Avril 2024

They come from many different places around the world, and as they descend to the aéroport in Montreal, they pass over our neighborhood like clockwork, every five minutes or less. This afternoon has been quieter though. Flight radar shows planes circling to the west of the island before coming in; maybe the winds have changed.

Ask anyone who has been a part of CPS Montreal, and they'll attest to the familiarity of that periodic whoosh of wings, and maybe say it faded into the background after a while. For children, the novelty never goes away.

Like other sounds of the city, this one has a way of weaving through memories. Nearly seven years ago I landed on the island, and remember practically nothing about that because everything was new and unrecognizable. I remember a little more about my departing flight six months later; the last Montreal icon I saw as I said au revoir and the plane roared off to the skies was the Oratory far away on the west side of Mont Royal. Between those two dates, countless planes descended above the neighborhood, a comforting soundtrack of a normal, wonderful life. 

I guarantee it helps make 5385 Rue Francheville feel like home, to me.

A phrase I learned in a French course keeps coming back to me. 

"Il y a beaucoup de circulation sur l'autoroute." There is a lot of traffic on the highway. 

That could be said of any city, but it sure can be said of Montreal. It just takes a long time to get anywhere if you venture out at the wrong time of day. There was beaucoup de circulation when I headed into Montreal North to pick up the boys at the Habitat for Humanity ReStore they volunteer at on Tuesday afternoons. 

There was ever so much more circulation from there to the aéroport where waited a former CPS Montreal boy. Dietrich Nikkel from Mountain Grove, MO had left Montreal just a year ago after his term, and was returning now to fill in for Sam a couple weeks, as Sam leaves tomorrow and his replacement arrives in the middle of the month. Dietrich Nikkel, 21 years old, blond hair and blue eyes, a "Montreal fanatic" (his words) and glad to be back though he wishes it were for two months instead of weeks. 

It will be short and sweet.

The clouds are rosy at dawn. The occupants of 5385 rise and prepare for the day. Luggage is brought upstairs and hauled out to the Honda Pilot, goodbyes are said, and off I go to the aéroport with Sam Reimer. We arrive in good time despite la circulation. It is so heavy on the 40 even early in the morning. 

We pull up to the curb, pull out all his things, then it's one more farewell and we part ways. I make better time going home; the eastbound is moving rapidly. By and by I park in front of our house, and I feel it -- the silence of farewells. Sam is gone now, CPS isn't the same. Our time with Sam was far too short.

♦ ♦ ♦

Early afternoon. Skies are gray over Montreal. Julian needs a nap and so do I. He woke up this morning with a really bad cough, and I with a bad sore throat. We are all behind sleep these days. So much has happened and things continue to change.

It feels like we've been here in Montreal longer than a week, but wait, it's only been a week, and already we're learning about letting go. 

So I crawl in bed with Julian and we get a couple hours of rest. My dreams are full of tears.

"Now it's going to snow!" we had joked while taking down the tempos over our drive and Hélène's. "There's a storm in the forecast!" The sun was bright on that mild March day and winter was surely behind us. But it happened all right.

Aujourd'hui c'est un jour de neige. Today is a snow day. 

A storm that dumped rain over the mid-Atlantic states moved up into Canada overnight, and the morning world was white with more wet snow flying in sideways on a vigorous breeze. It stuck to everything and piled quickly. Our front yard, as many others, replicated a Narnian scene: a glowing lamp post and snow-covered trees. 

We had just finished breakfast when the neighborhood lost power. The boys bundled up and ran to catch the bus as usual, and we stayed put for a while as the snow kept piling up. Crews kept busy across the city scraping roads and repairing lines, and power returned by 11:00.

After lunch I shoveled snow off our steps and sidewalk and did the same at Hélène's house. With ice pelting down from the trees and snow still falling I figured it would take another round later; this would do for now.

Aujourd'hui c'est un jour de neige. 

Seven years can change things, but not everything. Metro singings are still the same as I remember them. The youth that came from Roxton Falls to help out this time was a different group of course, from back then. Most all were familiar faces though and it was a pleasure to see them again. Otherwise the occasion had all the feel of old times. 

Singing spots throughout the metro network are marked with a harp sign on the wall in certain nooks outside the wickets. We rode downtown to Station Bonaventure, and it took a bit to find our spot as the sign had disappeared except for telltale holes in the brick wall where it had been fastened. It was the spot we had booked so we used it anyway. The tract rack was set up, song books were passed around, and we began to sing for passersby.

Responses vary. Some only throw a quick glance, some slow down a little, some walk by with smiles, some take a tract or toss a coin in the box, and some pause to take it in; but all hear it and no doubt are touched even if very briefly, because a cappella singing is so powerful. And what's more, with the inspired Roxton singers we had the volume way up and it was a thrill.

If you have never experienced a metro singing in Montreal, I hope you can someday. I hope you can hold that little songbook and belt out the French and English numbers with the group as people of the city pass through. I hope you can slip away down a corridor for a moment and see for yourself how far you can go until the harmony fades. It carries an incredible distance in most stations. 

Metro singing is a highlight that happens every Friday night. Come join us, you will never forget it. 

