At a Cape Breton bed & breakfast, visitors find the price is always right
BRETON COVE, Nova Scotia -- As you drive up the east side of the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton, just below Cape Smokey, you'll come to a small sign on the right that reads "J. Kerr's Bed & Breakfast -- uniquely, no rates."
Well, who could resist a come-on like that, even though it may be nothing more than a hostel with eight bunks to a room, or an enticement for condo sales?
But it turns out to be neither. Rather, at the end of the long driveway is a renovated 1920 farmhouse on a wide lawn, ringed by sloping woods, with a high view out to the ocean. The first floor, once carved up into seven tiny rooms, is now an open, light-filled combination kitchen and living room. A bouncy half-Lakeland terrier, half-Skye terrier named Rocky greets you at the door, and owner Joan Kerr invites you to sit down at a long, kidney-shaped wooden table flanked by big windows and plants, including a tall, 26-year-old cactus.
She pours a cup of coffee from her mother's original 1930s Fiestaware set. "When they call me up, people don't know quite what to make of `no rates.' They'll say, `Can you give me an idea?' Most of the time I say, `By the time you leave, you'll know what you feel like leaving.' "
It's an unusual approach, which seems to mix the openness and curiosity of an American with the kindness of a Cape Bretoner. Kerr, a Worcester native who taught elementary school in Roxbury for 13 years, got hooked on Cape Breton life when she visited with a friend in the late '70s. A few years later, she bought this house, on 100 acres, with her then-husband. In 1980 they opened for guests, with the same no-rates policy she has today.
"I've been doing it like that since day one," she says. "I enjoy the surprise of what people will leave. Ninety-nine percent of the people know what they're giving at other places, so they give me comparable amounts."
There is one exception to the rule, she acknowledges. "The only people I will give a price to are German visitors, who want to know exactly how much, or they won't stay here. They'll walk out the door. I tell them what the people the night before left me. I figure that's fair."
The element of fairness seems at least equally as important to Kerr. "I take hitchhikers, bikers who can't really afford a car. I figure it's nice to have a place, and you can help out people."
A recent example is the pair of hitchhikers who met on the road, decided to travel together, and arrived at Kerr's door. "He was from France; she was from Quebec," she says. "They were really tight on the money, and they had no idea how far distances were. So I ended up driving them a couple of places, like North Sydney (a 45-minute trip) because I knew they weren't going to be able to get rides. Tourists don't pick up hitchhikers."
Kerr's generosity is in a sense a payback for her own introduction to Cape Breton more than 25 years ago. "When I was traveling originally, with my girlfriend, I lost my wallet. When we went to stay different places, all over Cape Breton, they said, `Oh, don't worry about it,' and just invited us in. We did find the wallet, and when I got home I sent everybody a letter and some money."
The indoor space for guests is limited to two rooms and a shared bath. An oversize, handmade wooden spiral staircase leads up to the small bedrooms and their antique furnishings. Some are heirlooms from Kerr's family; others came with the house, which had been vacant for about 35 years when she found it.
There is plenty of space for campers on the extensive property, which has trails cut through the woods for walking or, in winter, snowshoeing and skiing. From the house, a five-minute walk through the thick spruce and fir woods leads you to a spectacular view from the cliff of water crashing on the rocks below.
Kerr allows pets -- "I get a lot of people with dogs here" -- and accepts occasional goods in exchange for a room. "Last summer, there was a woman who crocheted staying here, from Pictou, Nova Scotia." She points to the long crocheted table runner that spans the entire length of the 9-foot kitchen table. "I never had anything that would fit this table. I said at the time, `If you ever want to come back and make something, I'll trade you the room for one of these.' So she came up two weeks ago and left me with this."
Kerr produces her own works of art as well, having attended Massachusetts College of Art during a leave of absence between teaching jobs. A small group of colorful abstract oil paintings hangs near the kitchen windows. She says they're for sale, but no prices are posted. "I sell the paintings the same way I do the rooms," she says. "Whatever you think it's worth to you, that's fair." She shrugs. "I have a pricing complex."
Kathy Shorr is a freelance writer who lives in Wellfleet. 