Shipwright Brewing Company

80 Montague Street, Lunenburg, Nova Scotia,B0J 2C0

The rain keeps coming down and my usual way of exploring a place is being hindered by the inclement weather. Luckily, I got to go into the Ironworks distillery and the Knut-Rhuland Museum. Yes, everyone still loves to get mail and I write out a few postcards then wait in line to pay the postmistress at the Canada Post Lunenburg office. A few buildings down the street, then another quick dash back down to Montague Street, I find another open doorway.

I remove my raincoat, shaking the droplets off it. I hang it on a hook then plunk myself onto a square metal stool at the counter. I guess it is a day-drinking kind of day. This time I have arrived at the Shipwright Brewing Company. I would say it’s barely 10 feet from the entrance, to the back of the pub. A chalkboard on the wall lists what beers are on offer. There is a lady two seats over from me. She knows the lady pulling pints behind the counter. They chat like old friends. Undecided what I want to try, I look to the other lady’s glass for inspiration. She volunteers a suggestion: “This is my second Bell Ringer Red, I like it.” I purse my lips nod, then turning to the barmaid I say, “I’ll have the Bell Ringer Red please.”

“What a lovely sized pint,” I say sweeping my eyes from my glass to the barmaid. She replies, “All pints in Lunenburg are 20 ounces.” Both ladies giggle. “Sounds great. You’ll get no arguments from me,” I say. My mind snaps back to this spring in Sussex, New Brunswick, when I stopped at the Sussex Ale Works brewpub and I got a disappointing little round glass at a hefty price. When I asked the bartender there if it was a half pint, he said, “No, it’s a full pint.” I have enjoyed enough pints to know I had gotten chiseled.

Shipwright brew pub seems to be popular. A steady stream of people are in and out, going to the beer fridge, filling their backpacks and reusable cloth bags with cans of their favourite brews, transporting them over to the cash register, then taking the big cans home to enjoy.

When the fridge runs low of product, the barmaid starts making new cans. Aluminium sleeves, she places under a tap and pulls the lever, she fills them to the lip then scrapes off the excess foam, and places them on a scale. Anticipating my question she says, “They all have to weigh the same,” her eyes never leaving the can in front of her.

She carefully moves them to the back counter and loads them into a canner, then presses a lid on top. They are weighed again and then with an artful hand she wraps the label around the can as neat and straight as can be.

“That is pretty cool,” I say. She puts on a big grin an says, “These are one litre cans.” A short pause and then she says, “Hey here is a true story for you:

“A woman walked in here with her husband behind her, and she blurted out, ‘Nice cans.’ Her husband got all red in face and said to his wife, ‘You can’t say that,’ then he apologized to me. I cracks a big open- mouth smile, looked down at my chest, then lifted my eyes to meet hers, and winked saying, ‘No apologies necessary.’ ” We have a good old belly laugh. My cheeks are tired from smiling. “Oh my that is funny.” I spin around in my seat and see it’s still pouring. I sigh and glance at my beer glass. It is almost empty. I’m enjoying the company so one more will do. “I’ll try the white cap wheat next please.”

Although we didn’t exchange names, I learn a lot about the lady beside me. Her shirt has a logo saying Savvy Sailor, a restaurant I passed earlier. She says they serve the best breakfast in town, to come by before I sail tomorrow. She tells me she lives in Blue Rocks, and she is a fellow Cape Bretoner but now calls Lunenburg home. She lived out west for a while in Alberta but needed to come back to the east coast. She has a nine year old daughter who is with her grandmother for the afternoon. Saying it out loud must have reminded her of something and she checks her cellphone, staring at the screen and thumbing at the key pad. A moment later she stuffs her phone in her bag, looks up and changes the subject.

She talks about people that get crazy if you don’t text them immediately back. She says she picks her friends carefully now. If she has to always initiate contact, then they are not true friends.

I can’t help but notice a deep old scar on her left wrist. She sees my eyes looking at it and pulls her arms into her sleeves. “I’m in a good place now.” And I know what she is saying. She continues, “I want to be around people that want me to do well,” she says with her brow furrowed. I lift my beer in a toast. “I couldn’t agree more. To success.”

The owner arrives and takes up a seat behind a computer table. I ask if he is the brewmaster. “Yup,” he says, but offers no more and doesn’t lift his eyes from the screen. I prod a bit more. “Nice place here, I like the wheat IPA”. He keeps looking at his computer screen. With nothing left to say and my second beer done, I settle my tab. My companion says, “Don’t forget to come by for breakfast at the Savvy Sailor.” “I will for sure. Have a good evening.” I turn with a good by wave and drop one of my cards on the counter. Just so the owner will know, he missed an opportunity.

Please join me again in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia

s.