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As the plane gracefully banked into it's final descent over Charlottetown Airport I was struck by the pastoral beauty that lay below: the earth neatly parceled out into verdant bite-sized squares and rectangles, sweeping smoothly and uninterrupted towards the horizon. In the 10 days that followed, my travel companion and I would come to find out first hand just how apropos a phrase "bite-sized" would be.

Prince Edward Island is a Canadian Province located in the south eastern region of the country, embraced on three sides by New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Speaking to that embrace, the island's original inhabitants, the Mi'kmaq people, named the island Abegweit, meaning "Cradle on the Waves".

Long known for its bucolic countryside and bountiful bivalves, PEI's love affair with the sea is present in nearly all aspects of island life - be it a stacked pile of wooden lobster pots (traps) at the corner of two distant dirt roads or the quiet calm of a small town's harbor. As a native Cape Codder I was warmed by the simple beauty of our coastal cabin's ceiling, methodically cluttered with ocean buoys collected over the years as storms washed them ashore.

As a creature of habit, in my time I had grown accustomed to journeys focused on the sun, and this trip was no different from the start: images of bathing suited beauties frolicking on the ochre tinted sands of Canadian beaches graced the front leaf of many a pamphlet, and so with great hope we packed little cold weather clothing... after all, we were traveling in August, when temperatures on average were in the 70's (F˚), and occasionally upwards of 90˚.

Of course... it rained every day.

Now, for most this may have proven a bitter disappointment, but we had come to explore the island, and so explore we did. What we found made me very nearly thankful for the rain.

Though small by many modern urban standards, Charlottetown, the provincial capital of PEI, is called home by only slightly less than half of the province's population, and boasts a diverse selection of entertainment and dining options. From the acclaimed Flex Mussels (now with an outpost in Manhattan), dishing out... you guessed it... some of the best preparations of one of the island's best known exports, to Lot 30, a relatively new restaurant from Gordon Bailey (of famed on-island eatery, Dayboat), specializing in using local ingredients to great effect in what might very well be the most sophisticated setting in Charlottetown.

It was, however, a true joy when we stumbled into the Charlottetown Farmer's Market, for it was a world of food so fresh collected under one roof that thousands of words somehow seem to pale in comparison to the experience that one bite might lend. As we retreated to our shore-side cabin, pelted by rain, bags overflowing with some of the most beautiful produce, meats and cheeses I had ever encountered, we were giddy with our finding: and we set to work.

Over the course of the next several days we tracked across the countryside in pursuit of authentic examples of the island's incredible bounty and tallying what we believed to be an accurate "Best of the Best" list. Be it the Avonlea Clothbound Cheddar or the that-morning-butchered thick-cut pork chops from the Charlottetown Farmer's Market, we were in heaven. Though we differed on the best chowder (Richard's on Covehead Wharf, or the Blue Mussel Cafe in North Rustico) we did agree on one thing: the freshest oysters and steamed mussels on the island were to be found at the end of a long and lonely road at the Malpeque Oyster Barn (902-836-3999), situated in the same town that gives the famous oysters their name. Order by the dozen and gaze out over the harbor as you slurp the briny goodness.

Though mussels are the most well known export of PEI, the oyster is not far behind, and so it came as little surprise that as we consumed oyster after oyster my thoughts turned from the eating of these animals towards the rearing of them: how did this miracle food wind up on our tables? After a volley of emails, James Power, the manager of the Prince Edward Island Oyster Co., invited me to their Raspberry Point Oysters outpost to see for myself.

As James deftly angled the open sided flat bottomed vessel out into the large bay he spoke of the life of an oyster. After spawning, oysters will quickly settle, seeking a solid anchor onto which they can cement themselves... for life. Oysters are filter feeders and thus are quite content to stay in one place and watch the world pass them by, filtering the ebb and flow with each passing tide, gathering the sustenance they need to grow and survive. In the notably cold and shallow waters of New London Bay, near the oyster's titular point, it can surprisingly take up to 7 years for an oyster to mature, but it is this extended timeline that some say is responsible for the famed salty and clean finish of the Raspberry Point offspring. As I donned waders and stepped into the chilly waters, rake in hand, pulling my first oysters from the bed of the bay I was amazed at the simple wonder of the act. True amazement, however, came when I pried open a shell while still standing in the water and tasted the freshest oyster I may ever digest: from seed to stomach, 7 years and no more than 4 ft of travel. As if on queue the sun emerged. Perfection.

As our days wound down and we realized we would soon depart the shores of gorgeous Prince Edward Island, we noted that our stomachs would likely be the most melancholy of all upon retreating to our distant home. So it seemed somehow fitting that as I waited for my companion to change her rain sodden shoes in a restaurant bathroom I stepped behind the small building only to find a quiet scene: a single long necked heron standing in the water. It somehow seemed the perfect cap to a trip that proved that the unexpected can offer far greater rewards than the path tried and tested.