As a child, young adult, and now even in the sunset of my 20s – I love love LOVE Lucy Maude Montgomery’s timeless classic, Anne of Green Gables and all its sequels.

I remember reading with fascination and awe as Anne walked the ridgepole of Moody Spurgin’s tin roof in response to a dare; I remember crying before my ballet class as I read of Matthew’s death; and then admiring her as she stood up for herself and clung to the preciousness of her education and pride. These daydreams of literary adventures were only heightened when the CBC brought the character to life in the form of Megan Follows, Colleen Dewhurst and of course – Jonathan Crombie (be still my heart). I currently own the collector’s edition, boxed set. Yes – I am that girl.

Growing up as a redhead (though with a hue dark enough to escape the notorious taunt of ‘carrots’) with an adventurous spirit and a tireless mind, I found a true ‘kindred spirit’ in the character of Anne Shirley. She taught me that it was OK to be a smart girl, it was OK to enjoy school, its was OK to be a little bit different, it was OK to have red hair. While spending one’s childhood on a Midwestern farm might not offer the allure or the beauty of Prince Edward Island, it was certainly a fertile playground for the imagination. And, not unlike Miss Shirley, I found myself daydreaming, reading and pretending mostly in the woods, fields or near the creak running through our property. 

 'Happy Birthday’ to my favorite scarlet headed heroine!

Frankly, I do believe that I wouldn’t be the person I am without your inspiration to fuel my childhood fantasies.

Some of my favorite Anne wisdom:

“You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair,” said Anne reproachfully. “People who haven't red hair don't know what trouble is.”

“Tomorrow is fresh, with no mistakes in it”

Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it. ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery

P.E.I. is Getting Ready to Welcome Pilgrims Looking to Trace the Roots of Canada's 100-year-old Child

January 26, 2008

Kelly Toughill

CHARLOTTETOWN–My expectations were not high. A summer-stock musical geared to 9-year-olds and their grandmothers?

Yet, by the final scene of Anne of Green Gables – The Musical, I was blubbering along with the rest of the crowd. How do they do this? What kind of magic is spun around the red-headed lass in the straw hat and pinafore that can reach even a cynic like me?

That magic may explain why Canada's iconic orphan continues to draw tens of thousands of visitors to this island every summer. The Anne phenomenon is no fad.

The story by Lucy Maud Montgomery turns 100 years old this year and the island is bracing for an influx of pilgrims to the land of Anne. Sure, some come to P.E.I. for the fantastic golf (the island has 26 courses) and others come to fly kites on the magnificent beaches (the island has 500 kilometres of shoreline). But this story is for those who want a 24-hour, all-Anne vacation, those who want to eat, sleep and dream Anne from Avonlea.

Herewith, a guide to the ultimate Anne of Green Gables vacation:

Dive right in and begin your Anne immersion at the foot of Confederation Bridge. When the bridge was built, canny P.E.I. planners put a shopping mall in the path of every visitor. You can drive around Gateway Village, but why bother? Here you may begin to understand how completely Anne pervades the culture and economy of Prince Edward Island.

Gateway Village has 20 stores. Some are devoted exclusively to Anne of Green Gables merchandise; all carry something Anne-related. There are dolls (large, small, rag, porcelain, wooden), dishes, soap, candy, chocolates, pyjamas, lampshades, sheets, dollhouses, furniture, hats, braids, key chains, figurines, pencils, pens, stationery, T-shirts, ice cream, sweat pants, infant sleepers and, of course, raspberry cordial. Ninety companies are licensed to create Anne merchandise; the breadth of items is vast, and growing every year.

The true Anne aficionado will head straight to Cavendish, the kitschy little town that is at the heart of the Anne legend. P.E.I. is a quiet place of green fields, blue sky and contemplation, but Cavendish is not like that. It is a little bit brash, a little bit odd and a little bit loud, a town of minigolf, amusement parks and Eastern Canada's only Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum. It is also the site of Green Gables, Avonlea Village and the farm where Montgomery wrote the famous novel that launched her career.

Green Gables is an old farmhouse, now part of Prince Edward Island National Park, where Montgomery was raised by her grandparents. It was the inspiration for Anne's fictional home. The house is open to visitors, but it is the land around it that brings the book to life. Anne was an outdoor girl. Here visitors can share her love of P.E.I. nature by strolling down the cow path Montgomery transformed into "Lover's Lane" and across fields and forests that have changed little since the book was written. The house is a short walk through the park from the ocean and a beautiful beach. The beach isn't featured in the book but go anyway. It's stunning.

