The Road to Qua Qua Farm

A huge ball of fire and black smoke billowed upward into the morning sky reaching far above the tree line. The explosion echoed for miles awakening the sleepy little town of New Elm. The old logging road leading toward Shingle Lake was now blocked by an old red panel van engulfed in flamesFall was quickly returning to this part of Canada, and it would be the first trip back to the farm since the purchase of the property earlier this spring. The plan was to begin renovations on the old Archibald Weagle homestead before moving the hippie commune from Boston, to New Elm, Nova Scotia. A week earlier five of us packed up Steve's Ford Delivery Van to begin a twenty-four hour drive to the new farm. Money was limited, and before long, we would discover two of the friends Steve brought along were very resourceful. Unaware at first of the clever scheme, it began unfolding at the first gas station we stopped at. The van was large enough to block the activity going on between the pump, and the gas station attendant. Apparently Steve, Rico and Glenn were experts in acquiring additional amounts of gasoline without having to pay. Glenn would begin by partially filling the van with gas while Steve and Rico went into the station to pay the attendant, and distract him. This gave Glenn opportunity to fill the rest of the gas tank without the attendant's knowledge. Yes, they had mastered the art of stealing gasolineSoon we were on the road once again, relaxing in the back of the van, getting high, and listening to eight track music tapes. This was far more exciting than worrying about the consequences of the day's events.The following day we arrived at the farm eager to get work started, since we only had a week to accomplish our goals. The amount of work to be done repairing the house would prove to be extensive. The first priority would be to replace the roof. Inevitably a leaking roof would cause more damage. After purchasing the materials in town, the old shingles, and rotten beams had to be torn off before tacking down the new asphalt shingles. After replacing the wood on the roof, the tar paper was rolled out, and the roof was ready. The next step would be to spread the black sticky tar onto the back of each shingle. It was like spreading peanut butter on Wonder bread! After that process, one by one, each shingle was secured to the roof. The weather cooperated, and the job was complete by weeks end.Toward evening of each work day we found ourselves covered in black sticky tar. We used gasoline covered rags to remove most of the tar from our hands and bodies. The portable gas tank was kept in the back of the truck, and after cleaning up, the rags were stuffed back under the seats of the van to be used over and over again. With the lack of running water, we were a sight to be seen. The combination of sweat and dirt from a hard day's work, and the tar, and stench of gasoline was overwhelming. The lake was a good twenty minute walk from the farm, but regardless, we needed to wash up. It was a refreshing, and relaxing end to a long day of labor. When the week came to a close, the old house had a brand new roof, sure to withstand another ten to twenty years of harsh Nova Scotia weather. Preparations for the long trip back to Cambridge were underway when the unexpected occurred. Early that morning, Glenn, with an aversion to strenuous exercise, decided to drive the truck down to the lake for a morning swim. When he was finished, he climbed back into the van, lit up a cigar, and began the bumpy return trip back up the old logging road. The road was filled with ruts, bumps, and boulders embedded deep into the ground, which made driving extremely difficult. Suddenly the van hit a large rock in the middle of the road causing it to abruptly lurch forward out of control. The cigar Glenn had been smoking fell from his mouth, and tumbled under the seat atop the old gasoline covered rags, spontaneously igniting into flames. Glenn was allowed only enough time to hurl himself through the open door of the burning van into the bushes, before the violent explosion occurred. When the ordeal was over, the intense heat and flames had incinerated the entire van, tires, and everything inside. Thankfully, the fire was contained to the van alone, sparing the surrounding woods from the consuming fireGlenn wandered back to the farm on foot, with half a surf board under his arm, dazed, and covered in black soot, minus the van. Seeing the hairs on his face and arms singed, we stood in disbelief as he described in detail the entire ordeal. Steve was furious, and difficult to restrain! In one brief moment Steve lost his van, surf boards, and livelihood. After this stunning news, the question now was, how would we get back to Boston.