Mai 2024

Pedestrians are bundled up on the wet gray morning. The maples of the neighborhood have been covered with a soft bright green, one neighbor's tulips have been blooming, hedges have thickened, and a few forsythia bushes blaze. There are a few flowers up in our front flowerbed too: a few stocky purple hyacinths, a few dozen daffodils. They seem a little timid, always facing downward for some reason. Is it because of all the cold and rain?

The afternoon brightens with an interlude of sunshine, the intense rays quickly drying off sidewalks and streets, warming the earth and air. Later, more clouds and the air cools. If the sun had more time to shine on this island, maybe spring would seem more real.

The white-throated sparrow's outlook is always cheerful. From somewhere outdoors comes his whistle, Oh, sweet, Canada Canada Canada!

The air inside the shop is warm, moist, and rich with the energy of growing plants. Brightly lit shelves are lined with trees of different kinds, miniature trees in shallow ceramic pots. You can buy these bonsai already trained, with price tags from around $80 to more than double for larger ones. (There must be thousands of dollars worth of living art in this shop.) Or you can buy "pre-bonsai" trees ready for training and potting for much less. Here you can find all you need, from the tools and soil to a variety of colorful bonsai pots.

Bonsai is the ancient Japanese art of growing and shaping miniature trees. Any type of tree may be used, and with the proper care, a specimen can live for centuries.  Unfortunately, my experiments with elm seedlings years ago didn't survive that long, thanks to busyness and neglect. I've always wanted to try again and was glad to find and stop by a shop devoted to this art here in Montreal.

We spent a few minutes browsing this miniature forest. A lot of the trees had uncommon names. There was a section of juniper trees, commonly used for bonsai. One striking tree was an orange tree, complete with tiny oranges hanging on the branches. Another kind had white flowers among its foliage. The leaves of bonsai are tiny because of the manicuring technique used, and when the trunk and branches are properly trained, the illusion of age is fascinating. A tree not ten years old can be trained to resemble a centenarian. 

Ficus is a good type for beginners so I picked one out from the pre-bonsai collection. A blue-glazed pot seemed a perfect match, and with some wire for training and a little extra soil, the purchase was made. No doubt the shopkeeper whispered a blessing of resilience over the plant as it was transferred to the care of a clueless amateur. But this will be fun!

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://magasinbonsaimontreal.ca/en/)

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Magasin+Bonsai+Montr%C3%A9al/@45.5908036,-73.5591919,17z/data=!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc91f2b11274161:0x2ef38e281a45ca52!8m2!3d45.59091!4d-73.559499!16s%2Fg%2F11g2zkl3qh?entry=ttu) 

Montreal enjoyed a bright afternoon as clouds hesitantly broke up for a few hours. It was a perfect time for work outdoors. Here in the city we are helping to save the planet by using electric things; first off, the lawnmower. It's fun to use aside from dragging and kicking an extension cord around. It's a very light machine and for that matter doesn't have a lot of gumption when running into deeper grass but it gets the job done. The backyard was done in short order, then the side and the front. It was good to have our green space groomed. Next came the battery-powered trimmer for touching up, and then the battery-powered blower to sweep clippings off the pavers and the sidewalk. 

Somewhere far away, rivers continue churning through turbines and generating enormous volumes of energy; Montreal is nearly all if not entirely run on hydroelectricity. 

I was a little dismayed at the discovery of two breaks nibbled into the new string light in the backyard, where it went up into the tree. After a while I had it successfully spliced and functional and took the time to reconfigure the placement. One doesn't win against squirrels, I figure, so I avoided the trees this time. I didn't notice a bizarre detail until stringing it up again: two bulbs were missing altogether. The wire had been severed on both sides of each and the treasures hauled to a hideaway somewhere. Hmmm. These squirrels. 

But we like the new arrangement of the string light around the perimeter; now our backyard is officially "legit," says house mama.

Old Montreal has really come alive again and tourist season is well underway, continuing to gather momentum in anticipation of the colorful rush of summertime. Place Jaques Cartier, the hillside square, is bordered with busy restaurant patios and various booths scattered across the main plaza; art, caricature, jewelry, ice cream, and the open space for street performers. They have just returned for the season.