"Where shall we meet for supper?" 

We had spent the afternoon at home while Jonathan and Dietrich explored the city. They didn't have any particular restaurant in mind.

Well I didn't either, I said. But then I thought of it: F&F Pizza. A place with good memories and incredible food.

We rode the metro down the island and joined the boys there a little after 6:00. Not much was happening around there except for random customers coming in to pick up their orders, so there was plenty of room for us by the roll-up window that opens to the street in the summertime. The waitress passed us menus and I spotted my favorite instantly: the Carbonara. Bacon, white onions, mozzarella, parmesan, fresh cream, tomato sauce, and freshly ground pepper on a thin crust. I have several favorites really, as you can't go wrong with any of their options. I know it's not a brick oven place but F&F is right next to that. Four personal pizzas were ordered and when we had feasted, only a quarter remained. 

Later on the owner appeared from the back somewhere to begin setting up some things for an 8:00 show of some kind, maybe karaoke, who knows. That was a face I recognized. He recognized us too, not individually but as Mennonites I guess, because he asked, "Where are you guys from?" 

"A couple different places," I said. 

But he had figured as much, because CPS has frequently patronized his shop over the years, "and you tell all your friends about F&F and bring them here."  Such a cheerful and friendly man, and fun to talk with.

The last quarter pizza went into a small box and off we went. Sabrina was on the lookout for someone homeless to give it to, and as we descended the first stairway in the Place St. Henri station, I saw a woman seated not far away. Sabrina practiced a short phrase she could use and took the box over to the woman. 

"Vous voulez du pizza?"

The woman's reaction was immediate. "Oh, thank you so much!" 

We walked on and shared a good laugh. You never know who all speaks English around here after all, and why not practice French?

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/F%2BF+Pizza/@45.4747323,-73.5894007,17z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc9109c75703bbb:0xb748f2713693e417!8m2!3d45.4747286!4d-73.5868258!16s%2Fg%2F113hb4n97?entry=ttu) 

She is a sweet woman, my Quebecois grandma. Marie-Josée Jacques has a fascinating life story, growing up in Quebec City and living various places in the USA and Canada. Ask her about it if you ever have the chance; I won't go into detail and what's more, I want to hear it from her again myself. 

Our friendship began in 2017 when I came to Montreal for six months. We were out at Roxton Falls for the school picnic. Somewhere that afternoon we got acquainted and really hit it off, you could say. That a 20-year-old and a Quebecoise in her upper 50's should become fast friends is an interesting thought, n'est-ce pas? But she reminded me in some ways of my own long-gone grandma. She has a son she hasn't seen for many years; she took me in as another. 

It's a clear and beautiful Sunday. A little snow from the past week's storm remains but the sun is warm. It's nearing the end of the maple season. Throughout the woods, blue tubing is still strung from maple to maple. Here we are in grand-mere's airy country cottage for dinner along with Fritz & Lynette and Hugues & Amy after an enjoyable church service in the Roxton chapel. (The youth group gave their Easter program after Sunday school and we were glad to get in on that.) Marie-Josée has cooked up meatballs, mashed potatoes, broccoli, and cabbage salad for us, and after that there's a delectable pouding chomeur with ice cream. 

Marie-Josee, with sparkling blue eyes, musical voice, and a heart of gold. Marie-Josée, so like the exotic little birds that share her home. Marie-Josee, ma grand-mere quebecoise. 

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pouding_ch%C3%B4meur) 

A large portion of Montreal island was in the path of total eclipse, and our neighborhood was just outside the edge, so around 1:00 we packed up and drove to Cadillac, our nearest metro station on the green line. The boulevards were already filling up, and Autoroute 40 was congested. 

Well, so was the metro system. And the farther we rode down the green line, the more people there were waiting to jump on. Then we got to Berri UQAM, the intersection of the green line with the orange and the yellow and pushed out into the jostling crowds. Earlier I'd thought we might take the yellow line (which is a short one, crossing the river) to Parc Jean Drapeau on a small island where an eclipse party was organized, complete with special guests and a pre-recorded orchestra performance to accompany the eclipse. We pushed through the station in that direction and saw the gigantic throng waiting to go down to that train. No Parc Jean Drapeau for us! (There were nearly a hundred thousand people on that island, I read later.) Then over to the escalators which weren't running, so we carried the stroller up the stairs against the river of people descending them. The noise was phenomenal. We were able to get on the orange line and ride to Place d'Armes, following the throngs from there out to the streets above and up into Old Port. 

The eclipse was starting by then, but we had plenty of time to get down by the waterfront and walk out one of the quays toward the river. I'd made a point of bringing a pack of eclipse glasses I'd gotten well ahead of time. At the Science Center they were going to be giving them out for free but I wasn't banking on that. I saw one random guy holding a sign advertising some for $10 a pair. I thought, good luck brother.

The boys got pretty bored while we waited, though Julian enjoyed glimpses of the sun with a bite out of it. Daylight weakened around us, the breeze cooled, and the sun thinned to a smaller crescent and then to just a curved line. It seemed like only a street light was casting a weak glow around us anymore.

