wife and child,” Orpin’s account continues. “After some months they succeeded in breaking out and fled to the woods. Finding a friendly Indian, they engaged him as a guide… to Quebec.”

Several months later Magee and his companions are still in the wilderness. They avoid hostile Indians, narrowly escape from American soldiers on several occasions, and are near starvation when Loyalist sympathizers offer assistance. Magee is aided by a friend who helps him reach the coast; there he finds a ship that will take him to Quebec. By a strange twist of fate, the ship runs into a storm and is forced to head into Halifax where Magee’s family now abides. In Halifax Magee learns that Loyalists have been arriving from new York but he is unable to locate his family.

“After having conferred with the authorities there and making all possible inquiries for his wife and son,” Magee removes to Windsor. While waiting for word of his family Magee purchased a grist mill (the former property of one Colonel Butler if local historians would like to follow Magee’s trail). Orpin does not tell us how much time passes before Magee is united with his wife and son but apparently it is not until he has established a business in Windsor.

As compensation for his losses in America, Magee has been rewarded with a 500-acre grant in Aylesford. The grant and Magee’s move to Kentville are noted in Eaton’s Kings County history. “About 1798 a Loyalist Henry Magee, who had received land in Aylesford in 1786, built a grist mill on the Kentville brook (Magee Brook?) probably on the exact site of the mill afterwards owned by Mr. William Redden. Magee built a house… and at some point opened a shop for general trade.”

Magee died in 1806 and is buried in Oak Grove Cemetery. Eaton has a sketch in his history on the Magee family in which Henry is mentioned. You will find when reading this sketch that there is some confusion over which Henry Magee was the Loyalist who fled from America and became a prominent merchant in the Annapolis Valley.

In a brief dissertation on early dykes and aboiteaus, Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton discusses the various failed attempts to harness the tides of the Minas Basin. Unlike the Acadians, who wisely built their first dykes and aboiteaus upstream where tidal forces were less destructive, the settlers that arrived after the expulsion attempted more ambitious schemes. The result was often poorly placed dykes and aboiteaus that lasted a few seasons before the powerful tides of Minas washed them away.

Eaton mentions, for example, an aboiteau that “was built near Borden’s wharf, between Lower Canard and Habitant.” This aboiteau may have had a short existence. Local historians tell me it was washed out by the tides. When Pickett’s Wharf was constructed in 1845 there was no aboiteau in the area mentioned by Eaton, so it must have existed earlier. The aboiteau’s location is deduced by Eaton’s mention of Borden’s Wharf which appeared to be close by; Borden’s Wharf was built near Pickett’s Wharf on the lower part of the Habitant.

Another attempt at building an aboiteau in this area was later made but it never got beyond the proposal stage. In 1857 a group farmers and merchants saw the advantages in having a permanent port at or near the Pickett’s Wharf site and proposed that an aboiteau be constructed in the area. This was met with great resistance by the merchants and craftsmen of Canning who saw the aboiteau as a threat to their livelihood.

In government records is a letter protesting the proposed aboiteau; the unidentified writer argued that the area already was well-served by the merchants of Canning and the aboiteau was unnecessary. In effect, the letter said that Canning was active in shipbuilding and shipping and had several industries, all of which would be hurt if the aboiteau was constructed. The aboiteau was never built, the Canning protest apparently putting the kibosh to it. In the letter, reference was made to an earlier aboiteau that was built in 1819 at the proposed site before Canning had started to boom (perhaps the ill-fated aboiteau referred to by Eaton).

Another proposal to build a magnificent aboiteau on a greater scale also came to nothing; it was a grand scheme that indicates our ancestors were ambitious and thought big.

Imagine a great sea wall and aboiteau stretching between Kingsport and Long Island across the mouths of the Habitant, Canard and Cornwallis Rivers; a great dyke that would tame the tumultuous tides of Minas Basin at a point where they are the most forceful. As I said, it was a grand scheme, that sounds impossible; if it had been accomplished, the landscape and undoubtedly the environment in this area would be vastly different today.