We rode downtown and went on a stroll down Rue St. Paul, the main drag of the old city crammed with souvenir shops, restaurants, and boutiques. On the square we watched a street performer go through his repertoire, including juggling and some bizarre stunts. The first performer we watched is a fixture here in Montreal; I remembered him from other years. We watched another performer later whom I've also seen different summers, and he did even wilder stunts, like holding a cigarette on his head while cracking a whip above him to yank it off, juggling knives while lying on a bed of nails, juggling flaming torches in skillful patterns, and for a finale, standing barefoot on upturned samurai swords on a tall ladder while juggling a couple sharp instruments and a torch. All with interesting presentation and jokes he uses every performance. 

Caleb and Jon had joined up with us early on and for supper we gathered at Montreal Poutine, dragging the stroller along up the worn wooden stairs in the ancient stone building to the dining space with a view of the street. This is a restaurant of choice in Old Port for CPS; their smoked meat poutine is second to none. If you know, you know. 

Sidebar: Montreal's signature smoked meat. "Montreal-style smoked meat... is a type of kosher-style deli meat product made by salting and curing beef brisket with spices. The brisket is allowed to absorb the flavours over a week. It is then hot smoked to cook through, and finally is steamed to completion. This is a variation on corned beef and is similar to pastrami," says Wikipedia. Try it sometime. It's awesome on poutine; it's also delectable as a sandwich at Snowdon Deli. 

Later we patronized a small sorbet shop along Place Jaques Cartier, and an art shop in the adjoining room. Then after more strolling and listening to some singers, we took the long way back to the metro station. 

An evening in Old Port, c'est une bonne idée.

If you aren't acquainted with the Meyers-Briggs personality test, free for all on www.16personalities.com, check it out sometime. You may learn a few things about yourself. A wealth of information covering the full spectrum of personalities is available for study. The sixteen types are categorized into four groups: Analysts, Diplomats, Sentinels, and Explorers (www.https://www.16personalities.com/personality-types). Each type has its four-letter identification. In a sense, these types are still pretty general, but they usually align pretty well with any individual. 

Years back my wife took the test, and later I did too. She is an ENFP, a "Campaigner;" I am an ISFJ, a "Defender." Nothing special, as ISFJ's are a common type throughout humanity. As new volunteers come through the unit here in Montreal we're having them take the test. Incidentally, Jonathan is also an ISFJ, and Caleb is an ENFP, so we have two Defenders and two Campaigners here at CPS. C'est intéressant.

♦ ♦ ♦

Defender, ISFJ (https://www.16personalities.com/isfj-personality)

Campaigner, ENFP (https://www.16personalities.com/enfp-personality) 

"Third time, what charm?" said Fate with a frown.

♦ ♦ ♦

The curt agent wants more details, so I fill him in as politely and concisely as possible. 

"And nobody else in Montreal can do it?"

I pause, holding his gaze. "I'm sorry?"

"What makes you so special, that you are here to fill this place? Is Christian Public Service unable to find anyone else in Montreal or in Canada to take care of the house? What makes you so special that they need you to come from the United States?"

Oddly, I could laugh. I allow a smile and answer, "I don't feel like we're anyone special, we just volunteered to come to Montreal for a year under our church's organization."

A little more chat, and he returns to his desk to work on the case. 

He calls me up a few minutes later, but like other times, the work permits we so desire have not appeared. Fortunately, he understands what's going on by now, having seen the record of permit denials and the fact that we've spent more than a month in Quebec already. His tone is sympathetic. He points to the bottom of the page on the offer of employment sheet, where some information is missing. "Something is not working with my computer. This number doesn't bring up the information I need." He says we must return after a time and try again.

"Just like we did today?"

"Yes, the same process. See you again, soon."

I thank him for his time. 

So there it lies, the ball is in the court of the government system. A glitch needs fixed somewhere and I feel it won't be fixed very soon. I also feel we've done our part for now.

The rest are waiting outside and glad to see me. These visits to the border are trying times for house mama and the boys. "Please don't ask," I tell her, hating to break the familiar news.