Avonlea Village is a small recreation of Anne's village. Visiting children (and adults) may dress in costume, make butter, listen to music and watch animators re-create scenes from the classic novel series.

Look for a new museum this summer at Avonlea that documents the Anne phenomenon, including some of the quirkier takes on the Anne myth, such as posters from the play Anne-ken-stein and a famous T-shirt that shocked island sensibilities by depicting Anne headed to the beach topless.

The Lucy Maud Montgomery Cavendish Homestead is where Montgomery was raised by her grandparents and where she wrote Anne of Green Gables, the first of her 20 novels. Today, it is occupied by her descendants, who open it to visitors from May through October.

There are dozens of places to stay in Cavendish; most are small, seasonal family affairs. P.E.I.'s excellent tourism website (gentleisland.com) lists 10 hotels in Cavendish, 10 bed-and-breakfast inns and 34 cottage operations.

Cottages are the preferred vacation option here, particularly for families that want a little extra space and the chance to cook their own meals. Cottage options in Cavendish range from $75 to $300 a day and $500 to $2,000 a week.

You can camp in the national park, but reservations are precious. Call today (877-737-3783) if you want to try to snag a campsite overlooking the ocean this summer.

Cavendish may be the heart of Anne land, but bits and pieces of the myth and lore are scattered across the island. Park Corner is second only to Cavendish as the site of all-things-Anne. There are two shrines to her work in town: the Anne of Green Gables Museum and the Lucy Maud Montgomery Museum, both focused on buildings where the author once lived. In one, you can even arrange a wedding in the same parlour where Montgomery herself was married.

If you are tracing the life path of the author, you should also stop at the restored parsonage in Bideford, where Montgomery once lived, and at the school in Lower Bedeque where she once taught. Her grave is in Cavendish.

One of the reasons that Anne-themed vacations work so well is that the tone of the Anne books is reflected in the culture and pace of island life. P.E.I. recently rebranded itself the "gentle island." Unlike many such exercises, this one works. P.E.I. really is a gentle island, a place of country roads, tidy farms and potato fields. This is a place where you can stumble on a strawberry social or a lobster supper in a white clapboard church hall. Don't worry, you are welcome to join in.

Even though Anne was a village sort of a girl, the island's biggest towns also get in on the Anne act.

Three years ago, a second musical about Anne was launched in Summerside, P.E.I.'s second-largest town. Anne and Gilbert: The Island Love Story extends the Anne tale, covering material in Montgomery's later books that detail Anne's life and loves as a young adult. This season's schedule has not been announced, but it is expected to open again in Summerside this summer.

Charlottetown is the capital of P.E.I., less than an hour's drive from Cavendish. It is a lovely little city of leafy neighbourhoods and parks that is worth at least one overnight, particularly if you are headed to the theatre. The range of accommodation is large, spanning big hotels such as the Delta Prince Edward to quaint places such as the Inns on Great George, a hotel that threads through several historic properties downtown. My favourite is the Rodd Charlottetown, an old railway hotel now part of a local chain owned by the Rodd family.

Charlottetown has two claims on the Anne myth: It is the site of the L. M. Montgomery Institute and it is home to Anne of Green Gables – The Musical.

The institute was established 15 years ago by the University of Prince Edward Island and is an international centre of research about Montgomery. It is hosting a special conference this June to mark the 100th anniversary of the publication of Montgomery's first novel.

No Anne vacation is complete without a visit to the Confederation Centre for the Arts to see Anne of Green Gables – The Musical. This production has run every summer in Charlottetown since 1965, making it the longest-running play in Canada. Sets, costumes and staging are traditional. The audience usually includes a big contingent of bus tour patrons.

Still, you must go. I dare you not to cry.

For more information about an all-Anne vacation, visit anne2008.com.

I’ve been struggling lately with posting (in case you didn’t notice). It’s not so much a lack of topics I wish to cover but the problem is one of a deficit of words to explore them.  

At any rate – I seem to have developed literary laryngitis.  

While searching for inspiration and indulging in a bit of nostalgia, I perused a few of my old journals. Remember those? Pre blogging…pre email….pre Internet! I kept journals and my bookshelves contain at least half a dozen volumes in my small, swirly style - dating back to around 1993 when my biggest concerns were parent teacher conferences and the fact that my best friend had a B cup and I was still stuck in a training bra. Oh if I knew then....

So I was attempting to figure out – around the end of March – beginning of April what I’ve written about in year's past and along the way I discovered a trend .... I don’t write much this time of year! Historically speaking, I seem to stop most written communication from the beginning of March to the end of April. Apparently the beginning of spring is a verbally dry dry season for yours truly. So that made me feel a bit better with the hope that the words will rain down again at some point.

