Fiddler's Green

TAKEN

On the shores of Newfoundland, in the village of Raliegh, stands the pub Fiddler's Green. I first entered this establishment when I was in my twenties, on a trip to photograph the wonders of Newfoundland for my second book of photography. It was a hundred year old building with a Lincoln green coat of paint, faded by the weather and white accented shutters and lentils.

Back then I was a finer figure of a man than I am now. I had a trim waist, muscular forearms and good stamina from my daily running and pushups. I am afraid that time has caught up with my waistline. Back then I wore my auburn hair in a long ponytail, down my back. I tended to dress in jeans and button down shirts. My favorite sloped cap was on my head and my camera was on my chest, ready for whatever might present itself to be shot.

When I entered the pub, I found polished wooden floors, a smokey interior, wooden booths and tables and a long, low stage. A lone fiddler was playing a Breton tune on stage, with a woman clogged alone to his fiddling. She was a beauty who took my breath away. I knew then and there that I must photograph her. My camera rose unbidden to take in the picture of the ancient fiddler playing for the flaxen haired young woman, with her long flashing legs.

But I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Peter MacDonald, photographer. I went to the University of Hilo in Hawaii and grew up not a stone's throw from that institution. It was a far distance from my island home to Newfoundland. I have no cause to regret that trip though, for it was there that I met my love. This is that tale.

OCC: This story will be told in the first person past tense, kind of like a Harry Met Sally tale, from the end of the movie.