Buried treasure on Oak Island, N.S. — fact or fiction?

By GAIL LOWE

Who doesn’t love a good mystery? Like any intriguing puzzle, they’re hard to resist.

There’s a buried treasure mystery surrounding Oak Island in Nova Scotia’s Mahone Bay that’s so intriguing it has prompted the airing of a reality television series on the History Channel called

“The Curse of Oak Island.” The show premiered on Jan. 5, 2014 and entered its fifth season this fall. 

Oak Island is a tiny island on the Atlantic side of Nova Scotia just south of Halifax and slightly north of Lunenberg where the Bluenose is dry-docked.

Accessible only by an 840-foot causeway, permission must be granted for entrance onto the island. Interest in the TV show and the buried treasure that could be the plunder of the Knights Templar has run so high that the Friends of Oak Island Society found a way to satisfy the “permission only” requirement by opening the island to group tours. Devoted viewers of the show can now buy tickets for $15 per person and visit the various spots with Tour Guide Charlie Barkhouse, including the Money Pit and Borehole 10-X, locations where drillings hundreds of feet below the ground have taken place.

Does this bore hole lead to the money pit?

While on tour, Barkhouse, also one of the show’s stars, told a story about Samuel Ball, a former slave turned cabbage farmer on Oak Island who may have already found the treasure. He bought multiple acres of the island, but where did he get the money to purchase? Pondering this and other questions only deepens the mystery. During the hour-long walk, Barkhouse also spoke about the geology of the island and pointed out Smith’s Cove, an artificial beach believed to flood underground tunnels, including the Money Pit.

The two top stars of “The Curse of Oak Island” are two brothers from Michigan — Rick and Marty Lagina — who learned about the supposed buried treasure on Oak Island through an article published in Reader’s Digest during childhood. By the time the brothers reached adulthood, their interest in the legends and tales surrounding the buried treasure became a passion.

Over the years, Marty became a successful businessman and decided to help his brother Rick find the lost treasure. He bought an interest in the island and was then approached by producers from the History Channel to air a show about the treasure hunt. Now, a portion of the tiny island belongs to the Lagina brothers. The remainder of the land continues to be residential property. 

For the past four years, Rick and Marty have taken up where others before them left off. But their dig is like none other. They’ve brought in heavy equipment, including bulldozers, boring machines and excavators, plus world renowned divers willing to go into narrow tunnels hundreds of feet below ground to help solve the mystery, a mystery that started 220 years ago and might even involve the Knights Templar.

The supposed treasure is buried somewhere on the island, but the nature of the treasure is far from clear — it could be anything, from pirate gold to King Solomon’s temple treasure, Marie Antoinette’s lost jewels and Shakespearean manuscripts. Perhaps even the Holy Grail is buried there. Numerous small discoveries and clues have been found but no signs of the major booty — yet.

The mystery of Oak Island began in the summer of 1795 when teenager Daniel McGinnis was wandering around the island and came across a curious circular depression in the ground. Towering over this depression was a tree whose branches had been cut in such a way that it looked like it had been used as a pulley. Having heard tales of pirates in the area, McGinnis went home and told friends about the tree, and the group returned later to investigate the depression. Over the next few days McGinnis, along with friends John Smith and Anthony Vaughn, dug deeper into the depression. What they found was nothing short of astonishing. Two feet below the surface, they came across a layer of flagstones covering the pit. 

At 10 feet down they ran into a layer of oak logs spanning the pit. Again at 20 feet and 30 feet they found another layer of logs. They were unable to continue the exploration alone and called it a day but with plans to return to continue the search. Eight years later, they were back with The Onslow Company and the group formed for the purpose of searching for the treasure. The dig got underway again, and at every 10-foot interval, more oak layers were discovered. That’s not all. At 40 feet, they found a layer of charcoal; at 50 feet a layer of putty and at 60 feet a layer of coconut fiber. Then, at 90 feet, the most puzzling clue of all was found – a stone inscribed with mysterious writing. 

Soon, water was seeping into the pit. The next day the pit was filled with water up to the 33-foot level. Pumping out the water didn’t work, so the next year a new pit was dug parallel to the original one down to 100 feet. From there, a tunnel was run over to the Money Pit. Again, water flooded in and the search was abandoned for 45 years.

Their discovery, however, is only a small part of the intricate plan by the unknown designers to keep people away from the stash. In 1849, the next company to attempt to search for the treasure, The Truro Company, was founded and the search began again. These new treasure hunters quickly dug down to 86 feet, only to be flooded. Deciding to try to figure out what was buried before attempting to extract it, Truro switched to drilling core samples. The drilling produced some encouraging results, but like the other hunts, nothing major turned up.