 However, I did discover one exception - a lone entry on Sunday, March 29, 1998. A bit of background before I share the entry with you….I was 17, still a virgin and on the eve of completing my senior year of high school, still unsure about where I was going to college. I was dating my first love – Harvard. I had also just finished a month long run performing in a one woman show at a regional theatre: The Belle of Amherst. Yep – me, on stage, for an hour and half long monologue. (It’s amazing what people will pay money to see!)

I don’t pretend the entry is eloquent they are, after all, the ramblings of a 17 year old. But if you’re interested in the thoughts of Scarlett circa 1998…read on. 

March 28, 1998 

Hi. I haven’t written in awhile. I apologize. Well, I’m going to write while I’m waiting for Harvard to call. Probably the most pressing matter to discuss is “Belle”. It went great! Standing ovations every night. It was truly the most amazing experience of my life thus far.

At the end of the play, after everyone had gone, I stood in ‘Amherst’ for the last time. I took my roses, walked down the stairs to the back of the theatre then turned and stood at the green doors in the back and looked it one last time.

Another chapter in my life has closed. It’s so hard to look back while being pulled further away. I know that very soon, everything will be very different. Not that I’m not exacted about the totally new world that I’m about to enter, but I just don’t want my current existence to alter.

OK so now it's down to my Alma Mater College, Alternate #1, #2 and #3. I hear from the one Ivy League school that I applied to this week. Decisions have really already been made. So why be anxious to learn? I still have hope right now. There's still a chance.

I wonder what will happen to Harvard and I next year. Its going to be very different for both of us. I love him, I really do and he makes me very happy. He…I don’t know. But I’m also worried about that because of the fact that I’m also physically attracted to him and I’m afraid that morals will eventually be compromised and I really don’t want that to happen. *

Well, I'm gonna go. I'll write soon.

Love,

*Well I guess THAT point's moot!

This morning, I stepped out into the light, breathable air and fished around my purse for my sunglasses and the early morning sun was peaking through the buildings on I Street.

<deep breath>

<sigh>

What a gorgeous morning!

I was born and raised under that Austin-esque philosophy that well bred little girls wore dresses, matching ribbons in their hair, and patented leather Mary Jane shoes with matching hats on Sunday. They didn’t get their hands dirty or climb trees or play in the mud. They said ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and understood the value of being seen and not heard. Yes, I had rebellious childhood phases, and jumped on my horse bareback one day when I was ten (I was promptly thrown off, broke my arm and was lucky I wasn’t trampled). And that was the end of that.

By the time I reached the 8^th grade, the mantra was the well bred young ladies were ‘accomplished.’ Meaning – they were not only learning their geography, geometry, American history, etc.; but they were well rounded. They played at least one instrument (the piano for me), took voice lessons, learned to sketch, paint, sing and dance (ballet, tap, jazz AND ballroom – good god I was a busy kid!)

So my parents chose a school for me that embraced this way of thinking - the convent school I transferred into mid-7^th grade (notre-dame prep). And it was on mornings such as these when 15 giggling girls, in their plaid skirts and training bras, would run from morning prayer, out into the crisp spring air and down the sidewalk to the Art Annex – a greenhouse-type, glass enclosed, studio-style structure and we would take our seats at one of the artist/architecture tables arranged in a rectangle shape around the room and begin to work on our semester projects. Whether we were sketching our hands, arranging still-life subjects to paint or practicing watercolor technique, there was always some kind of artistic movement to be expressed or inspiration to be had.

However, it was on mornings such as this that we would go out onto the grounds of the once mansion - turned convent - turned school. We would grab our sketch pads, our charcoal and grey gum artist erasers and sketch out one of the wistful statues contained within the 10-foot iron fence surrounding our campus. We then focused on the negative space in the folds of marble and chatted/gossiped about all those things near and dear to an eighth grader’s heart. What those topics were I’m sure I don’t recall. An impending Latin or science exam? The Spice Girls? Heck if I know!

It was very serene though and lovely to be out doors after a winter cooped up inside with the nuns. However, sitting there in the early morning we never managed to get very far on our sketches. Distracted by our polyester plaid skirts as they became damp despite our efforts to find a patch of grass where the dew was already warmed and dried by the morning sun or the slight breeze compelling us to pull our navy blue cardigans closer around our bodies. Nevertheless, we attempted to fully capture the way in which the sun illuminated the marble, the far off look of a woman suspended forever in stone, or the folds of an angle’s robe as the sun moved an hour’s worth of distance from the eastern horizon.