Then a surreal twilight, and a roar of acclamation from countless voices as all saw for themselves the beauty of such an enormous spectacle. A black moon framed with the sun's corona and glistening solar flares creating a "diamond ring effect." It seemed far too short to take it all in. Far away the sky was brighter, and up before us the towers of the city made a fascinating picture, but the sky of course was the focus. Then, there came the sun, just the thinnest rim but with powerful light, and another roar of voices as twilight faded.

There was no getting ahead of the mass migration back into the city. 

Although not as full and busy in the winter and early spring as it is throughout the summer, there's still a lot to see at the renowned Jean-Talon Market, "one of North America’s largest open-air public markets" according to the article on the link below. 

We find a place to park behind the complex and head indoors to immerse ourselves in the sights and scents. One wing is full of all kinds of bright colors -- heaps of vegetables, fruit, mushrooms, maple products, you name it. On a corner near the intersection of the halls is a flower shop, plush blooms tinting the air. There are showcases of cheeses, meats, fish, creepy looking live crabs, a booth of spices, a display of artisan soaps and beeswax candles, an ice cream shop, a creperie, and the list goes on, but I shall not. Let's just say it's a fascinating place to visit.

We are as it were wanderers in a delightful maze, but our actual objective eludes us: a tortillerie. I consult Google Maps for the Mexican place where we can find good fresh tortillas, but as it turns out, this place isn't in the market (but really close by) and neither is it open today. We satisfy ourselves with our short tour of the market and my good wife vows to come back many times. We take the outdoor route back to the Honda Pilot, past where two folks are seated on the curb playing a soft classical piece, one on a cello and the other on a guitar. 

A little boy holding my hand turns to face backward as we pass the duo, and a little voice says, "Daddy, I want a vigtar. When can we go to the store and get a vigtar?"

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.mtl.org/en/what-to-do/food/jean-talon-market-mtl) 

When we came to Canada a little over two weeks ago, we weren't issued the necessary work permit for 1 year due to a certain detail they picked out on the offer of employment application. They let us in on a six month visitor pass with instructions to return and re-enter Canada once we had updated applications.

Fast forward two weeks. We took the necessary documentation along and I felt confident about the whole idea. Crossing to the USA was a breeze aside from waiting a while in a long line. There wasn't much of a line waiting to enter Canada thankfully. We needed to enter the building for a while so an agent could work on our case, and at the end of things, it was another work permit refusal. She handed me the papers and did a little explanation. Apparently the offer of employment number, having been registered on March 29, had not been processed through the government system yet so it wasn't of much use to them. And without a work permit, we couldn't enter Canada. 

I didn't catch on to that part right away because on the 26th we had done just that -- but after some further questioning on her part and further explaining on mine on what we were actually doing in Montreal, she took back the paper that would have denied our entry and said she'd get us a number to exit the gate and go on into Canada. She was surprised, and annoyed it seemed, that we had been in Montreal for two weeks already when we weren't supposed to be in Canada at all. But as a mistake had been made and we'd been let in without a work permit for a year, she decided to let us return, but her tone had sort of turned cold and she didn't bid much of a farewell. Boy I was grateful though.

We returned to the city with mixed feelings, glad we hadn't been denied but dismayed at the complexity of the process. So once our offer of employment numbers are valid we'll be making another trip. Please pray with us that the third time can be the charm!

Oh, Canada.

8:00 p.m. Thursday evening. Julian and Alec have enjoyed some time at the nearby park after a fine fajita supper put on by the boys. The tennis nets are up again on the court for the season, so we took a couple rackets and a ball and had some fun time hitting it around.

Back at the house again, the doorbell rings and the mission folks step in the door. A beautiful young family, Regan & Caitlin Toews with their two daughters, Azure and Sky. The girls are right around our boys' ages, 3 and 1, and what's more, Azure is only a couple weeks older than Julian and Sky is just a couple weeks older than Alec. Perfect matches for playmates! There are the occasional fights but no problem, those are quickly forgotten because there's too much more fun to have. 

Dietrich monitors the ice cream maker running downstairs and we guys take a little time to sing with my wireless mic system. I'm glad I brought it along! We sit around the living room with some old metro song books and harmonize a while as the ladies watercolor at the kitchen table and chat. Then the ice cream is ready to be enjoyed with chocolate sauce and brownies.  

Regan's have been in Montreal nearly two years now, and they would be going back to Alberta in the early summer but are planning to stay into fall. I guarantee we won't be ready to see them go.

It's just like old times, walking out to Boulevard Lacordaire to catch the 7:08 a.m. express bus and riding down to Station Cadillac, then riding the metro across the island to Place St. Henri. From that station it's a walk along a back alley along the railroad tracks to a crossing, and there we are at Mission Bon Accueil. 

The food distribution system has changed a little over the years as well as the volunteers, so it felt new again. Currently the clients move through lines along two rows of tables (with plexiglass barriers remaining from the pandemic era) and receive their allotment of food items corresponding to their tag color. Each of the colors represent a family size, from one or two people to larger families. There are volunteers at each station to get the clients what they need, and a few others running around keeping the stations stocked from pallets and refrigerated totes. That was our task for the morning, the three of us and another Welcome Hall worker. 