There’s another mystery begging to be solved that involves Oak
Island and its connection to a little fishing village called Overton on

The boulder at Overton

the Bay of Fundy side of the province. A boulder called the Overton Stone has petroglyphs etched in — a tobacco leaf, Knights Templar cross and quarter moon. The inscription dates to between 300 and 500 years ago. Whoever spent the time to inscribe these petroglyphs is unknown, but there’s an interesting fact about the Overton Stone and another big stone that was found in the town of Westford, Mass.

On the Westford stone someone inscribed a sailing vessel, an arrow pointing north and the number 184, the exact number of leagues north between Westford and Overton. Some historians believe there’s a tie between the stone and Scottish explorer and Prince Henry Sinclair. Did he inscribe these etchings and mean for them to be a treasure map?

Petroglyphs on the Westward stone

Here’s another astounding fact about the treasure hunters: While digging for the treasure, deaths have occurred and, according to legend, one more person has to die before it’s found. If this is true, then the Lagina brothers are putting their own lives as well as the entire search group’s lives at risk. In fact, the closing episode of 2015-2016 asked viewers to tune in this fall to find out if any lives will be lost. Devotees of the show will sit on pins and needles while waiting for word about the buried treasure. Will it be found? Will someone die?

Just this week, what is suspected to be a piece of bone was found. Testing will now be done to determine if it is, in fact, bone and if it is, did it belong to an animal or human?

If you're as curious about this legend as I am, tune in to the History Channel on Tuesday nights. Or visit www.oakislandsociety.ca to learn about the island's many mysteries.

Ireland in All Its Glory

By GAIL LOWE

Anyone who can claim Irish ancestry should make at least one pilgrimage to the Emerald Isle. But spending a week there — first Dublin, then Killarney and finally Galway — was just not enough. A trip to Ireland deserves not one week or two, but three or even more. There simply is not enough time to see all the sights, from the Book of Kells to the Ring of Kerry.

With Oscar Wilde

Every scene, every vista is more beautiful than the one before, and this is no exaggeration.

This is a country that takes pride in cleanliness. There is little to no litter lining the roadways, either highway or country lane. It simply does not exist in any manner, shape or form, and this makes Ireland all the more enjoyable.

We started out in Dublin at the Dublin Central Hotel on Talbot Street. Finding the hotel proved difficult because we were unfamiliar with the layout of the city. Talbot Street is north of the Liffey River, which flows through Dublin before it finds its way to the Irish Sea. The hotel’s signage is hung above a single entry doorway. Had we not looked carefully, we would have missed it. After a long overnight flight that landed us in London’s Heathrow before a connecting flight took us to Dublin, checking in was most welcome. There was limited parking at the rear of the hotel, but when we arrived there were two spaces left. We were so grateful.

The room we occupied was on the second floor, a small space without much room to move around. Even smaller was the shower stall. A man or woman of generous size would find it difficult to soap up and rinse off. But we had to make do, and we did.

Too tired to venture far from the hotel, we found a casino called “Play Land” directly across from the hotel. My five euros were gone within a minute or two. Hungry now, we found a pub called O’Shea’s and sampled delicious seafood chowder made with hake and cod, fishermen’s pie and burgers. Sorry, Legal Seafoods. O’Shea’s was just as good, if not better.

The following morning we could have walked to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, and Grafton Street for a bit of shopping and even St. Stephen’s Green. But the drive to Killarney was four hours, and the collective thought was that it was best to get on the road.

We left Dublin — a big city much like Boston except the buildings are far smaller — on Thursday morning, and touched upon Kildare, Ennis and Limerick as we drove along the highway toward Killarney. We found our next lodging place — Castlerosse Hotel in Killarney, about mid-afternoon. A family of deer live on the nine-hole golf course and woke us the next two mornings with their bugling.

Killarney is not much more than a village, but it was chockfull of boutique shops, pubs and restaurants. On this day, we toured the

Dingle Peninsula

Dingle Peninsula by way of a comfortable touring bus. Only six or seven other people joined us as we cruised along the sometimes twisting coast and marveled at the steep cliffs, stone beehive “homes” indigenous Christian people lived in centuries ago and startling green fields where sheep and cattle happily grazed. The tour took up the day, but we were not too tired in the evening to drive to Killarney to sample Irish stew and fish ‘n chips at O’Donoghue’s, a restaurant and music venue. Both were delicious.

