I came across my second co-op opportunity due to the actions and considerations of one woman. At the time, I was searching for a job that would both provide me a good experience and allow me to use my creativity. It was Cara Jones, a local visual artist who introduced me to The Antigonish Regional Development Authority, which supports and works with her business as a photographer and videographer. Soon enough, my second work term began, as the Coordinator of the new Media Co-op—an initiative that strived to promote the media arts scene in Antigonish.

It was an experience that just so happened to happen right when it needed to. Early on, I did not know much about Cara, other than a few phone calls and the fact that it was her who gave me the opportunity for my second work term.

Winter has never been my season, and despite having all the faith and optimism in the world, my personal life faltered within the first month of moving home. My close friends were all in Halifax, and despite being in a safe and familiar place—I never felt more alone in my life. I threw myself into work to distract myself from all the feelings that I didn’t know how to deal with yet.

I met Cara on the first day. We began working together right away to set up the workspace for the media co-op and having meetings where we shared ideas about what could be done during my four months. But it was more than business with Cara. Immediately upon meeting, I knew Cara was open, warm-hearted and inspiring. She has short dark hair, and her eyes belie enlightened thoughts.

She works out of a small studio in a large office space, where music often blared when she was between shoots. She was incredibly busy, yet no matter what, always seemed to be calm and grounded when it came to doing what she loved. Cara always had ideas. They would burst out of her, almost like a tree sprouting new branches each day, always growing taller and taller, reaching out.

Every now and then, those branches would yield rich life stories. Her stories, more than anything were what opened up my eyes. Cara had been adopted and suffered from epilepsy in her younger years. An obviously artistic child, she studied art at NSCAD University, developing her craft of photography, sculpting and other art forms.
But it was her story which she told through her documentary “Yesterdays News” that truly touched me.

Cara lived in Australia during her developing years as an artist, and like any ambitious, outgoing girl chasing her dreams, she was trying to find herself. She met a man, and ended up getting pregnant. Cole seemed to come along at the worst time. His father upon hearing the news ran off, leaving her stranded in Australia, pregnant, scared, confused, and alone. However, when she heard the heart beat of her unborn child for the first time, she realized that she was in fact, not alone. It was then that she knew keeping the baby would be the right thing.

It was this story which triggered many insights into my own life. Cara was a perfect example of a strong woman who dove into life and followed her intuitions. Cole ended up being the best thing that ever happened to her, and despite her hardships, she uses her art to express who she is. But, most importantly, through her work, she brings out what we cannot in ourselves.

I confided in Cara about my own situation and she became the first friend I have made in a co-worker. In telling her about my own situation—my sense of loss, loneliness and confusion - I was able to finally deal with the feelings I kept tightly inside durning one of the worst times of my life. I made a true friend. And every day I was able to go to work with a woman who lived and breathed her art. The walls of her studio are full of portraits and inspirational pieces—one of which was her “vision board”: a collage of images and words which represented where she wanted to be in life. She told me that upon looking at this vision board every day, she would eventually get there.

In her teaching me about life and love, I became a more driven, focused and self-aware individual. I consumed my time during my second work term speaking up and throwing out ideas as they came. I learned a lot about art, despite having limited talent in this area. And I was working in an area I was passionate about. My everyday conversations with Cara, on slow and busy days, helped my use my work as an outlet. She even encouraged me to write my story, to be a part of her upcoming project called “The Roaring 20s” – a compilation of stories from everyone and anyone about the trials and tribulations of life in your 20’s. My story? To be honest, it wasn’t until I met Cara that I realized I even had a “story” to begin with. And in essence, that is what Cara taught me. That no life experience is too small to effect who you are, and that we are all constantly changing and growing, dealing with life’s surprises.

I often figured we were quite different in our skills and experiences. However one day, after a particularly difficult work experience, Cara looked at me and told me that she could see parts of herself in me. Perhaps it was the part of me who wanted to cannonball into life, that always followed my heart, practically ignoring my head; and who was so passionate about following her dreams. I realized that she and I are not that different after all.

I do not know what specifically occurred that triggered the turning point in my life. And I may not ever travel to a far away land and have a life awakening like Cara did. But at the very least, through her wisdom, I know that I could get there.

A creaky screen door leads to the old shop where my grandfather used to work before I was born. Two stories high and old as my grandmother’s house, the shop eventually became the general meeting place for friends and family to visit, and will always be to me like a sanctuary for childhood entertainment. In the back of the shop is where my grandfather worked as a carpenter. And even though I never had the opportunity to meet my grandfather, I can still almost see him working in the sawdust filled room.
The walls of the shop are rustic, and almost breathe a creaky sigh when the wind blows hard against its ancient walls. A bell rings as soon as you enter through the screen door, almost as if you are entering a real shop. However there are no cashiers or products to buy in this shop. Rather, the building is one large room that is filled with ornaments, pictures, knick knacks and items collected over the span of my mother’s childhood. A dusty record player sits in the corner, right beside an old-fashioned chalk board displayed for me and my sisters to draw on.
The shop has a musty smell, but one that is more sweet and moist. While this smell is often associated with rooms and objects left un-used, to me the stuffy smell is one that encompasses nostalgia—which will always linger in the air when I visit the shop. Indeed, the shop has seen many years, from the early days of my mother’s childhood to the reckless years of me and my two sisters. The shop is located at the end of my Grandma’s drive way, and is simple in structure – almost looking like a small replica of my grandma’s house.
The taste of the shop is pink peppermints, which were always put out in antique candy dishes right beside the famous guestbook where guests would leave their comments before they left. In reading through the guestbook, I can almost hear the familiar voices of the characters that have passed through the shop. I can see my own hand writing evolve – from large swirly letters to more tidy and organized sentences.
A swing is tied up to the rafters of the shop, close to the front and floating right above a large area rug. I still remember when my dad installed the swing just for me in the shop. Although there was a swing tied to a large apple tree outside in the spacious backyard, which I frequently would spend my afternoons, the swing in the shop always called to me. Despite being inside, even on hot summer days, there’s nothing like the feeling of leaving the door to the shop open, letting the breeze flow in and to swing on that swing. The rope which ties the swing to the rafters is coarse and thick, with sharp straw-like bristles that would dig into my flesh as I grasp on to the rope. Swinging back and forth, back and forth, creates a rhythmic squeaking in the ceiling above.

Visiting grandma’s shop stirs up the senses as much as it stirs up memories and stories of summer’s spent at grandma’s. I cannot imagine the shop being different – it would not be the same place without its creaky walls, musty scent and antique items which are displayed on its walls. While there are many places that to me are like sanctuaries – Grandma’s shop will remain my favourite.