Before 9:00 the coordinator held the floor for a couple minutes to introduce a few new volunteers (me included) and let us all know the plan for the morning. Then clients came through and we all got busy. It was enjoyable getting acquainted with some of the volunteers during slow spells and if nothing else, the amiable Alain was always ready to entertain us with some odd tricks, discuss random stuff, or teach us some quirks of French as spoken by the Quebecois. It was a high time. Alain is also the DJ around there so he kept the music playing, sometimes peppy Mexican music and other stuff. 

It's a great atmosphere at Welcome Hall, a bright and positive vibe. Most everyone is cheerful and together we can make a difference for poor folks of Montreal. 

Somewhere out in the wooded countryside east of the city, a paved road turns to gravel and a Honda Pilot slows a bit, splashing through scattered potholes, wipers swishing the rain. The green of pines in the forest is a welcome variation in the gray landscape. There's another color in some woods, a bright blue of tubing strung among maples collecting sap. The Pilot turns in a lane, follows it down into a clearing, and parks at a glowing house. It's the home of Steve & Shandele Penner and the site of their maple sugaring operation, L'Érablière Idéale (directly translated, The Ideal Maple Grove). 

Fun French Fact: "maple" is "érable," "maple syrup" is "sirop d'érable." Which reminds me of an old joke of ours, butchering the pronunciation of course: how "we love maple syrup; it's d'érable good." 

What a pleasure it is to step out of the dismal weather into the warmth and light. Shandele is putting the finishing touches on the supper, and beyond another door, Steve and his boys are cleaning up after their final day of the sugaring season. Part of the house is the room with a large maple sap boiler. To one side are barrels of syrup ready to go. On a wall near the door is a large screen with a satellite view of the Penner territory, the maple groves mapped out and connected for monitoring. "We had a good season this year," Steve says. The winter had been mild and they began sugaring by the end of January. 

Shandele's supper is superb. Chicken, potatoes, salad, and bread to spread with their own decadent maple butter. And for dessert, ice cream topped with roasted pecans and maple syrup. Later on, two small pitchers of syrup appear on the table for us guests to try and we do a little tasting. One is from yesterday's boiling, and one is from today, still warm. The flavor certainly changes toward the end of the maple season, from the golden taste we know and love to one less desirable. 

"It's so gross!" proclaims the youngest of the Penner clan sitting on his mom's lap, and she says, "Shh, it's supposed to be a secret!"

So we dip in the spoons and try it out. Today's syrup has a bitter tang with the sweet, much like molasses but of course not as thick. We test the two syrups and end the tasting with the other syrup we poured over ice cream and comment on the remarkable difference.

Steve tells us why. "The bitter taste comes from the sap changing as the trees begin to bud."

♦ ♦ ♦

Another fun fact, for you who have been through CPS Montreal when the unit vehicle was a silver Dodge Caravan, the predecessor to our Honda Pilot. Steve bought the van a couple years ago for the workers who come to L'Érablière Idéale for the maple season, so if you have any sentimental attachment to it and want another ride for old time's sake when you're in Quebec, you know where to find it.

One regular attendee at our church services in Montreal is an older Berber man from Algeria. Berbers are the indigenous people of North Africa. From WikiQuote: "They are distinctly white-skinned, even when sunburned. Usually they have black hair and brown or hazel eyes, some have yellow hair and blue eyes." 

Akli has hazel eyes and hair that has mostly turned silver. He is a Christian and testifies of the ways God has worked in his life. He told me his story after the church service. I don't remember it all, but here's a summary. 

He grew up in a Muslim village with no knowledge of Jesus. Born into that culture, it was a given that he would embrace Islam like everyone else. But Islam did not appeal to him. In his search he found that his ancestors had been Christians, and he asked himself, how come? What was Christianity anyway?

I wish I could remember more details.

At one point he was out in the desert, and stopped a woman driving alone who told him she was going to see some priests for something, and he asked for a ride. That she gave him one is a marvel, considering all. He spent some time with the priests and they taught him about Jesus. A turning point in his life was when discovered the verse out of the Sermon on the Mount: "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted." That really struck home to him, as he was worn out in his search for truth, and learning about a God of love and compassion as opposed to the Allah of Islam was life-changing. 

"I cried, but now it was for joy."

And once when he was praying, a different voice was coming out of his mouth, that of an old man. He found power to be delivered from a spirit that had been in him. 

His faith didn't put him in a very good position back in his village, and the time came when he fled to Ghardaïa, an oasis city far out in the desert for some time. 

At some point, he received a letter from an organization called Youth With A Mission and a year or so later he was on an airplane to Spain to join some contacts. In conversation about where he was headed, his bysitter became angry. "But you know what? God touched his heart," Akli said. That turned out to be another miracle, for when he got to the airport in Spain, his next flight had already departed. "Here I was in a busy airport and I didn't know any Spanish." But his new acquaintance did, and helped Akli out tremendously.

He spent some years in Spain, I think, with the organization doing mission work. Eventually God opened the door for him to come to Canada where he enjoyed greater spiritual freedom.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"I came in 2008."

