a dream house in margaree harbour

This is Margaree Harbour. As you round the top of Cabot Trail, halfway back down western side of Cape Breton, you cross the Margaree River and find yourself in this beautiful little coastal town. It had been recommended as a place to stop on many lists I had read, so we pulled into the harbour and parked the car. We wandered the little cove, Ryan wading out knee deep, Jude and George playing in the sand at the water's edge, the older boys climbing the rocks and dunes. It was pretty, maybe not as much as I had expected, but from the way the town was scattered around the harbour, with sheep dotting fields and the surrounding lakes and hills, it made for a beautiful setting

There was a lighthouse up on the hill, overlooking the harbour, so we decided to climb the winding path to see it up close, and to have a better view of the harbour from up above.

The lighthouse was quite plain, and more modern, but still, the boys were excited.

However, as we started to reach the top of the path, we noticed that there was a farmhouse set further back, and not just that, but an older lighthouse beside it!

The house wasn't in terrible condition, but it looked well worn and in need of some love. To be honest, I couldn't decide whether or not someone was actually living in it. Someone was clearly doing work on the older lighthouse beside it. Could it possibly be a summer home? I wasn't sure, and because of that, I didn't have the nerve to walk up any closer than this. I did however admire it from a distance, with it's blue steps and pale blue door.

Set up on the hill, it had a sweeping view of the harbour below, the ocean, and the highland mountains in the distance. It was the perfect spot.

On the other side, there was an old school or meeting house that looked to be abandoned, and beyond that, a simple church.

We decided to make our way back down to the car and carry on our journey. As Ryan was getting the boys settled in, I told him I was just going to climb up the sand dune beside us, opposite the lighthouse, to try to get a better photo of the house.

When I reached the top however, I couldn't believe what was on the other side of the dune.

Margaree Beach.

We had absolutely no idea this was on the other side! We nearly drove away, believing we had seen all the area had to offer. And yet this stunning beach lay just beyond the dunes. I called for Ryan to bring the boys and come see what I had discovered.

We lingered on the beach for a while, spending time making sand castles, trying to scale the steep sand walls, gulls flying over head. As we drove out of the harbour, we could see from the other side that there was in fact a beach. But coming in, it just hadn't been visible to us.

There are quite a few lovely old homes along the trail that have been left to the elements, slowly aging and degrading as the years pass. Eventually, like so many little fishing huts and old barns, they crumble under the weight of years of neglect. The idea of purchasing one of these beautiful old homes and bringing it back to life as a summer cottage is tempting. And of all of the ones we passed, this particular one was my favourite. In my dreams, as we restored it, the boys would pass the days on the beach and exploring the dunes. We'd sip coffee on the porch and watch the fishing boats leave in the morning. In the evening, as the fog rolled in and blanketed the mountains, I'd climb to the third floor attic. There would be a desk sitting under that small window that looks out to the ocean, and there, as the waves rolled in, I'd write a book. It's the kind of place where stories are written. Actually, it feels like the kind of place that has a story to tell.