Folk tales abound about how Jawbone Corner in Canard got its name and most agree on one point – the corner was so nicknamed by locals because the jawbones of a whale were once prominently displayed there.

Most folklore accounts only tell us why the corner was so name. However, a short-lived magazine that was published locally some 30 years ago tells us it was one Dr. C. C. Hamilton who first displayed whale jawbones on his property by the corner. Hamilton died in 1885 so this gives us some idea of when the corner (cross-roads actually) was given its nickname. Apparently the area was Hamilton’s Corner before the good doctor decided to display the whale bones, a fact confirmed by Eaton’s Kings County history.

But back to the magazine. It was called Annapolis Valley Lives. Unfortunately it was only published for two issues. I say unfortunately since it was a publication with local history, folklore, natural foods, natural history, and so on in a folksy format; adding to its charm were the advertisements, which for the most part were hand-lettered with hand-drawn artwork.

The magazine first saw the light of day in July 1975 and its home base was in Hantsport and then in Wolfville. One article, an interview with local historian Ernest Eaton, included background on Jawbone Corner mentioned above and undoubtedly came from him. There were several natural history articles, one on the dykes, another on the Gaspereau River fishery, and a piece on the natural forces that shaped the Annapolis Valley and created its odd mixture of geological features.

The magazine also touched on Valley folklore and legends, and on the supernatural. An interview with Ethel Gibson, then 89 and an “elderly black lady with a remarkable memory,” was in my mind a pioneering first – the first in print history of black settlement in Kings County since A. W. H. Eaton’s 1910 work.

The first issue was outstanding for its Valley content. The second issue, released the following August, contained a couple of articles on wild foods and was even heavier on local history. Two words sum up both issues – good reading.

The magazine never appeared again after release of the second issue. Advertising was light in both issues and undoubtedly this was what killed the publication. Without the bread and butter ads, or rich sponsors, few publications survive for long no matter how interesting they are.

The magazine is a collectible, by the way, so if you have copies treasure them. A curio only, they probably have little dollar value.

In a June column I reviewed an essay on Valley farm life written some 100 years ago, noting what to me was a puzzling reference to a community event called an “apple paring.”

After the column ran, a reader called to tell me she and her husband had participated in apple parings in their youth. The North Alton reader said apple paring bees were common when they were growing up on Kings County farms in the late 1920s and early 1930s. They were like other community bees and frolics, she said. Neighbours far and wide would gather in one home after the other to collectively prepare farm produce for winter consumption, and to harvest crops and firewood. It was one of the ways they had of coping with rural life at a time when there was a world-wide depression.

Apples were a major crop during the period the reader was a youth – in 1930 Valley farmers had almost 25,000 acres of orchard and produced nearly eight million barrels of apples. Some of this crop was stored in basements and barns for later use but another method of preserving apples for winter was common; this is where apple paring bees came in.

“Neighbours would gather at a house to make dried apples,” the reader said in describing the bee. “Sometimes several barrels of apple would be processed in a full evening. The apples were peeled, cored and cut in quarters; the quarters were threaded on long strings with a long, handmade needle. Then the strings of apples were hung up to dry. When fairly dry they would keep all winter.”

In those days, the reader said, everybody had rods suspended above the kitchen stove. The rods were mainly used for drying clothes, but strings of apples would be hung from them as well, the heat from the stove hastening the drying process.

The reader recalled that both men and women participated in the apple paring bees. “My husband operated a hand peeler when they held bees in his community,” she said, “and he would keep seven or eight women busy finishing the apples. The peeler would miss some pieces and these had to be removed by hand before the apples were cored and quartered.”

The only mechanical device used to prepare the apple for drying was the hand peeler. “You stuck the apples on the prongs of the peeler and cranked the handle; this turned the apple around and peeled it, but sometimes it skipped as I said, and the apple had to be finished by hand.”

The reader and her husband grew up in Kings County and she said that in this period everyone had their own apple trees. I estimated that the time period she was talking about – when they were participating in apple paring bees – would have been around 1929 and 1930, and perhaps a bit later since she told me her husband’s age; he’s about to turn 80.

Many years ago a friend asked if I wanted to try some roots from a plant growing wild near his vegetable garden. “People have been eating these roots for hundreds of years,” he said. “You boil them like you would a potato.”

The plant he dug up to collect the roots looked like a sunflower but the friend said it wasn’t. “Related to the sunflower maybe,” he said, “and it’s got a funny name, Jerusalem artichoke.”

