Septembre 2024

We visited the Botanical Gardens for a couple hours in the afternoon to check out the Moon Festival in the Chinese Gardens. This autumn celebration has an ancient heritage, observed for more than three thousand years. The activities happened around the main and largest pavilion. 

On the shaded side were a couple tables set up and a few women dressed in silky, elaborate robes and with hair artfully coiffed were offering small cups of hot tea and slices of moon cakes. They also had a display of traditional clothing nearby. Sabrina got in line for some samples and shortly after a drum and cymbals started up a rhythm around the corner. 

On that side the court was lined with chairs that quickly filled with visitors to watch the lion dance. Each lion was brought to life by two men under the costume, one behind and bent over and the other inside the head mask, swaying this way and that, twitching the ears, opening and closing the tasseled mouth. Julian and Alec were so enthralled with the red and yellow lions. When they moved our way, Julian got worried. "Are they going to eat us?" 

Following that was the opening ceremony where a few different men gave short speeches in Chinese, French, and English. Then came an hour of operatic singing. A pianist sat just off-center with an electronic keyboard and provided accompaniment while one singer after another took turns singing songs. A lot of the singers were young Chinese folks with remarkable voices. It was fascinating for what it was -- but as vibrato (voice waver) is the main element of opera, a few minutes of listening were enough for these ears trained to prefer straight-tone singing! So we left for a time and took a long stroll through another part that we hadn't seen before. 

We returned to the pavilion at the end of that program and hung around to watch the playing of traditional music. A young man plucked and strummed some strange music on a seven-stringed instrument called a guqin. Then a young lady with very skillful fingers played some livelier melodies on a larger instrument with at least twenty-one strings called a guzheng. Both instruments are in the family of Chinese plucked zithers. I had only heard music like this at a Chinese restaurant; to see it played live for once was captivating. (A slide show on the website link below includes a picture of this.)

We didn't hang around much longer. The boys were tired out with all the activity. Back near the parking lot we stopped where the old man with an ice cream cart was parked and Sabrina got some cold treats for the boys. Julian chomped on a snow cone and Alec gobbled a small waffle cone with great joy, ending up looking like a little monster with chocolate and ice cream all over his face. I think that was the best part of their afternoon.

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(https://calendrier.espacepourlavie.ca/mid-autumn-festival) 

They arrived in the wee hours of the morning, two brothers of Caleb named Jared and Brandon. I didn't see them until the late afternoon because Tyler and I were out the door on normal schedule to commute to Welcome Hall Mission. After the morning shift, the Sauls picked up Tyler and I returned home for a good lunch of fried catfish from the guys's supper last night. Jared and Brandon had spent a little time in Minnesota seeing Brandon's fiancée before coming on to Montreal for the weekend. 

We had more help yet at metro singing in the evening: the Toronto tract workers who are friends of Regan's, Vince & Shana Yost and three young children of Pincher Creek; also Jeremy & Brittany Isaac from Alexandria, a buddy of Brandon's. The harp in Station Square Victoria near the domed room had been reserved by someone else, but when we checked, nobody was there, so we set up in that chamber and took advantage of its fabulous acoustics. 

Back at CPS, Sabrina served up southwest chili over rice. Julian and Alec had a good time with seven other children around for a change. The ladies chatted around the patio table and we guys down on the grass around the firepit, listening to Vince's experiences in Toronto and other good topics.

Well before 2:00 p.m. I exited Station Lucien-L'Allier, walked down under the train bridge, and turned down Rue St. Antoine. Welcome Hall Mission has a soup kitchen along that street and the guys volunteer there on Monday evenings. I'd never been to the place so it was nice to pass by. Just another block down is the Booth Centre where the Salvation Army, Armée du Salut, has been operating out of for over a dozen years. 

I didn't see the others I was going to meet with so Regan sent me a pin for which entrance to come in. I told the receptionist I was there for the chapel singing and she opened a door for me to proceed. Around a couple corners and past the small cafeteria where Regan volunteers on Thursday mornings I found the chapel and the Toews's as well as Karlos & Heidi. The chapel is a small room with rows of chairs, a podium, musical instruments, and a mural of a lighthouse painted on the wall. Soft music was playing, familiar Christian hymns in English and French sung by professional a cappella singers. No instruments even; it really was beautiful.

The man in charge, a kind, friendly African named Benjamin Nkounkou, gave a short introduction and we sang for a while out of the metro singing books, mostly French songs, a couple English. We made the place ring for the small group of men that gathered to listen. Many chairs were empty, and besides the two staff members present there were just seven other men, some young, some middle-aged, a few older. The audience was hardly larger than our own group but it was well worth the time. I enjoyed harmonizing with the group of good folks in this little chapel downtown, its windows along one side of the room offering a view of the sunny afternoon and the glass high rises nearby. Always present together in a city -- abundant wealth, abundant need. 

Regan had a closing prayer and we met a few of the men before they went their ways. As we gathered at the table by the entry for some snack and chat, the beautiful voices sang softly in the background again, a song I love.

"Gentle Shepherd, come and lead us,

For we need You to help us find our way.