So there are some missing pieces. Whether he spent most of his life in Spain, or was back in North Africa, I cannot tell. But when he came to Montreal, he lived for a while in an apartment in Saint Leonard, our neighborhood, renting from a Muslim. It worked ok but eventually he had to find another place.

How he got in contact with our church here in the city, I'll have to ask him sometime.

But what an inspiring testimony, how God made Himself known to him, a young Berber in North Africa with no knowledge of Jesus, and how God led him through his life. 

There's hardly a better place for a sweet treat after a few hours abroad grocery shopping, or any time really, than Radikal Dezzertz. This legendary Italian ice cream parlor is a short jog from Rue Francheville, part of the plaza out along Lacordaire. 

Trays of colorful gelato piled high in the showcase, which shall we choose? It's hard to decide. We settle for two flavors, tiramisu and bacio (chocolate with hazelnut), and order some churros besides. Julian and Alec are on cloud nine. All of us, really. Alec, seated on the table, bobs and sways with the backround music while he enjoys small scoops of gelato. Soon the churros are ready, crunchy and hot, and we break off pieces to dip in chocolate. 

I think back to a summer seven years ago, and those random evenings after supper when my buddy and I would fetch longboards and scoot along the quiet neighborhood streets to Radikal while Papa's and the children came in the van. Radikal is another thing that hasn't changed. Wow. It's so good to be back.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Radikal+Dezzertz/@45.5877184,-73.6004717,17z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc91efab4ad15c1:0xf0f29dbb921788ae!8m2!3d45.5877147!4d-73.5978968!16s%2Fg%2F1hc2sf1b5?entry=ttu) 

"This week is our National Volunteer Week, and we have some prizes and special activities planned. If you’re able to come volunteer yourself tomorrow as well we would love to have you!" read Monday's email from Sophie at Welcome Hall.

"Go ahead and put me down for tomorrow," I replied. 

So Tuesday morning I was off with the boys again, this time driving as we'd need the van later. Finding parking near Welcome Hall was a bit tricky but I found a place to squeeze in. Before the food distribution started, Sophie had her announcements for everyone and a couple assistants helped pass out gift bags, large ones first of all for volunteers who were recognized for putting in more than 50 shifts last year, a special prize for the volunteer with the most hours logged last year, etc. There were also a few gifts for randomly drawn names and at the end, smaller gift bags for the rest of us. 

It was a slower day with fewer clients, which was fine in a way for I was at my own station for the first time getting a handle on the idea. Clients came along the row and I passed them the amount of items at my station corresponding to their tag color. Between those interactions I got acquainted a little with the volunteers around me. Finally the last client had received his things and we guys headed out and were off to the airport.

♦ ♦ ♦

Caleb Saul of Brooksville, MS had landed in Montreal by the time we arrived, but customs took time so we waited a good while. We had entertained the idea of ambiguous introductions where Jonathan would pose as the papa and I'd pass for one of the boys. We didn't though (Caleb said later it likely would have worked) but we all introduced ourselves in French using that form or pronunciation of our names. 

I'm not good at describing people I have yet to learn to know, but I can always do a short one. Caleb Saul, 19, tall with short cut blond hair and blue eyes, soft spoken, easy-going. I look forward to discovering his personality type with the 16 Personalities test we've used with the other guys.

♦ ♦ ♦

Evening, and the guys pulled shrimp kabobs off the grill and we gathered around for supper with Hugues & Amy here. Twice a month they come on Tuesday evening for French class, which happened downstairs after supper while the ladies took care of the kitchen and went to the park with the children. We guys sat around a half of the ping pong table while Hugues explored some basics of the language and illustrated on the whiteboard; numbers, letters, the sounds of vowels and combinations of vowels, common greetings, and a little bit of verb conjugation. Class wrapped up around 9:00. A little more socializing followed upstairs with hot tea and fresh cookies. 

The date was April 17, 2017. An airplane descended through cloud cover to land at the YUL airport that chilly afternoon. I had never been to Montreal before; an adventurous and memorable summer lay before me. 

I thought of it often today. The morning was made special with a few highlights: walking downtown with Caleb after his orientation at the EBM office and grabbing some drinks at Tim Horton's near Station Guy Concordia (we met the other two guys not long after), a stroll through Old Port all together, some heart-catching accordion music in Station Place des Arts, some delectable pizza at Pizzeria Gusto on Rue Jarry.

I never could have imagined this seven years ago. I'm sure glad it's for real.

The orange letters of the electronic signs along Autoroute 40 glow above us. "Circulation Fluide," they say. Smooth traffic flow. It's not far past 4:00 a.m. and we cruise along a highway that will become jammed in a couple hours but still it's surprising how many cars are out this early. I think we made it to the airport under 25 minutes. 

The airport is always busy. I squeeze the Pilot in along the curb at the terminal and hop out as Dietrich grabs his things. Then it's a quick hug and farewell.

"Thanks so much for coming. I'm going to miss you like crazy." 