An edible wild plant that looked like a sunflower, had a mysterious name, and was harvested for generations by everyone from the Mi’kmaq on? Let me tell you that I was hooked immediately on that wild plant with the odd name. The friend needn’t have added it was connected with early French explorers and a wild Canadian plant was widely cultivated in Europe at one time, but this revelation further increased my fascination with it.

Today I have a slim file of information on the Jerusalem artichoke, which I’ve been compiling since being introduced to it. I learned some interesting things, like the origin of its name and the fact that French explorers took the plant from Canada to France where it became widely used and played a minor role in agricultural history. Once, French peasants rose up in rebellion over taxation of the vegetables they cultivated, claiming the popular Jerusalem artichoke should be exempt on grounds that it matured with little or no care.

One of the first things I discovered was that the plant is a cousin of the sunflower and not related to the artichoke. Nor does it come from Jerusalem. In the History and Social Influence of the Potato (1949) Redcliffe Salaman lumps the Jerusalem artichoke with various root crops that once were common in 17th and 18th century marketplaces of Europe.

The plant is native to Canada. The French explorers Champlain and Lescarbot found Indians cultivating it as a food and decided to take it home. The Jerusalem artichoke reached France circa 1607 and within a decade was being grown in England. Salaman says it was received “in court circles in France with much enthusiasm” and was soon common in the marketplace. Unfortunately it was competing with another relatively new tuber, the potato, which was found to be more acceptable in the kitchen, easier to cultivate and more edible.

There’s a bit of mystery on how and when the plant, which grows wild here, reached Nova Scotia. In his book Acadia: The Geography of Nova Scotia to 1760, Andrew Hill Clarke in a footnote regarding the Mi’kmaq use of the wild potato and wild carrots observes: “Neither of the Helianthes (sunflower or Jerusalem artichoke), which are commonly seen in the Nova Scotia countryside today, seem to have been present in the 17th century.”

While it was eventually spurned by the French peasantry and their British counterparts in favour of the potato, use of the Jerusalem artichoke eventually spread throughout Europe and beyond. There are two theories on how its name arose. One is that it’s a corruption of the Italian Girasola articiocco, meaning the sunflower artichoke, another that a Dutchman named Ter-Heusen was a major distributor of the tuber throughout Europe in the 17th century and his name, modified to Jerusalem, was applied to the plant. Because the French brought them first from Canada the tuber was once known at “potatoes of Canada” and the “Canadian potato.”

They’re scarce but you can find the Jerusalem artichoke growing wild here today; if you happen to harvest the roots, you’ll find they have a peculiar flavour and are a bit sooty but complement beef and wild fowl. Locally, at least one wild food enthusiast cultivates them for the table.

“At the time, Mrs. Anna Porter (who lived in a house near the Cape) was out gathering an armful of wood. Suddenly a great whirring sound was heard. Glancing up the road from whence the sound seemed to come, she saw it coming…. She did not stop to gaze in wonder. Dropping her wood much quicker than she had picked it up, she ran into the house screaming hysterically, “Here comes the red devil.”

The “red devil” was an automobile and the time about a century ago. The automobile was just appearing in many Kings County communities and the reaction of Mrs. Anna Porter may have been typical of people hearing and seeing one for the first time.

Similar stories are told in various communities. However, in 1932 when the pupils of Whitewaters School wrote a history of Blomidon, the tale of Mrs. Porter’s reaction to an automobile was probably part of village folklore. It may not have happened just that way. But as you’ll see from other references to the automobile in this quaint history, its arrival was alarming to one and all.

“The first automobile made its appearance in Blomidon in 1910,” the students wrote. “Imagine the consternation of the people one quiet summer day when they suddenly heard a queer noise and saw the red body of a horseless vehicle flash by. Some had heard of the automobile before, but few had ever seen one.

“(The car) was a one-seater affair driven by Mr. Munroe of Wolfville, and by his side sat his lady friend, a Miss Farrum, bookkeeper for the Sir Fred. Borden Supply Co., Canning. Apparently they were enjoying the great sensation they were causing.”

The history, which I have before me courtesy of Philip Beeler, list various other “firsts” in the Blomidon, Whitewaters area of Kings County. “It was seven years after this exciting episode (the red devil’s run through the community) before an automobile was really owned by anyone in Blomidon, Mr. F. C. Bigelow being the first to own one here.”