Later that night, we searched for authentic Irish music and found what we were looking for right at our fingertips — O’Donoghue’s. We listened to an Irish foursome sing songs like “Whiskey in the Jar” and “Dirty Old Town.” Fabulous songs accompanied by squeezebox, banjo and two guitars. Now I’d like to hear Irish music played at a restaurant in Somerville’s Davis Square.

We had reservations in Galway for Saturday and Sunday nights at Flannerys Hotel, an easy find. While in Galway, we visited the downtown and canal that runs through the city before dumping into Galway Bay. We knew a hurricane was brewing in the Atlantic — Ophelia — and wondered if it would impact our travel. It did, but not to the point that it spoiled our trip.

Sunday afternoon, we visited with our traveling companions’ cousins in Wakefield (Galway County). Late by 15 minutes, we arrived at 2:15 p.m. and cousin Frank’s wife Una promptly seated us and began serving dinner, which she took great pains to prepare. First course: A multi-vegetable (accent on squash) pureed soup that was absolutely delicious. Second course: Plated pot roast slices, mashed potato, baked potato, sliced carrots, broccoli and gravy. She also set on the table a casserole dish of cauliflower with cheese sauce and sliced peppers in various colors.

Cliffs of Moher

Not to be missed were the Cliffs of Moher, which we visited the following day, a spectacular scene of impossibly tall cliffs. The wind here was fierce, and people are repeatedly warned not to get close to the edge. We viewed the cliffs from a safe spot where a wall prevents falls. A lone sea stack sits in the water below where rolling surf comes in from the Atlantic.

At night we dined at Murphy’s, a pub for “old men” and enjoyed traditional Irish food, including Irish stew.

Hurricane Ophelia was threatening life and limb, so we left Monday morning and drove back to Dublin for a final night’s stay at the hotel where we started out — the Dublin Central Hotel. Three people in various locations in Ireland lost their lives during Ophelia, the biggest storm to hit Ireland in 50 years. Sadly, we missed seeing the Book of Kells, St. Stephen’s Green and Grafton Street because everyone had buttoned up — from restaurants and pubs to schools and colleges.

We did, however, enjoy one final stop at Madigan’s, a pub where some of us enjoyed a pint of Guinness. A jolly sort of man took my hand and showed me a wall of framed pictures of famous writers who had found food and comfort there. That’s how it is in Ireland. Entrance into a pub guarantees that you’ll leave having made a new friend.

While in Ireland, the famed Irish mist graced our skin. We heard Irish brogues everywhere. And one taxi driver showed off his Irish humor by telling a joke about Steve Jobs, Johnny Cash and Bob Hope. We even got a rainbow in Dublin when Ophelia moved in.

Rainbow over Dublin

There’s truth that Irish eyes smile and that the country is Emerald green. The Irish are proud of their heritage and take equal pride in Irish writers like James Joyce and Oscar Wilde.

Someone once told me that of all the countries he had visited, Ireland was the one place he wanted to return to again and again. Now I know why. I want to return, too. To walk Dublin where literary giants breathed the air. I want to hear more of that Irish music and humor. I want to talk to the people and ask them what they think of Americans. I want to find that four-leaf clover and kiss the Blarney Stone. I want to marvel once again at the remarkable green vistas where sheep, cattle and horses graze.

I want to fall head over heels in love with Ireland all over again.

Maud Lewis: The life of an artist

By GAIL LOWE

MARSHALLTOWN, N.S. — On her death bed, Maud Lewis asked for paint.

This tiny woman, now an acclaimed artist known throughout the world and diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis in childhood, was 67 years old at the time. She had been admitted to Digby General Hospital in southwestern Nova Scotia for treatment of pneumonia, but in 1970 medicine was not what it is today and the illness claimed her life.

Now, 47 years later, Maud Lewis is the subject of a movie titled “Maudie” starring Ethan Hawke and Sally Hawkins. First released across Canada early this summer, the film has received numerous accolades for its depiction of Maud, whose paintings bear a striking similarity to those created by Grandma Moses. Since the movie’s release in Canada, it is now being shown at selected theaters in the U.S.

A replica of Maud Lewis's tiny house

When I was a child about seven years old I lived in Digby and though I never met Maud I can still recall her husband Everett wandering throughout the town. He is said to have been abusive toward his wife, but Maud was an overcomer. In spite of the abuse, she found happiness in life’s simple things. People who knew the couple continue to talk about the cheer Maud’s artwork brought to the region, but they also talk about the darkness that befell the Lewis’s home.

Like Maud, Everett, or “Ev” as he was known to locals, grew up on a poor farm just outside Digby, and most days he dressed in cast-off pants and shirts he found at the local Salvation Army or other charity. But the Everett Lewis I remember occasionally dressed up in a suit jacket, shirt and tie before heading out for a day on the town. He was a small, wiry, dapper gentleman who acted as if he were mayor of Digby. His outward appearance certainly belied his hardscrabble life.