I sing a little on the way home. It is a gorgeous spring day, and at least we're headed back into the city, but yet the matter is unresolved to our collective dismay.

"For He knows my way,

He will try me today,

And I shall come forth like gold."

It's hard telling how this will play out. We will likely be making a trip to the States soon; Sabrina's grandpa Koehn is in the last days of his life. Please remember us in your prayers.

Oh (la la la la), Canada.

In the early afternoon, perhaps around one-thirty

By the corner of Rue Berri and Boulevard Cremazie,

Traffic flows... slows... stops... flows.

On the sunny corner there's a small, uncommon spectacle

Gathering some interest; faces turn, a few eyes twinkle,

And the traffic flows... slows... stops... flows.

Lying leisure in the grass, sun in each upturned face

Sprawl three country boys like it's a meadow far away,

Waiting for the bus, as the traffic flows... slows... stops... flows.

"Montréal Space for Life is made up of five major attractions: the Biodôme, the Biosphère, the Insectarium, the Jardin botanique and the Planétarium. These prestigious municipal institutions form Canada’s largest natural science museum complex." (https://espacepourlavie.ca/en) 

Four of these five museums are just seven kilometers from us; the Biosphère is across the river from Old Port on the Jean Drapeau island, and I'd say its iconic spherical structure is more interesting to see than the environmental museum inside it. The other museums are all near another Montreal icon, the leaning tower over the Olympic stadium, tallest of its kind at 541 feet. 

Espace pour la vie sells passports that give unlimited access to these five attractions for a year. You can reserve tickets online, print them off, and skip the ticket counters altogether. It didn't take me long to calculate the value of something like that so I signed up for a family pass. We hope to visit a few of these, especially the botanical gardens a few times throughout the year, and considering how long those ticket lines can be in the summer, this will be so handy. 

The Biodôme, formerly the Olympic Velodrome (cycling stadium), showcases five different ecosystems of the Americas: the warm, lush tropical rainforest with rushing water, macaws, tiny orange monkeys, capybaras, caimans, fish, exotic frogs, and a few snakes; the Laurentian maple forest, with river otters, a beaver lodge, a raccoon, a lynx, and a few birds; the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with tide pools and colorful anemones and starfish, deeper pools with large fish and rays; the combined habitat of the Labrador Coast and Sub-Antarctic Islands, with penguins and puffins. (https://espacepourlavie.ca/en/about-biodome)

We enjoyed a good hour and a half in there, the cold and rainy outdoors forgotten.

Creamy chicken, Mexican rice, fresh tortillas. Caleb put together a fine supper, with a little help at the end from the Roxton Falls guys. He had invited the small group to join us for supper so they came, six out of seven: Andrea, Mihayla, Jada, Matthew, Jeremy, Jackson. A couple of them flipped tortillas on the griddle and another brewed some good tea. We crowded around the table and had ourselves a good time.

The sensational light show was visible over much of North America, but how much would we see from the city? Regan's were over for supper after metro singing (it was just us at Station De la Savane). Towards ten o'clock we guys stepped out on the back porch to scan the sky. 

Nothing was to be seen for a while, except Caleb perched on the rooftop proclaiming that the view hadn't been worth the climb. Actually he was regretting it now, worried about sliding off the dewy metal roof while descending. We coaxed him to the edge, and about the time I ran for a ladder, down he came with Regan's help onto the top of the grill again. 

Later, though, the unmistakable glow appeared over us, beams and veils of green. The streams appeared to be meeting around a point above us like a vortex, or spreading away from it, and slowly they swirled. Some faint red appeared with the green a few times. It was a breathtaking sight.

Regan's went their way after a time and the boys tossed the idea around of driving out of the city to see some more. After another view from the back porch as the colors returned, a decision was made and soon Caleb and I were cruising out of the city on the 40. Fifty kilometers northeast, we parked along a gravel lane surrounded by fields and only dark woods for a horizon. We stayed a while, gazing up into the dome of splendor. The only sound was a chorus of spring peepers on the cool air and the voice of a whippoorwill somewhere far away. 