The students of Whitewaters School felt the arrival of the phonograph in the community was worthy of noting as well. “The first phonograph was owned by Miss Ellen Woollaver. Many a pleasant evening was spent by the neighbors, while listening to the sweet music or chatting pleasantly of its wonders.”

The schoolboy/schoolgirl historians gave no date for the phonograph’s arrival in the community. On the telephone, however, there’s an entry reading “Hustons had one in 1901,” which apparently was added after the history was compiled. This telephone, say the young historians, was “very different in appearance and effectiveness to the one found in almost every home in Blomidon now. It was a simple box style and the batteries were on the outside (not at all ornamental). This first found its way into the home of Mr. James Woollaver, Blomidon.”

Arrival of the radio is also noted. “The first radio was owned by Mrs. B. L. Jackson, who brought it to Blomidon in 1924.”

We learn from this little history that lumbering and shipbuilding once were main industries of the area. “Lumbering at one time seemed to be an important industry. Several old mills are still found around, two having been abandoned at the top of the Cape, and another at the foot. There is only one mill running now. This is owned by the Bigelow brothers and is located at the top of the mountain. At one time, when lumbering was more important, a sluice was built from the top to the foot of the Cape, and on which the logs were easily carried down.

“Shipbuilding has been carried on to a certain extent in times long past. Mr. Von Loomer was about the first shipbuilder in Blomidon. Later others followed his example and quite a number of vessels were built.”

As it still is today, the main industry over the years was farming. “Several fruit companies have from time to time been established in Blomidon. One went by the name of Whitewaters Fruit Company, still another was the Seaside Fruit company. Later was founded the Mill Creek Fruit Company, established abut 1918, under the auspices of Mr. Wallace DeWitt, Mr. Edward Pineo, Mr. Enos Lyons and others.”

“Farming was done with comparatively primitive tools,” Nellie McMahon observed about life on the farm some 100 years ago. “There were no mowing machines, reapers (or) horse rakes. Most of the work was very laborious.”

These quotes are taken from an essay, most likely a school project, that Nellie McMahon wrote in a crisp, wonderfully legible hand in 1899. McMahon’s essay – a history of Aylesford and district – was recently donated to the Kings County Museum by her niece. Thanks to the Museum’s curator, Bria Stokesbury, I’ve been given the opportunity to read the essay, a homey, fascinating glimpse of what it was like to live in the Annapolis Valley late in the 19th century.

Look at social activities, for example, in those “before days,” – before radio, before the automobile, before television:

“Although the houses were widely scattered, there was considerable intercourse between the people. They combined work with pleasure and had reaping frolics, chopping frolics, etc., for the men; and hooking bees, sewing bees, etc. for women.”

The writer tells us here is that when there was winter wood to bring in, and crops to harvest, men would move from neighbour to neighbour and collectively cut and harvest; meanwhile, women would meet socially, holding “bees,” or gatherings for communal work such as quilting and sewing.

Husking bees, McMahon tells us, were participated in by “young and old of both sexes. This community gathering, apparently to husk corn for immediate consumption or winter storage, was usually held in a barn, McMahon says, and “the evening ended with a good dance.”

There is a puzzling reference in her description of the frolics and bees. Immediately after mentioning the dance that followed the husking, McMahon writes that “the apple parings were also very enjoyable to all.”

Besides church activities, the frolics and bees may have been the extent of the entertainment in McMahon’s day and for the men perhaps, the only relief from tedious, never ending farm work. Life wasn’t easy for farm women then either, as McMahon reveals. “In those times the housewife’s tasks were far from easy. At night there was all the milk to pour out in the pans, to be skimmed in the morning. Every family made its own cheese and butter. The mothers and daughters, instead of doing fancywork, reading novels or playing the piano, filled in the spare time by working at the heavy loom spinning or knitting. All of the clothing was of home manufacture.”

In her essay McMahon offers glimpses of two Valley personalities, one notorious, the other legendary. The latter is the famed Valley strongman, John Orpin, of whose feats of strength much has been written. Orpin must have been a neighbour of McMahon’s parents since she wrote that “I myself had the pleasure, when a child, of being entertained in this man’s house. McMahon mentions a feat of physical endurance by Orpin that I haven’t read in contemporary accounts of his life.

That notorious character is one Peter Barnes, who along the Bay of Fundy in 1793 lured a ship into treacherous shore rocks during a storm. The crew, five in all, died of exposure when the vessel was wrecked on the shore. Barnes looted the vessel. His murderous act only came to light after his death when his widow revealed what he had done.