The sixteen days Dietrich Nikkel spent as a fill-in passed quickly. He thoroughly enjoyed the time back in the city (he spent six months here a year or so ago) and we all enjoyed getting to know him. So soon he was one of us, a bright spot in our Montreal story. So soon he was gone.

Merci encore mon ami. Until our paths cross elsewhere, all the best. 

♦ ♦ ♦

It's a rainy Thursday evening. The guys are in the kitchen preparing supper, "coq au vin blanc meatballs," and it's smelling pretty good. Ooh la la.

(Note: Tomorrow we travel east with the youth groups from Alexandria and Roxton Falls to a rally in Centreville, NB. À la prochaine!)

I'll just summarize the weekend in one entry and may edit it later. 

Centreville, New Brunswick had invited us to a youth rally. The Alexandria group chartered a bus and met us, Roxton Falls, and Vermont groups at a hotel an hour east of Montreal. There were 37 youth, four couples (Colin Unruh's, Jordan Goossen's, Gary Nichols's, and we), and three small children besides two bus drivers and there were still a couple seats to spare. We headed northeast along the St. Lawrence River to circle around the top of Maine. Lots of interesting scenery, lots of wilderness. An endless border of dark and light tree trunks mixed with evergreens, and sometimes old banks of snow.

We arrived at a rented Catholic church in Centreville in time for supper followed by a short program and further arrangements. It's been a while since I've been at an event where I knew so few. There were a couple though, like my cousin Jerome & Kayla (houseparents at the unit in St. John's, Newfoundland) and some Wilson relatives from Fingerlakes. It was even more that way for Caleb Saul; he'd never before seen a single one of the crowd. Besides our busload there were people from Maine, New York, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland. Four service units were represented: Halifax, St. John's, New York City, and Montreal.

Bob & Jo Giesbrecht hosted us for nights, and kindly loaned us a car, a VW Golf. I jumped in and found out it was a manual. How rusty I was with stick shift! The first ride was one of discovery you could say, and not all that relaxing. A few more rides and the idea was relearned. Bob's were on the food committee so they were well involved with the event, but it was enjoyable getting to know them when they were around in the later evenings and mornings. There were seven or so other youth there for nights so it was a full house.

Back to the church on Saturday for a day of singing and fellowship, making some new connections and enjoying the time. There was an interlude for volleyball after lunch so we used that for naps back at the house. After supper, there was a lecture by Matthias Gillespie of Nova Scotia on honesty with God, ourselves, and each other. A time of volunteer parts followed that and then there was more singing by all the youth.

The Catholics had their service early Sunday morning, or maybe it's always over by 10:00, I'm not sure, but ours began at 10:30. A lot of singing all together with a sermon somewhere in the middle by Melvin Peachey of Fingerlakes. Then a more hurried lunch for the groups of us who needed to get on the road. We got all our stuff in the tour bus and were headed back to Quebec. More hours together just riding, or singing, or eating the various things that Jordan Goossen kept pulling out of his bag and urging us to consume. More hours spent watching scenery. An endless border of dark and light tree trunks mixed with evergreens, and sometimes old banks of snow. Lots of wilderness.

We returned to the hotel parking lot around 8:00 p.m. Once all was transferred to our Pilot we headed back to the city and dropped Anna Deeva off first (she's a Montreal girl who attends our church with her parents, Dmitri & Luba) a little after 9:00 p.m. It was good to be back at our own house at long last. 

A small child placing one of my pairs of glasses on the floor and then stepping on it prompted a search for a nearby optical center. There was one not far away, simply called "Optical Center, Opticien & Optométriste" a convenient three kilometers away in the part of the island known as Montreal Nord. A Super C was nearby and as we needed to do grocery shopping, we decided to give that one a try.

I dropped Sabrina and Alec off at Super C and Julian accompanied me to Optical Center. I got not one but a couple frames adjusted there, and had a seat in the quiet room with brightly lit displays of glasses along three walls while the super friendly worker did the adjustments. Back at Super C, I discovered it wasn't only Super C but a shopping mall as well. We explored it a little after toting all the groceries out to the Pilot. There's pretty much everything in there, from dining to fashion, fragrance, home decor, massage, barbershop, you name it.  Julian and Alec enjoyed a short stationary ride in a tiny school bus with "Arthur" and were a little dismayed when the thing stopped rocking. Overall we enjoyed Place Bourassa. With stores outside the mall like Walmart and IGA, multiple restaurants besides, the plaza by the intersection of boulevards Henri-Bourassa and Lacordaire has it all.

"Gateway to the famous underground city, this shopping centre houses a vast array of stores spread over five levels. The centre also offers dining and entertainment options for visitors, including the first Time Out Market in Canada." (from Bonjour Quebec)

This mall is a good one for exploring. Leaning on the glass barrier while I wait, I look down. The level below is the one we came in on from the McGill metro station on the green line. The floor below that is spread with dining tables surrounded by a food court, and lots of folks enjoying a good lunch. For a fleeting moment I wish I had a small paper airplane to toss. The thought is fascinating. Where would it go? Maybe it would skid to a stop between tables unnoticed or swoop away around a corner out of my sight. Maybe it would plunge into a plate of curry, splash down into a beverage, or lodge in a hat. So many targets, but a plane would choose its own.

