For nearly three decades, I have been a patron of Joe's Scarecrow Museum, near Cheticamp, along the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton. No vacation, no weekend drive, no camping trip was complete without a stop at Joe's. He called it a museum. But really, it wasn't. It was simply a collection of hastily constructed homemade scarecrows that someone, presumably Joe, had decided to set up in an empty lot outside a convenience store.
But it had an odd sort of charm.
Over the years, it grew. And grew. It began to incorporate themes. Scarecrow wedding. Scarecrow children. Scarecrow royal family. The possibilities seemed endless. But now, it's gone. Vanished. Along with the convenience store. Today's visit revealed only an empty lot. Not a scarecrow in sight. I can only hope that Joe has retired comfortably on the proceeds of the museum donation box.
Goodbye, Joe. I'll miss you.
But it had an odd sort of charm.
Over the years, it grew. And grew. It began to incorporate themes. Scarecrow wedding. Scarecrow children. Scarecrow royal family. The possibilities seemed endless. But now, it's gone. Vanished. Along with the convenience store. Today's visit revealed only an empty lot. Not a scarecrow in sight. I can only hope that Joe has retired comfortably on the proceeds of the museum donation box.
Goodbye, Joe. I'll miss you.