The Atlantic Ocean exalts Newfoundland, a wind-whipped, rugged island whose unbridled beauty cradles an indefatigable spirit.
"If you see bake-apples anywhere, buy them," says Tennille Blackwood, a waiter at Django's in St. John's. She spent her childhood
afternoons gathering the amber-colored tart berries with her father. "It can take an entire afternoon to find enough to fill
The brightly painted row houses in the heart of St. John's earned the moniker "Jelly Bean Row."
Pewter ornaments in the afternoon sun, salt cod hang from wooden beams in Bonavista.
It isn't uncommon to see icebergs here in early summer, when 10,000-year-old chunks of cotton-candy blue ice drift by.
Location, location, location. A solitary cottage enjoys a near-360-degree view of Trinity's harbor.
A few of the province's harbors still bustle with boats―but even this one, a working harbor on the southern tip of the Avalon
Peninsula, presents a lonelier face than in ages past.
Every spring, thousands of Northern gannets migrate to Newfoundland's capes and islands, where their bodies blanket the rocks
like layers of snow.