The Kentville Summer Carnival “paved the way for the Apple Blossom Festival,” Harold Woodman stated in his history of the festival, published in 1992. Woodman also notes that an event with an apple blossom theme was held in Hantsport before 1933, the year the festival started in Kentville. He suggests that perhaps the summer carnivals and the Hantsport celebration were the ancestors of the Apple Blossom Festival. Well before the Blossom Festival started, the Valley celebrated Apple Blossom Sunday with a tour of Valley orchards. A popular event, the Sunday tour was incorporated into the first blossom festival.

Kentville Jeweller Bob Palmeter was one of the early presidents of the Apple Blossom Festival, the second actually, and he’s credited with designing the famous Blossom Time bone china pattern which has been a Valley favourite since the 1930s. Palmeter’s creation of china with an apple blossom theme wasn’t original, however, despite numerous claims that it is. Bone china with apple blossom themes existed before Palmeter’s creation hit the market and can be found in collections around the Valley.

Held at 9:30 in the morning on Saturday during the first Apple Blossom Festival in 1933, the grand street parade was the highlight of the festivities, and it set the format of future celebrations. An advertisement in the blossom magazine advised the public that the grand street parade, “with Valley Queens and ladies-in-waiting,” would proceed through Kentville accompanied by five bands.

During the second festival the grand street parade was called the “Parade of the Blossoms,” featuring “school children in descriptive and pageant formation.” The parade was held at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday. A second grand street parade was held the afternoon of “Apple Blossom Monday.” Dubbed as the “Grand Feature Parade – the trail of the pink petals,” this event featured floats, bands, princesses from Valley towns, the military and so on.

A poem by Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton, the author of the History of Kings County, graced the cover of The Advertiser‘s first apple blossom magazine. The poem was titled Orchards in Bloom. As well as being a historian, Eaton was a noted minor poet in his era.

That first apple blossom magazine was published on May 18, 1933, and contained 36 pages, plus a two colour cover in green and apple blossom pink. As was to be expected, the stories and articles in the supplement dealt with various aspects of the apple industry. One story in the supplement saluted the various towns of the Annapolis Valley whose livelihood was connected to the growing and shipping of apples.

There were only a handful of events, many of them musical and sacred, during the first blossom festival in 1933 and no more than 30 when the second festival was held. But some 50 years later more than 100 separate events were taking place during the festival period. Harold Woodman writes that on the 50th festival there were 115 events; like the first festival, some of the events were musical, some sacred.

Through the years, some of Nova Scotia’s best known authors were early contributors to The Advertiser‘s apple blossom magazine. Historical writer Roland Sherwood was one. For many years the supplement featured short stories by one of Nova Scotia’s greatest writers, Will R. Bird. Later, Ernest Buckler was a regular writer for the supplement.

“Atchinson Henry W, emp DAR. h Aberdeen” the listing reads, and at first glance its puzzling. Another similar listing, equally mysterious at first, reads: “Best Harris R, pattern mkr Lloyd Mfg Co, bds Main.”

A glance or two at these listings and you’d soon see they aren’t so puzzling after all. Obviously Henry W. Atchinson was an employee of the Dominion Atlantic Railway and Harris R. Best was a pattern maker with the Lloyd Manufacturing Company. Being a history buff – you wouldn’t be reading this column otherwise – you’d probably conclude that since the DAR and Lloyds are long gone, Atchinson and Best must be listed in an old directory or some such earlier publication.

You’d be right. At the Kings County Museum is a list of adults who resided in Kentville some 100 years ago, 1906 to be precise. The listing gives occupations and the listee’s place of residence. I assume the “h Aberdeen” in Atchinson’s listing implies he owned a house located on Aberdeen Street; the “bds Main” in the Best listing was puzzling at first but I assume it means he resided as a boarder on Main Street and had no permanent residence.

The listing is part of the Museum’s permanent display on the history of Kentville, and was taken from MacAlpine’s Nova Scotia Directory for 1907-08. Obviously this is an invaluable resource for anyone doing research on their ancestors or on the town. As well as listing residents and occupation, it names many of the town’s industries, retail stores and business firms. The “h Aberdeen” and similar entries in the listings is another clue for researchers; since it indicates a listee is likely a property owner, it directs one to the vaults where old records and deeds are stored.