Maud, his better half, was born on March 7, 1903 in South Ohio, a small village outside Yarmouth, and had her own challenges to deal with. Her multiple birth defects caused her arms to shrink in toward her body and shoulders to slope, making her look like a hunchback. Her chin rested on her chest, and her fingers curled in toward her palms. Little was known about Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis at the time, and many thought it to be contagious. As a result, as a child Maud kept to herself and was often isolated from her peers and others who feared they might catch her “disease.”

What Maud Lewis's kitchen might have looked like

Maud’s mother, Agnes Dowley, was her first art teacher, and when she was old enough to venture out on her own she sold Christmas cards bearing her paintings door to door. Her father, John Nelson Dowley, sold harnesses from a shop he set up in Yarmouth.

In 1914, Maud left school at age 14 after completing grade 5, and between 1935 and 1937 she lost both her mother and father. After their deaths, she went to live with her Aunt Ida Germaine in Digby.

When Everett made his exit from the poor farm around 1938, located only a few minutes from downtown Digby, he tacked up a notice on the town’s bulletin board that he was looking for a woman to keep house for him and one who might be willing to provide carnal pleasures. In other words, a wife. When Maud heard about Everett’s quest, she walked four miles from where she was then living to see if they might be compatible. At first, Everett sent her away because of her deformities, but when no other women showed up at his doorstep he reconsidered and about a month later they were married. He then built a tiny house no bigger than 9x10.6 square feet for them to live in.

Everett, a fish peddler, apparently had a few good points. He gathered and brought home oil paints left over from houses and boats, which Maud used to create scenes on particle board, Masonite panels, cardboard, wallpaper and Eaton’s catalogue art board.

Maud Lewis might have slept in a bed like this one.

Maud may have suffered from an arthritic condition, but she didn’t let it get her down, even though locals who knew the couple say she walked into an abusive relationship when she married Everett Lewis. Like most other women of her time, she stood by her man while decorating their living space with pretty curtains, flowery dishware and colorful bric-a-brac. This diminutive woman (she was shorter even than Everett) then became bold and painted the exterior and interior of her home with colorful scenes from nature and the seasons. Flowers, birds, white and black cats, a sleigh pulled by a team of horses over a blanket of snow and a cow drinking from a stream are only a few examples.

Maud continued to paint throughout her adult life on anything she could find, including scallop shells, beach rocks and her own tiny home, but in spite of her growing reputation as an artist worthy of note, she did not view her paintings as art, nor did she view herself as an artist.

In 1968, she fell and broke her hip, which eventually led to her death on July 30, 1970. She was buried at a small cemetery in North Range, a rural area just outside of Digby.

After Maud’s death, Everett lived alone in their little house for a number of years. Then, in 1979 a young man broke into his home, hoping to steal his cash box. Everett Lewis died in the struggle to save his money.

In Maud’s final days of hospitalization, she requested jars of paint to continue her work but the attending nurses and medical aides thought paint would turn her bed sheets into a sprawling, messy canvas, so she was denied her request. Instead, these compassionate caregivers bought a set of Magic Markers so she could create new scenes. It could be said that Maud died with a paint brush in her hand.

Artist Murray Ross also built a replica of Everett lewis's workshop.

Maud’s paintings now hang in art galleries throughout North America and Europe, and Digby resident and artist Murray Ross was so taken with her artwork that he built a replica of the tiny home she and Everett lived in as well as Everett’s workshop. Ross also decorated the home with his own artwork and furnished it with products and décor specific to Maud’s time.

When I stopped by his home to learn about Maud, he welcomed me onto his property so I could see the replicas of Maud’s home and Everett’s workshop and learn all about this now famous artist. Cash donations are accepted to maintain the home and workshop but there is no admission fee.

“Maudie” is receiving great reviews, from the acting to the beautiful film locations in Newfoundland. (Nova Scotia lost out because the film tax credit was axed). It’s a wonder that the shy Maud Lewis, who never considered her artwork anything special, has become an international art icon. There are now Maud Lewis coloring books, Maud Lewis calendars and Maud Lewis blogs. There’s also a book about her titled “The Heart on the Door” by Lance Woolaver.

Perhaps it’s best that Maud doesn’t know any of this. The fact that she died after leading such a humble life was, and still is, a big part of her charm.

Interested in knowing more about Maud Lewis’s life? Google her name and many sites about her and Everett’s life will pop up. And so will examples of her heartwarming art.