Hundreds of vibrant tulips among the trees and pathways, perfect cups of color full of sunlight, yellow, orange red, pink, purple. Silky white blooms of magnolia trees perfuming the air. A towering lilac bush to rest under, a perfect blue sky overhead. The natural world rejoicing in the return of flourishing life. More beds of tulips near splashing fountains. The Olympic Tower soaring in the background. Talk and laughter of carefree explorers in the bit of paradise that is Montreal's botanical gardens.

As the morning dawned clear and beautiful over the city, word came that your life journey is over. Grandpa Koehn, what is the real paradise like? This afternoon we walked in beautiful landscapes, smelling the flowers, strolling shady paths, and wondering what glory you are experiencing. There is so much beauty in this world; how much brighter and fuller it must be in the new one! Farewell for now, we are on our way to meet you.

To God for mothers and the place they fill.

To my mom, for all you've done and been for me.

To my mom-in-law, for raising a wonderful daughter, my wife.

To my wife, mother of our boys and Montreal house mama, for all you are to us.

To the mothers of our unit boys, for saying goodbye to your sons for six months so they can experience the joys of service in Montreal and become part of our family.

And thank you Jonathan for slipping out this morning for a few minutes and returning with flowers for house mama, and for bringing that Sunday School introduction on a lesson titled "Godly Mothers." Thank you for facing the bittersweet day with courage, this first Mother's Day with your own mama in heaven. 

The glory of the LORD shall endure for ever: the LORD shall rejoice in his works.

I will sing unto the LORD as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.

Psalm 104:31, 33

♦ ♦ ♦

About fifty years ago, someone arranged these verses to music whose composer is unknown. Many people today are familiar with the song titled "Let the Glory of the Lord," sometimes sung as a round. 

This simple but beautiful refrain appeared in round note French hymnal "Celebrons Dieu" in the early eighties. Some time ago I memorized those words and Julian knows about half of them by now. Invariably it's a morale booster as well as a good bedtime song.

We sing it again tonight, dark eyes shining from his pillow, little cupid mouth voicing the joyful lines with me in the dimness.

"Que la gloire du Seigneur subsiste à jamais,

Qu'il se réjouisse de ses ouvres!

Je chanterai le Seigneur tant que j'existerai,

Je célébrerai son nom tant que je vivrai."

The day's challenges fade as my heart lightens with the praise, and suddenly everything's all right.

"Berchicci," the man said, spelling it out for me as I entered the name in Google Maps. "That's the Italian grocery store. Everything there is imported from Italy."

I had come to Milano Italian Food Products, tucked in along a street lined with mechanic shops in an industrial section of Montreal North. This didn't seem like much of a supermarket to me, as I had inferred from the little bit of info online. Here I needed to ring a bell and wait a few minutes until someone opened the door into a small entry room. He wondered if I was there for pepperoni. I soon learned this was a manufacturer of Italian meats, so I asked where an Italian market might be and was off to check it out.

You can find everything there: a wide spectrum of cheeses and meats, pastas like I'd never seen, tomato products, oil, spices, flours, coffee, and chocolate to name a few. I got myself a small bag of flour especially for pizza (from Naples no less), the premium "type 00" flour that is super fine and soft, and also a small ball of fresh unsalted mozzarella. 

Back home I turned some of that flour into a pizza crust and used some of the fresh cheese among the other toppings. It was a Margherita more or less; crust, sauce, mozzarella, crumbled feta, tomato slices, fresh basil leaves, Himalayan salt, and a little balsamic. Then the pizza stone heated inside the grill worked its magic and we had pizza for lunch along with shrimp alfredo. Oh la la, I think it was my best pizza yet. Remind me to make you one when you come to visit.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.berchicci.ca/index-en.html#) 

Some of nature's finest songsters are ones you never or rarely see. I was out with Julian on the front steps blowing bubbles when I heard the trills of a thrush somewhere in the neighborhood -- the sound of summer in the Appalachian forests. The thrush is an elusive bird but his clear songs carry even through the thickest greenwood. His magical sound transports me in a moment to other places and times. 

Much as I wish he would stay, I'm sure he's headed for the wilderness to the north. I guarantee this Appalachian singer stopped by just for me. 