There's a soft roar in the atmosphere. I close my eyes; what is it? If the mall was empty, would there be any sound? There's an undertone, the hum of escalators between levels, and sometimes snatches of music from a store somewhere, but the ambiance is voices. Or is it? I focus a little more. I hear conversations of those passing near me, voices of those a little farther off, and if I focus on distant sounds, I find they are the same kind altogether. Yes, it's all voices. It's the hundreds of conversations in different languages and on different floors echoing, flowing, and blending.

I hope to explore more of the underground city; this part though is a favorite. According to Tourisme Montréal, Centre Eaton sees over 30 million visitors annually.

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(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montreal_Eaton_Centre#:~:text=The%20Montreal%20Eaton%20Centre%20(French,the%20Montreal%20Metro's%20McGill%20station.) 

Gray and windy rain

Turned to snow, then came the sun.

Springtime in Quebec.

Standing on the back porch, you could toss a ball into five other backyards with ease, or nine if you were to launch it farther. Chain link fence separates ours from both neighbors beside us. A tall hedge forms the border with the yard straight across. Look up our neighborhood on satellite view to check out this strip of green space comprised of everyone's backyards, an antonym to the sidewalks and streets on the other side of the houses. Here are trees and turf, patios and pools, fences and flower beds and garden sheds.

In one corner of our backyard there's a small raised bed with ornamental grasses on either side of a small tree, and in the other corner are twin trees of some kind of spruce. The lawn itself looks a little sorry at this point but no doubt it'll come around yet (in spite of all the TLC Andrew gave it last year, and the house papas before him, it's a perennial challenge). It might be that the squirrels poking around these parts are a bit OCD and keep rooting for nuts in places nuts were never buried. Voila, a bumpy yard.

Underneath the back porch is a random collection of stuff like the patio table and chairs that need to come up top soon, a couple small bikes, a green turtle sand box with a little sand left in it, and other random things. In the flowerbed along the house are some spiny brambles (rose bushes? berries?) and some rhubarb poking up.

The backyard is now further accessorized with a 150' string light. From the outlet by the brambles it skirts the patio and climbs to a corner of the railing, then up to a spruce, down along the hedge, across the corner to the fence, and up to the house corner. Once it's dark we'll see what I should do different. For now it looks like a plan. 

Sometimes the backyard is used for outdoor seating in the summer when Roxton and Alexandria youth groups come to the city to help with metro singing, and supper is at the unit house. But then it gets a little dark out there, and "it can be a bit awkward sometimes," according to the former mama. "Go buy a string light!" she said.

It was the same route we used to take two mornings a week when we volunteered at the Mackay Centre school, the summer I was in Montreal; we'd take a bus to the St. Michel metro station, the north end of the blue line, and ride eleven stops down to the other end, Snowdon. Then it was just one stop down from there on the orange line to Villa Maria, and from there we'd walk down the hill to the school. Some good memories and favorite spots in that part of the city. 

The harp in the Villa Maria station was reserved for metro singing this time, so we found a place to park the van near the St. Michel station and rode down the blue line. Our group was still a bit small once we all were together. Regan came with Azure, then it was just us and our littles and Caleb (Jonathan left Thursday for a long weekend in the states to attend his father's wedding; Jonathan's mother passed away last fall), and just a handful of youth came from Roxton Falls accompanied by Hugues & Amy and Louis. 

The singing spot is a good one, on a level above the tracks and at the bottom of some long escalators, with lots of people moving through. Many seemed to take interest in the singing, a good number tossed a coin or a bill in the box, and a few took tracts. Sometimes children came through the station with their parents and would stop and listen a bit longer.

During the final song, a young boy and his mom stopped for a while. He stood mesmerized while she waited through three verses and choruses of the French version of "Whosoever Will." My heart went out to him and I wondered, what kind of impression was he feeling? Had he ever experienced it before, or would he ever again? When we finished, his mom gave him a coin to drop in the box. Then they were gone. Somehow I feel he will always remember.

Early in the morning, Caleb runs off to take transit into the city to the central station, Gare Centrale, and rides the train from there west to Alexandria for the weekend. That leaves just the four of us at home, sort of fun for a change. In the afternoon we're off to see Place Versailles, quite a large mall not far away that happens to be right at the end of the green metro line so I'd been to the mall a couple times in the past. 

"The million-square-foot community center has been a retail darling for a half-century and remains a welcome home to over 225 businesses and all the savvy shopper’s odds and ends," says their website. 

"It is the largest enclosed shopping centre on the Island of Montreal," says Wikipedia.

There are fountains throughout the mall as well as a graphic waterfall, for lack of a better term. Computerized jets of water create falling words, fleur de lis, and other patterns, amazing to watch. Mostly we walk and windowshop but make a few purchases as well, such as a couple tiny Paw Patrol camp chairs (a metro singing necessity), a black vest I've been needing, and another dressy short-sleeve shirt. Somewhere we also make a deposit in the mall, or Alec does without our knowledge; I had seen the first sandal come off but not the second. Quelle joie. 

