Introduction:

About a decade ago, I planned to write a monograph about my oft uncomfortable relationship with the province of my origin. That project faltered with the usual exigencies.  

From the muddle of notes made in preparation for a first draft, I have pulled out pieces which I have hopefully, battered into some coherence…

I cannot claim that all observations I make in these essays–– some based on impressions a half century past–– are accurate by more recent reckoning.  As stated in one of the essays: my memories of New Brunswick are “a fossilized artifact… like a coprolite in amber.”

There is some harshness here–– but no intentional nastiness. As always, potentially identifiable names are changed to protect the identifiable. I hope that the jaundiced turns are somewhat redeemed by occasional flashes of dark humour…

-FWT (Oct. 2022)

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