♦ ♦ ♦

Not far from the bustle of Old Port stands an impressive building nearly a century old. Once the headquarters for the Royal Bank of Canada, it now houses the Crew Collective & Cafe on the ground level. The rotating doorway isn't large enough to accommodate the stroller but we get it in by folding it up. Vaulted ceilings soar above us in the foyer, and on either side are a couple small galleries with chambers of some kind, maybe former vaults. They look like perfect alcoves for impromptu singing. Ahead is a short flight of stairs to the cafe and lounging area. 

We ascend the stairs and consult the menu. A crispy cheese croissant hits the spot for the hungry little boys along with some sips of a matcha latte, as we admire the spacious architecture of this echoing hall before retracing our steps to the street, and are off to find Rue Saint Paul. 

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Crew+Collective+%26+Cafe/@45.5034327,-73.5625896,17z/data=!3m1!5s0x4cc917f57d114ff3:0x7dbad6ed59005e63!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc91a584b01d105:0x84862d8825333968!8m2!3d45.5023198!4d-73.5593173!16s%2Fg%2F11b5qy5wg7?entry=ttu) 

Going for a few groceries with Julian to our nearest Walmart at the Place Viau shopping center, and strolling through Michael's afterward just looking at stuff. Suddenly I was missing my unit buddy, thinking back to those fun hours we spent creating together.

Mowing and grooming our little emerald turf, and walking in that soft moist grass. Although maybe I should have worn shoes, as I got a little poison ivy on one foot, and then a little on my forearms from pulling those sneaky runners out from along the hedge. Somewhere in the hedge the system is alive and well but for now it's gone from the yard.

Enjoying a supper of beef bourguignon (the guys' creation) on the back porch while listening to the school program back in Pennsylvania. It was a thrill to hear the enthusiasm and at the end, the graduates' singing. Mrs. Raquel did a fine job finishing the music teaching for me this term.

It was a memorable metro singing, for sure. Sherbrooke is a busy station and a bit noisy, but we had the help of Roxton Falls and the Vermont youth. A few interesting characters passed by among the crowds, but about halfway through, one charismatic woman was thrilled to discover us and raised her arms as though conducting our music. After the song she approached the group, exclaiming, "Nous avons le même Dieu!" She soon she switched to English and repeated, "We have the same God!"

She talked with Regan some and as we continued singing, she became an active tract distributor for us. She got Julian to help her in that venture for a bit. Some of the time and especially toward the end she was showing him some simple dance movements for him to imitate to go along with the singing. What fun!

We had supper at the Wilfrid-Bastien Park along Lacordaire, not far from home. It looks like a good park for exploring sometime. One hit with kids is a rocket ship sculpture with colored lights and mist jets underneath it. There are walking trails and tennis courts that are always lit up in the evening, unlike our nearest courts where it's more sporadic. And the trees -- trees are everywhere. Montreal is so beautiful with all its green again.

Scattered throughout the neighborhoods of Montreal, lilac bushes are plush with purple. The botanical gardens have a whole collection from lavender to pink and white. Some of the shrubs are small, others are old and towering. This section of the gardens is irresistible. Visitors walk among the lilacs, taking many pictures with each other or relaxing in the shade of blossoms. 

Somewhere in this paradise two young boys romp in the sunshine picking bright dandelions, their affinity for sparring forgotten in this great out-of-doors. Somewhere nearby the mom and dad recline on the grass and take it all in. Such color, such honey-sweet air! Time is irrelevant in a retreat like this. 

If only there were a way to capture the moments. Those moments are much like the blooms. "Ephemeral," that's the word: "lasting for a very short time." But to experience them first hand is part of the beauty after all.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://espacepourlavie.ca/en/file/8115) 

(https://www.marinagrosshoy.com/blog/lilacs) 

Thanks to the continuation of the ivy rash, I spent the day at home tending it. Quarter to ten on the clear morning the bells of a nearby church rang a while to summon parishioners as the rest of CPS headed to our own little church on Jarry. Later in the morning I did some grilling, chicken breasts and hamburgers, and the bells clanged again to mark the noon. There's something timeless about that sound.

