72 Hours in Nova Scotia
My bartering skills need work. Hungry and in search of fresh seafood at the farmer’s market, I sidestep locals blocking my beeline to the solitary oyster stand. Splayed out in front are seven mammoth slurpers of the Ruisseau variety. Countless foam coolers offer the promise of more, but the woman behind the stand brings sad news: the baker’s half-dozen of bivalves will have to do. They are the last she has.
I begin to trundle off, disappointed and craving more of the renowned Ruisseaus, when it happens: Nolan D’Eon, the man behind Eel Lake Oyster Farm, is apparently en route with a huge shipment of more oysters than I could hope to shuck. I blurt “gimme twenty” from behind a smile, newly-minted (molded?) plastic Canadian dollars flying from my pocket. If this were Seattle or Hong Kong I’d swear it was a setup, but in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, victory is mine.