Metro station Radisson is right by Place Versailles but I opt to drive to Cadillac where parking spots will be more available. We ride the trains down to Old Port and dine at the Jade restaurant in Chinatown. On a mild evening like this, scads of people are out enjoying it. We walk Rue de la Gauchetiere a bit after supper to get some bubble tea yet and head back through the crowds and a light sprinkling of rain. 

Randomly, my former house mama checks in to see what we're doing today and I fill her in.

"Remember: you are living the dream." 

Oui, madame.

Mont Royal, after which the city is named, rises from the island with a prominence of 645  feet over the city, covered and surrounded by Mont Royal Park which spreads nearly 700 acres. It was inaugurated as a park nearly 150 years ago and designed by the same man who planned Central Park in New York City. It's definitely a highlight of Montreal, especially the broad terrace overlooking the downtown. 

It's good to be back on this mild, lightly cloudy evening. The trees are still bare for the most part but are budding out in the lower woods. The flower beds near the chateau are full of tulips poking out of the ground a couple inches; spring must be officially beginning. We find a spot along the parapet and gaze a while over the towers, the streets, and the river, picking out familiar and iconic sights of Montreal. There's a faraway rushing of traffic below, soft under the sound of all the people talking around us on the terrace. 

We move out of the range of someone's second-hand smoke and walk around a little. The boys dart here and there, Julian trying to imitate some dance moves that a couple young women are doing, Alec taking frequent tumbles down the shallow steps. A little more light drains out of the sky and we move to the edge for another view of the evening cityscape. 

Later, darkness falls and lights sparkle into the distance, but we aren't there to see it. Some other time. Ten miles up the island in a quiet neighborhood, a fresh pizza hot off the stone is divided and devoured, two small boys head to bed, and the house mama ties up a few loose ends and plans menus for the coming days.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.mtl.org/en/what-to-do/activities/mount-royal-park) 

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Royal) 

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Kondiaronk+Belvedere/@45.5033763,-73.5894503,16z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc91a3b87bfffff:0x2d2f5e3a0e924d45!8m2!3d45.5033726!4d-73.5868754!16s%2Fg%2F11ggbxr5v3?entry=ttu) 

Montreal has somewhere around 5,000 designated parks. They range from tiny (a grove of trees and a couple pieces of playground equipment) to huge (think Mont Royal or the botanical gardens). It's another thing to love about Montreal; in Quebec's largest city and Canada's second-largest, you are never far from green space.

Covering somewhere around eighteen acres, our nearest park (named for Pope Pius XII) boasts many great features. One end of the park is bordered by the school grounds of École primaire Pie-XII. Often we hear the musical chime of the school bell across the neighborhood, and at different times of the day, that end of the park is flooded with youngsters ripping around and playing among the trees. The ground is packed hard and gravelly in that grove, nothing could grow under that much foot traffic. 

Nearby there's a clearing for bocce ball, and another with a sand lot and some fine playground equipment that Julian and Alec never tire of climbing. Beyond are tennis courts, pools, a basketball court, and a pavilion where we saw through the windows as we passed by a group of young folks in white garb taking training in martial arts. The path led us out along some woods on one side and two ball fields on the other. We stopped to look at the gated entrance to the "caverne de saint-léonard," our own neighborhood cave right here in the park! I have never seen it, but plan to this summer as tours are given June through October. Past that was an area with outdoor exercise equipment and we tried out some of the pieces. A soccer field forms the other end of the park. The tall lamp posts were glowing under the trees as we looped back to the sidewalk along Rue Dujarié, the eastern border of the park. 

♦ ♦ ♦

There are so many great places like this in Montreal. Just last evening we drove along Jarry Parc, a place I had been several times in 2017. It has even more acreage and some really nice features. I remember a couple picnics there, and doing some longboarding on those walkways, and seeing sunset clouds reflected in the pond. Good memories. I can't wait to experience more.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://montreal.ca/lieux/caverne-de-saint-leonard)

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint-Leonard_Cavern) 

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Parc+Pie-XII/@45.5884836,-73.6115464,973m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc91ee2b9b1d031:0x8073c52a65f5b993!8m2!3d45.5886023!4d-73.6080169!16s%2Fg%2F11gzjyxnx?entry=ttu) 

There's even an international day for it. Bubble tea predates my own existence but I first got acquainted only seven years ago, and have loved it ever since. I've also learned that either folks will like it or dislike it, period. There are always variations of this creation to suit people's tastes, but I enjoy the original concept: a sweet milk tea with black tapioca pearls in the bottom of the cup. Then there is a good variety of flavors besides.

Hugues & Amy and Louis came to CPS for supper and French class, and as they enjoy this drink, we thought we may as well celebrate National Bubble Tea Day together. Walmart stores in the city carry the mix and the preparation is simple. We rounded off a supper of pork chops and sweet potato wedges with some good traditional bubble tea. Even Caleb, who had declared some time ago that drinking bubble tea was pretty hard on his manliness, enjoyed this one. 

Another acquaintance recently told me he doesn't think he ever had bubble tea, poor guy. Well I'd say it's never too late to try.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bubble_tea)