After lunch, Julian headed with me to Jean Coutu and we met Hélène on the sidewalk. She was dismayed to learn of my ivy rash. "Do you know how to say poison ivy in French?" I wasn't sure. "It's 'herbe à puce,'" she said. 

I used the phrase at the pharmacy counter in Jean Coutu. "Est-ce que vous avez des médicaments pour herbe à puce?" I asked the pharmacist. He found pills for me and gave a couple instructions.

But Hélène remains a skeptic. L'herbe à puce dans la ville? C'est incroyable. She came over later in the afternoon bearing sweet bouquets of lily of the valley from her flowerbed and lilacs from her bush. She is quite certain it must be something else I have, as the former house papas never had trouble with it that she knew. "You have to go out to the country to get poison ivy!"

Ah, but there are some strange things in our hedge, Hélène.

Avoid poison ivy! Otherwise, may your suffering be brief.

♦ ♦ ♦

Every day: "Wow,  but surely it can't get worse than this."

Every next day: "Wow, but it did."

♦ ♦ ♦

Randomly I recall the chorus of a song and the voices of my quartet buddies as we sing it together:

"You take me over great heights, so I can learn how to fly,

You take me through dark, low paths, so I will reach for the sky,

You put my feet on the Rock, so I can learn how to stand;

Lord, I'm safe in the palm of Your hand,

I'm safe in the palm of Your hand."

Jean Talon Market, a couple weeks ago. "I really should make this for supper sometime," says Caleb with growing conviction, eyeing a special cut of meat in a butcher's cooler. I give my support and we craft a simple plan for keeping it a surprise.

CPS living room, a couple days ago. Caleb has found a recipe for preparing this steak and needs a bunch of random ingredients. He fills out a notecard of things he'll need, including ground pork, chopped celery, chopped carrot, Worcestershire sauce, a small glass of red wine, a bag of orecchiette pasta, etc. Hmm, what is orecchiette? The Italian market will have it, no doubt.

Magasin Berchicci, this morning. Yes, they have this pasta all right. It's one of the many kinds of pasta I've never before seen, shaped like tiny shallow saucers (I really don't know how to describe it, look it up.) I look around for wine. There's a lot of olive oil and balsamic vinegars but no vin rouge. The cashier confirms the absence of wine at this market so Julian and I head on to look elsewhere for that. 

"We have wine but it's not alcoholic," says the worker at Walmart.

"Would that work for cooking?"

"No, it should be alcoholic for cooking," she says, and directs me to a nearby store where I find some. 

Later in the day, Caleb detours through Jean Talon Market to secure some steak. 

House mama is curious to see the label so Caleb shows it to her, covering the English line. "It's cheval." And he's never had it before, which adds to the anticipation. 

"Wow, this is going to be some amazing food!" house mama sighs happily.

While some of the meat cooks in a tomato sauce, the guys fire up the grill to sear some larger chunks and presently return with some juicy medium-well bites as an appetizer. C'est fantastique!

Then the declaration is made and all are enlightened. "So the steak you just partook of," says Caleb dramatically, "is... horse meat."

There is a wail from house mama and we rush to protest. But she really does like it, she says. We all express mild surprise on how savory it is, how very much like a beef steak. Out on the patio we dine on a meaty sauce over warm orecchiette pasta. 

There's a first time for everything, even cheval. (And maybe a last time, too.) Perhaps we'll find another recipe we must try, who knows.

Station De l'Eglise is nineteen stops down the green line, about a half hour metro ride from our home station Cadillac. The harp sign is at a landing between two sets of escalators. It was just us and Regan's until Jonathan's visitors from Ohio appeared, Kent & Della Koehn. Later, the Toews boys from Roxton randomly joined us for lack of better evening activity. It was nice to have extra help and the singing went well.

Back at the house we enjoyed supper outside, taco salad, apples and dip, and mint tea, and got to know Kent & Della a little more. Good folks, they are.

Slipping free from the tangle of traffic heading off the island, we cruised eastward on Autoroute 10 for an afternoon "à la campagne," in the countryside. Such a perfect afternoon too -- miles of rich green of the meadows and woods streaming by, a soft blue sky overhead, a breath of fresher air. Back on the island, Jonathan took his guests around the city and Caleb had some adventures of his own exploring. 