Looking carefully at the list of Kentville residents, one can also see how times have changed and we’re reminded of what has been lost in the town and in the Valley. In that list of Kentville residents are numerous employees of the DAR, machinists, engine cleaners, engineers, firemen and that like. Those railway trades, like the railway, have vanished and the MacAlpine list is a sad reminder of this fact.

One of the industries operating in Kentville when the list was compiled was the Nova Scotia Carriage Company, which circa 1868 started manufacturing a variety of carriages and sleighs, and later turned to automobile production. The MacAlpine list of Kentville residents notes that some employed by the carriage manufacturer worked as blacksmiths, painters, mounters, carriage trimmers, woodworkers, and so on. After the railway, the carriage manufacturer must have been the second largest employer in Kentville in 1906.

The Lloyds Manufacturing Company mentioned above had been established in Kentville for over a quarter century when MacAlpine compiled his directory. The list tells us Lloyds employed machinists, carpenters, firemen, pattern makers, and moulders among others in operating a foundry and machine shop.

Hostlers, blacksmiths, coopers, harness makers, master mariners, teamsters (and even a miner) are given as the trades or occupations of some Kentville residents in 1906, quaint reminders of how many once vital trades and crafts have disappeared over the past 100 years.

Despite the spate of cold, rainy weather, it’s flowering now in the countryside, a sparse, pink-blossomed shrub with a historical connection. The Daphne was brought here by the Acadians, and never having spread far, it persists today in scattered pockets near what were once Acadian settlements. Given its origin, it’s no coincidence that the Daphne usually can be found growing wild near Grand Pre, in White Rock and Pereau.

You could call the Daphne a historical plant in the sense that it’s connected with the old Acadians. There are many plants growing wild and cultivated here with the same connection. The Daphne is only one of many now common plants introduced by the Acadians. Some, like the Daphne, were cultivated for decorative purposes, but most were grown for practical uses, as dyes, in medicine and as food supplements.

One of the most intriguing plants is the wild white strawberry. Until I talked recently with Reg Newell and his wife, botanist Ruth Newell of the E. C. Smith Herbarium [at Acadia University] in Wolfville, I wasn’t aware this plant existed. Ms. Newell told me the white strawberry – so named because its berry is white – is believed to have been introduced by the Acadians and may have been used medicinally.

The white strawberry is extremely rare and only can be found in a few places. Ms. Newell said she’s seen the plant in White Rock along the Gaspereau River and in a rough brookside area near Oak Avenue in Wolfville.

It’s said that some of the plants introduced by the Acadians are clues to the existence of their old settlements. In other words, they’re often found in abundance near an Acadian homesite.

While it’s apparently common in Kings County today, the presence of the introduced Red Fly Honeysuckle may offer clues to Acadian activity in at least one part of the county. The editors of the Natural History of Kings County twice mention the possibility of an Acadian tidal mill once existing on Elderkin Creek between Kentville and New Minas. The site is ideal for such a mill, the editors say, but the “only evidence of its existence is the presence of plants typical of those grown by the Acadians.” One of those plants is the Honeysuckle.

Many plants had medicinal uses, some were used in the kitchen; but not all that came down to us today are a welcome Acadian legacy. One such plant is the Buckthorn. The Acadians introduced Buckthorn, which may have been used as a hedge but according to Ruth Newell was used medicinally. Newell says the Buckthorn, which is common in the Wolfville area, “has a habit of taking over.” Today, she says, “it is recognised as a serious invasive species.”

While plants (and trees) introduced by the Acadians are said to offer clues to the existence of homesites, many have spread well beyond known settlement areas and are common. Still, they have a historical connection in that they were once part and parcel of the Acadian lifestyle. Besides the Daphne and Honeysuckle, other plants mentioned in A Natural History of Kings County as introduced by the Acadians include Wormwood, Chicory, Slender Vetch, Caraway, Hops and Tansy.

The next time you see any of these plants, remember their Acadian connection and how they were once used in their homes. Think of them as one of our most lasting Acadian legacies.

The more I delve into local history, the more I realise how much we’re indebted to people like Kings County historical researcher Ernest L. Eaton (1896-1984)

Mr. Eaton followed in the footsteps of his illustrious distant cousin, historian Arthur W. H. Eaton, in that he had more than a passing interest in history. A Canard native, he was a professor of Agronomy and was a senior horticulturist with the federal Department of Agriculture. One of his hobbies was history and he was a recognised authority on the Canard dykes and Acadian and Planter lore. He was a published historical writer, his articles appearing numerous occasions in the Nova Scotia Historical Review and other works.