Gentle shepherd, come and feed us,

For we need Your strength from day to day.

There's no other we can turn to

Who can help us face another day;

Gentle Shepherd, come and lead us,

For we need You to help us find our way."

A voice sings from the back seat, over and over, "Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah, struggling with the old banjo." Alec is asleep behind me. It's a long drive down to the airport, such heavy traffic for this early in the afternoon. 

Finally we arrive at the tiny park beside one of the runways, a grassy area with benches, bleachers, and two observation mounds that give a good view of the runway. We set up a couple small camp chairs on top of one and watch for the jets that float down from a clear sky and roar past us, or take off from a runway farther from us. Many of the larger planes bear the emblem of Canada Air; one, an American flag; and one plane is a rich blue all over with shining silver highlights. 

The occasional small jet comes out on the landing runway and takes off with speed, grace, and a loud noise. The boys raise a cheer and Alec pursues it for ten steps and plops in the grass. "You can't get in the plane," says Julian, the wise older brother. 

"You didn't work them hard enough today?" Colin Unruh laughs, as we sit along the wall of a gym in Alexandria and watch the young folks burn energy. 

The volleyball games are good. Caleb and Tyler are enjoying themselves. Not like I haven't seen their competitive sides before, but this, I decide, is a clearer picture of twenty-year-old guys in their natural habitat, surrounded by action and friends.

I describe the day's activities. We'd gone to Welcome Hall in the morning, and the guys to Habitat for Humanity for a couple hours in the afternoon. "So no, I guess it was a low-key day." 

I know for a fact that I never achieved a higher skill level in volleyball than just an average, and tell them so as we leave Alexandria. But no, they say, they are just average players too, they know of players more stellar than themselves. Well, don't we all, I guess. "Average" is relative. 

Alexander is getting into the stage where he recognizes and desires a lot of different things in a supermarket, but thankfully forgets about stuff as we move on and therefore stays cheerful overall. Also he's amiable with strangers. Some aspects of that may be cause for concern, being in a city, but I'm glad it is that way. At two years old his vocabulary is a bit limited but that doesn't keep him from talking to people, if just a hello or bye. He's the opposite of my former child self, when all strangers were suspicious characters and to be avoided. And to offer a smile? Unthinkable. At least that's how I remember it. But not so with Alec, giving his signature smirk and smiley eyes to everyone, including the granny at the checkout. "Quel beau sourire," she said, returning his with a charming smile of her own.

And so it was that the day after Alexander turned two, Caleb turned 20. He doesn't mind the celebration of birthdays as long as it's not his own, but we commemorated it all the same. We took an ice cream cake along to church for the potluck after the service. We ended up a smaller group than usual, as the Indian family and a couple others had gone their ways; it was just Akli and his wife, Stewart & Vivian, Regan's, and us. So we had a warm feast together as the outdoors grew colder with clouds and wind. At the end, Sabrina and Caitlin populated the top of the cake with twenty candles and we serenaded him in French. 

A short while after that I ran the guys to Station St. Michel. They traveled by metro and light rail off the island to be picked up by some Roxton friends heading to Alexandria for an afternoon wedding reception. Back at church I picked up my people and our belongings and home we went. "That was our last potluck with Regan's here," Sabrina reminded me. Another last thing. They are happening left and right. 

We took a walk in the evening yet, and the crisp wind couldn't touch me through my layers -- jacket, flannel shirt, undershirt, scarf, hat. Over at the Wilfrid-Bastien park workers were disassembling a Ferris wheel set up for the neighborhood festival that had taken place most of the day. The boys enjoyed the playground equipment for a while, and then we returned to our warm house for relaxation and hot drinks.

And so we marked the day, that two years had passed since the arrival of our second-born, Alexander. He was enthused to discover the small tin crank music box we got for him and the birthday card from his grandpa's, which contained two American dollars and a small sheet of stickers. He has also been enthused to ride facing forward in the van now like the rest of us, and currently his seat is directly behind mine. (And now I can appreciate in greater measure the prodigious volume that occasionally comes out of that little mouth. My word.)

It was one more bright and beautiful morning, perfect for getting some stuff done like the mowing, the cleaning of the Pilot, and the guys' chores downstairs. Towards noon we dropped them off at the St. Michel metro station and spent some time in the nearby flea market. It seemed there were people everywhere, driving, shopping, you name it. Everyone must've been feeling the urgency of summer's conclusion and were out to make of it what they could, city folks and late-season tourists alike. Later at a supermarket we picked out a birthday cake for Alec and around four o'clock all six of us headed off to join the slow traffic leaving the island, for supper at the home of Hugues & Amy. It was raining by then and a lot cooler. Now that our Edge is parked out in Roxton Falls, it's super nice to have the shelter of the garage for the Pilot. 