Some secrets were afoot. We were part of them, although my Quebecoise grand-mere Marie-Josée knew we were coming to spend some time with her, in celebration of her 65th birthday. But never had she a birthday so full of surprises! Just last night she had been invited out for supper so some others could come set up a birthday present on her back porch. She saw the swing after she got back though it was intended that she discover it on the morning of her birthday.

A group of Roxton ladies arranged a surprise party for her at a park in the forests of Mont Shefford mid-afternoon and the scheme worked well. Sharon Dyck picked Marie-Josée up to go take a walk in this park around 2:00 with another friend, while other ladies arrived and set up an enchanting spread near some waterfalls for the 3:00 event. Unfortunately we were half an hour late so Sabrina and the boys were the last to join the group, but even then Marie-Josée was floored yet again. It was marvelous.

Hank Dyck soon arrived at the parking lot, having driven around the area a little while he waited for us. I rode with him up the mountain to a parking area and enjoyed a brisk hike on a well worn path through the cool, airy Monteregian forest to the summit. From there you can look away across the miles southward to a broad lake and a panoramic mountain horizon, a magnificent view I want to experience again someday. We rested a couple minutes on a log bench before heading down the other side of the loop. That hour and a half on the mountain was good for the soul, if it was anything. 

By the end of our hike, the ladies had wrapped up their party so we headed back right away. Sharon, Marie-Josée, and my little fam were on a stroll in the woods yet so we walked in after them. We waited a few minutes on a bridge over a musical creek among tall hemlocks and then followed a trail along the creek to the rushing waterfalls. And soon there was the sound of a little boy calling to me.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Mont+Shefford/@45.3669444,-72.6175096,14z/data=!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc9d729b91c1d29:0xf9d85c6efd0aa37a!8m2!3d45.3669444!4d-72.6000001!16s%2Fm%2F0w1f7v5?entry=ttu) 

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/Jean-Paul+Forand+Park/@45.3586742,-72.5908369,3910m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc9d71cb51d6fef:0xc19c15a99b77020c!8m2!3d45.3586742!4d-72.5733274!16s%2Fg%2F11b7lflsjh?entry=ttu) 

The little church on Rue Jarry is undergoing some renovations nowadays, thanks to men from Alexandria and Roxton coming and applying their skills. Gone are the outdated fluorescent lighting fixtures, with recessed cup lights now in the ceiling. Walls are stripped bare in the chapel and the kitchen. Electrical and drywall work have been done, and yet to come is painting, new carpet in the chapel, new flooring and cabinets in the kitchen, finish carpentry, etc. And of course we are excited to get in on the transformation! 

We had our church service as normal. Fritz & Lynette Zwygart came from Roxton Falls and he served as translator for the service. Karlos & Heidi Isaac came from Alexandria and he shared some thoughts for a message. Kent Koehn also shared an inspiration with us, and it was a warm time together. 

L'apres-midi, il y avait beaucoup de vent. In the afternoon, it was very windy. Le vent n'était pas froid. The wind was not cold. Le soir, il a beaucoup plu. In the evening, it rained a lot. 

Such restless wind it was, out of darkening skies. Airplanes descending over us appeared to tip back and forth as they traversed the turbulence. Our shopping done for the afternoon, we got home and unloaded everything before the rains came. With the wind roaring in the treetops, the rain driving against the windows, and the boys taking their naps, it was a perfect time to try some Abuelita hot chocolate from the Mexican market and catch up on some tasks.

French class with Hugues hadn't happened for a while, so it was nice to have them come again! Some strombolis were crafted for supper. Caleb contributed some grilled asparagus and Amy brought a delectable fruit salad. Julian and Alec enjoyed having Louis around for a playmate. 

Downstairs after supper, Hugues covered a couple topics and eventually the French class turned into an interesting exposition about the history of French people and language in Canada. Later we all hung out upstairs eating ice cream and brownies and hearing more about European travels and highlights of France that Hugues's have experienced, and places he recommends visiting. Of course it left us all itching to go.

