Winter Dance

Summer dances jostle for attention, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder into every week alongside ceilidhs, community concerts and codfish suppers. By now Jane knows how they work: you park the car anywhere nearby—facing the way home is best — then at the door you hand over six dollars and head through the archway and into the light. Scan the pulsing crowd for familiar faces, which even a young woman from away who calls Cape Breton her adopted home is sure to meet. She dances with a friend's fiddler husband, then with a man who looks vaguely familiar — a piper, she thinks? A terrific dancer, anyway— then joins a bunch of gals in the corner by the bar. Someone makes a crack about the mess of the square sets and how tourists are ruining the dances and Jane apologizes, but then one of the girls quickly jumps in to assure her, "You're not a tourist! You're home from away!" Jane grins so hard she thinks her face will split.  She dances more and feels happy to have brought an elastic to tie up her hair, and a cardigan to put over her damp shirt as she drives home. The energy of this dance will buoy her up for days.

In the winter, it is different. At North River Bridge, local musicians play for occasional dances at the little white community hall. These are not the tourist-crammed dances of a Cape Breton summer; instead, they are considered a success if enough people come to make a couple of square sets. This particular time, in the wake of a great snowstorm, few locals have braved the cold and ice to come out and dance. It's a snow-blanketed December evening, its silence is only punctuated by the car doors slamming as people arrive at the hall, and the grumble in the distance of a vigilant snow plow.

Jane is living in the two-room schoolhouse next door to the hall, chopping wood, writing up her research notes, and playing into the wee hours on an old upright piano. From its perch on the hill and overlooking the North River valley the schoolhouse's views are idyllic in summer, all soft greens and babbling brook, but in winter they are like a Hallmark Christmas card: wooden buildings, roads curling up and down the hills in all directions, and trees laden with fluffy snow. A horse's neighs echo across the valley but the river is silent.

Jane is happy for a break in her solitary routine. She checks her fire one last time, throwing on another log for good measure then closing up the stove tightly. That will last a few hours, no problem. She stuffs a twenty into her jeans, throws on a sweater and boots and pulls the schoolhouse door closed behind her. Despite the crisp cold she barely needs to wear a coat to get to the dance, the distance is that quick to walk. As she enters, a few people nod to her and smile; she is embraced by one of her neighbours, and chided for not visiting, and then notices that her musician friends, a few fiddlers and a guitarist, are already tuning and setting up their chairs and drinks. Soon they start to play, falling into the familiar patterns and melodies, a mix of old Scottish or Irish jigs and reels, and some originals made by members of the band.
Another of her neighbours asks Jane how she is doing living there all by herself, a city girl in a house without central heating. She smiles and thanks him for asking, but she is having a marvellous time and enjoying the peace. He says he went to school in 'her' schoolhouse and tells Jane a little about the history of this little community, some of which is commemorated in the framed photos and newspaper articles that hang on the walls around them. Local folks raised the money to build this hall in 1953 —over $2000, and that was a lot of money in those days—by writing and performing an original Gaelic play. He points to a faded photograph, in which his father is pictured playing one of the starring roles.

Jane smiles and sips a beer between square sets. It's a relaxing evening of good company and music, but she decides to leave the dance a bit early. She is shy about staying on longer, and shy about leaving early, but her cozy bed and fading fire are beckoning. The musicians nod to her as she signals she is leaving, one of them calling out, "Come and visit us sometime. Or we'll drop in on you!" Jane smiles and shouts "Yes, do, and soon!" She waves goodbye and ducks out into the darkness. As she crunches her way across the parking lot back to the schoolhouse the wind carries the strains of another reel. It is almost as bright as daylight with the moon out and all the stars twinkling and reflecting off the snow.