Eaton was one of those history detectives whose sleuthing through old records unearthed details of Planter life that had been lost. Witness, for example, his work on locating the original Planter grants in Kings County. What Eaton did in effect was recreate the original grants maps, maps that according to folklore had mysteriously disappeared. Here’s the background from Eaton’s paper published 1981 in the Nova Scotia Historical Review; in the paper (The Survey Plan of Cornwallis Township) he explains how through painstaking research, he was able to redraw the lost maps:

When the Planters arrived to take up Acadian land, Kings County was divided into several townships. One was Cornwallis township which has the Cornwallis River as its southern boundary and contained about one hundred thousand acres of dykes and upland. The townships were surveyed and precise maps drawn up. “Unfortunately,” Eaton wrote, “the original map or plan for Cornwallis Township has disappeared. There is a tradition that it was lost in a house fire.”

With no maps to look at, how was Eaton able determine precisely where the original grantees held land? – which while unstated, was apparently the objective of his research.

This was where Eaton’s persistence as a researcher came in. Perusing old documents with an eagle eye, he observed that records of early land transfers among Planters grantees contained the grantees name and referred to numbered lots in numbered divisions. “It is naturally assumed,” Eaton said, “that these numbers refer to a missing master plan or map, without which it is very difficult to be precise in individual locations.”

Digging deeper into deed records, Eaton found that land divisions were numbered from one to 15, and the lots from one to 10. Discovery of a rare book entitled Cornwallis Land Survey 1761 and perusal of the original 1765 land assessment roll for Cornwallis Township led to the next step. Using the land survey book and assessment rolls, Eaton went to a drafting board and was able to create a rough map of the original land grants and their grantees.

This is a simplified explanation and there was much more to it than this. For example, Eaton based his final placement on the fact that dyke lots faced tidal estuaries – they had three straight sides and a fourth irregular shoreline side facing the Canard River estuary. Once he asked himself where on a present day map of the same scale could a corresponding shoreline be found, Eaton was able to pinpoint exactly where each grantee held land. “Thus was recovered the long lost plan of the Cornwallis Township farm lots,” Eaton concluded.

You can read the complete, fascinating story of Eaton’s detective work at the Kings County Museum where Historical Reviews are on file. His paper, along with maps, is also published on the Eaton family website at http://www.nseaton.org/Eaton  .

It’s a little-known fact that when the Planters arrived here after the expulsion, some of the homes of the Acadians were still standing. Various historians note that the odd Acadian residence could be found near major settlements in Kings and Hants County after the Planters were established.

It’s also a little-known fact that some of those Acadian dwellings are believed to have survived into fairly recent times. We can be skeptical about this. That a dwelling of Acadian origin could remain standing for over 250 years doesn’t seem possible, given that the Acadians weren’t known to construct buildings made for longevity.

However, the belief persists that a few Acadian dwellings, to use a cliché, have withstood the test of time. I give you the Dimock House, which still stands in Pereau, and is believed to be one of the oldest dwellings in this area. Dimock House is said to be of Acadian origin; or to be exact, parts of Dimock House may have roots in the days when the Acadians were the sole dwellers in this area. The house was subjected to an archaeological survey in 1988 and no definite conclusions were reached on its possible Acadian origin. The details of this survey are on file at Acadia University, if anyone is interested.

Recently I’ve been looking for information on another old house believed to be of Acadian origin. I was first told about the house last year by historical writer Regis Brun of Moncton. Mr. Brun wrote asking for help in locating newspaper articles that were published in this and other papers in the early 1970s. The articles concerned an old house that once stood in Falmouth; the house may have been constructed by Acadians around 1766. These Acadians builders would have been among the prisoners that were held in Windsor after the expulsion.

Mr Brun tells me the house was moved to Grand Pre Park in 1970 and was studied by a team of Parks Canada experts on Acadian architecture. Mr. Brun said in effect that the team eventually decided the house was “deemed not Acadian or not relevant.” In 1974 the house was taken apart and burned. Brun infers that perhaps this was an error and the house should have been preserved.

So far, I’ve been unable to find the newspaper article in the microfilm files at Acadia University, but I’m still looking. I’m hoping that a reader may have a copy in a scrapbook of the newspaper article that was published in The Advertiser, along with a photograph of the house, possibly in 1972 but perhaps earlier. I’d like to hear from anyone who is familiar with the Falmouth house and has information on it.