If travel isn't free, at least dreams are. And you can always make a bucket list.

About two weeks later and I was back for another round in the battlefield of the backyard. This time I advanced the deceptive poisonous foliage armed with heavy rubber gloves and a plastic-lined garbage can to gather the fragments. There were two runners sneaking out into the yard that I'd missed last time. Then there was an awful lot more showing along the bottom of the hedge and the fight was on. Out came slender vines by the feet, and sometimes clumps of their tiny little flowers. The more I looked, the more appeared. 

A couple times I was certain the bared parts of my arms had gotten brushed, and going by recent experience, it doesn't take much of anything at all for the poisonous oil, urushiol, to be transferred. So I headed in and splashed my arms and hands with rubbing alcohol, which is said to neutralize and draw out any urushiol on the skin, and was out for some more. 

My other weapon was some RoundUp that I sprayed on a short section of ivy that is a little less accessible. Then opening up the hedge here and there, I saw more so I shot my own poison in there after it. I don't think the fight will ever end, considering that the ivy system finds a lot of sunlight on the other side of the hedge, along the neighbor's yard. For now, I felt like I'd come out on top for ours. But I'm crossing my fingers for the next couple days, to see whether I've outwitted the poison this time. 

Ten minutes from the house is OK Pneus, the tire shop mechanic shop CPS patronizes. When the winter was finally over I'd tried to set up an appointment online but hadn't heard back from them. Then life was a little crazy for a time so the switching out of tires was further delayed, but finally an appointment was made. The four of us drove there after lunch. 

It was sort of nice to step into a mechanic shop again as I have so often in the past. Garages are probably much the same the wide world over, with parts and tool boxes stacked around, the chattering of impact wrenches and the clatter of tools, the odors of oils and solvents. The sweet madame behind the office counter had a couple small stuffed animals to give the boys. While the shop guys changed the winter tires for summer tires (two of them brand new ones), we walked to the nearby Parc Joseph-Paré to spend some time. 

Soon we were set to go, and from there house mama desired a visit to an IKEA off the island. Ten miles from the tire shop to IKEA took forty minutes. The Lafontaine tunnel, Canada's longest underwater tunnel, is currently only three lanes wide because of years of ongoing repairs on the other three. So now only one lane goes to the south shore and two come to the island, so there is always a traffic jam on either side but particularly on the island. When six lanes were open, an estimated 120,000 drivers passed through the tunnel daily, and now the figures are less than half. It'll be another year and a half, maybe two, before the repairs on part of the tunnel are complete. 

"Any language regularly used for communication between people who do not share a native language is a lingua franca" (Wikipedia). 

After learning about lingua franca a while ago on a Duolingo article, I hoped sometime I could see what it was like, to communicate with someone in a language which was neither of our native languages. I experienced it for the first time in the morning at Welcome Hall. I forget her name, the lady from Venezuela. Toward the end of the morning we got to talking. With some good effort she tried telling me some things in English, and did pretty well, but French was so much easier for her so off she went. 

She and her husband and daughter have lived in Montreal nearly two and a half years now, and she's pretty good with French. She has been taking English classes since January. They're going back to Venezuela for a vacation soon. This information and other bits I gathered through French, our lingua franca! Most of it wasn't too complex for my comprehension, so that was a very enjoyable exchange. I told her a little about my life, my time spent in Montreal, and my language aspirations. 

(https://blog.duolingo.com/what-is-a-lingua-franca/) 

♦ ♦ ♦

Around 4:30 a fire engine red Chrysler van parked in front of CPS and out came some Saul's. Caleb's oldest brother Justin & Tam with their young daughter Raya stepped in the door. It will always be interesting getting to know the families of our unit boys! Almost wouldn't know Justin and Caleb are brothers, but their voices are the same. And they enjoy giving each other a hard time. 

We all drove to Station Cremazie and rode down the orange line to Bonaventure, where we met Regan's for metro singing. The Alexandria group arrived a bit later and overall it was a good singing. Supper was at CPS in the backyard, on such a fine evening: enchilada casserole, black bean salsa, and a couple different kinds of cake for dessert.