We know little about the plan to build this grand aboiteau or who was behind it, but it was seriously investigated. An editorial in the Wolfville newspaper, The Acadian, on November 29, 1889, gives us a few details on its scope while railing against the idea.

“We hear a great deal these days about the proposed new dyke between Long Island and Kingsport,” the editorial read. “We are not of those who put any great faith in the matter. It means, if accomplished, a reclaiming of about 6,000 acres of land at a cost of $600,000. This would be as much as the land would be worth if it were at once of equal worth with our average dyke. On the other hand, a large quantity of the reclaimed land will never be of much use.”

There will be a “heavy opposition to the undertaking,” the editorial concluded since the “injuries to be sustained by the adjoining country would more than overbalance the benefits.”

Some 40 years ago I discovered the remains of Pickett’s Wharf while beachcombing. I’ve been collecting information on the old wharf over the years but my file can hardly be called bulky; while the wharf is a landmark of sorts and was once an important port, not much has been recorded about it.

Pickett’s Wharf, or as some of the old records call it, Pickett’s Pier, once stood below Canning on the Habitant River, just off Saxon Street in Lower Canard. The government sessional papers indicate the wharf was built in 1845 “by the locality,” meaning farmers and commercial interests who would benefit from a handy outlet to the Minas Basin.

When the wharf was constructed, the Minas Basin via the Habitant River was important to Kings County farmers as a corridor to outlying markets. This was in the days of sailing vessels when Kings County farmers shipped potatoes to New England, the West Indies, and closer to home, across the Basin to the important Halifax market. An old description of Pickett’s Wharf told of wagons loaded with potatoes lined up at harvest time along Saxon Street; the line “at times stretched for half a mile” reads a newspaper account. An early Canning business, the Blenkhorn Coal Company, used the wharf extensively.

Another wharf, Borden’s, was also built along the Habitant River channel near Pickett’s Wharf but even less is known about it. However, its brief existence may be an indication that the bustling port of Canning had reached its peak and other outlets to the Minas Basin were necessary to handle farm and commercial traffic. One can speculate that Pickett’s and Borden’s Wharf existed to handle the excess shipping that overflowed from Canning.

I’ve been curious about the origin of the wharf’s name. Who was Pickett? Or perhaps I should ask, was the wharf named after an actual person? In her book, Canard Street, the late Elizabeth Rand mentioned the possibility that a “Mr. Pickett” may have been “an eminent figure during the wharf’s construction. Rand suggested that the most probable explanation for the wharf’s name was suggested by Freeman Eaton, who was wharfinger for many years. Eaton claimed that the name originated from a picket fence that ran along the wharf road from Saxon Street.

If the latter is the case, why do some of the old references to the wharf spell it as if it were a surname, with two “T’s”? In his book on Kings County place-names the eminent researcher and historian, Dr. Watson Kirkconnell, uses the surname spelling; as does Elizabeth Rand, by the way, in Canard Street. Most reference sources spell the wharf’s name as if it is a surname, suggesting that a Mr. Pickett did exist and lent his name to the structure. On the other hand, Alpine’s Gazetter, the 1804 edition for Nova Scotia, spells it as Picket’s Wharf, that is, with one “T.”

Pickett’s Wharf was a busy port for at least 80 years. By 1920 its best days were past. Kirkconnell refers to it as a ghost port, “reduced today (1971) to a few weathered pilings.” Rand tells us the port was no longer in use by 1920 and refers to its site as a “once bustling center of commerce and social exchange.”

Hillaton resident Steward Brown has lived within sight of Pickett’s Wharf for most of his 76 years. Mr. Brown recalls that the wharf was intact when he was a boy in the 30s but it was no longer in use. Like many farmers in Kings County, Brown’s father shipped potatoes out of this port and he often talked about the mile-long line-ups of produce wagons leading to the wharf.