We gathered around their table in the warmth and light of their small house in town and we ate pretty fine. First Amy served a creamy squash soup which we ate with slices of baguettes, and then came a course of charcuterie. Her cutting board was arranged with a handful of kinds of cheeses and thinly sliced meats. Another plate offered two types of pâté: duck and liver; deer, pork, and cranberry. Still another plate was covered with veggies. I don't remember what the cheeses were except there was a soft goat cheese, a small wheel of smoked cheese, and St. Andre cheese which is similar to Brie but even better in my mind. There wasn't wine, but we did have sparkling juice and that was close enough. It wasn't hard to imagine perhaps we were dining at a small cottage off in the countryside of France on a rainy evening. "But this kind of food would be more commonly served as appetizers before a meal, not usually as a meal itself," Hugues said. While we ate he educated us on the different foods we savored and other things of interest. 

Then Amy prepared a pot of hot mint tea and before long we had a little cake and ice cream yet. Alec seemed hesitant to blow out his two candles, leaning back in his chair and sizing them up, but he did eventually. We left the table well filled and then we guys walked down the street through the light rain to see the waterfalls after which the town was named. We ended the evening by singing a couple French favorites around the living room: "Chaque instant de chaque jour" (Day by Day) and "Oh! prends mon âme," that gorgeous minor key song. Good times, good memories. And such was the happy birthday of Alexander Finn. 

Three days of the finest the late summer has to offer, a celebration of sunshine and blue skies. But restless breezes, the calls of a blue jay somewhere in the neighborhood, and the time it takes for the shadow on the back porch to completely disappear each morning speak of other things. The sun is still warm but growing noticeably distant, swinging lower through the sky and disappearing a minute or two earlier each evening. It was all but dusk Friday evening on the drive over to Regan's after a good metro singing at Station Bonaventure. 

The highlight of that singing was the throng that came through at one point, all wearing white clothes and heading for some kind of party. It was probably the most passersby in close proximity that I've ever seen, as the group stepped off the escalators and gathered a little farther in the corridor, for a few minutes filling the area where we sang. Good timing, I thought, as their passing coincided with the rousing French version of Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee.

It was as good as it's always been, going out to spend the day at Keith & Karen's garden farm near Acton Vale. (Check out Jardins Fraisdel on Google Maps and take a look around.) We cleared one plot of squash and zucchini vines in the morning. Julian and Alec enjoyed finding random little gourds and the occasional small toad zigzagging across the textile. As always, Karen and Andrea set up a marvelous lunch outside, this time with pork tacos, fresh salsa, and various melons in season, followed by a marble chiffon cake and ice cream. 

It was wonderful to spend the day in the sunshine and hear the music of the natural world all around. There were a couple projects to work on through the bright afternoon. Caleb and Tyler dug a hole in one of the greenhouses to remove a rusted frost-proof hydrant (frost-proof because it's a long pipe that connects to a line fairly deep under). They got muddy with that activity which included lying down and sort of diving headfirst into the hole to scoop out water and stones, but they felt accomplished with the successful replacement. Meanwhile I raked and leveled soil that Keith dumped along the lane with a skid loader, to fill in a troublesome dip in the ground. The ladies prepared a small break later in the afternoon. 

The day wasn't complete without a small voyage on the Rivière Noire on small sit-on kayaks yet. Sabrina and I paddled up the dark river and back while Andrea and a friend sat on the dock with the little boys. At one point Julian fell in but Jada grabbed his shirt and made a rescue so it all turned out good. Julian and Alec had a short boat ride after ours, and later on Caleb and Tyler went for a long and eventful expedition. Then we drove on to supper with the Toews family before turning homeward. 

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(https://www.jardinsfraisdel.ca/) 

Matcha: powdered green tea (Japanese word for "ground tea" { 抹茶 }) has been around for a good millennium. I'll say right off that it's an acquired taste, but experience it in the right context like a shake or a good latte and you'll probably come back for more.

As others have expressed, one finds in Montreal that drinks from coffee shops are generally unsweetened, when you would expect them to be. I wouldn't know as I'm not in the coffee world but I found it's not limited to those drinks. Any matcha latte I've had abroad in the city was a flat imitation of what I've experienced previously. It's probably my wife's matcha lattes that I compare them to, and with something like powdered green tea, a sweetener truly brings the flavor to life.

Here's my current favorite preparation and I made some for us just this morning. Pour some maple syrup into the bottom of a mug. Dump in two teaspoons of matcha, and just a bit of boiling water and stir it smooth. Stir in a cup of hot milk yet and go sit out on the front porch and soak in the brilliance of the crisp, clear dawn. I know that might sound a little sappy but remember this isn't pumpkin spice, and we really did sit outdoors together (and summer is practically over here). If you're not on the PSL bandwagon either, try matcha as an alternative this season.

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(https://www.matchaful.com/pages/the-history-of-matcha) 

"I only have one more C.E. service left here," said Caleb, checking out the calendar after we'd returned from church in the evening. He'll be planning that one for the first Sunday evening of next month. Every first Sunday evening, folks from both congregations come and participate and we have a light supper together afterward. Caleb's declaration vaguely reminded me of back when I was beginning to face that reality for myself as my six months was steadily coming to an end. Time has sure moved along.

This evening, Tyler's topic was "Faith In God," and there was no lack in volume singing together with the size of group that it was. Neither was there lack in volume after the service with the socializing. Everyone enjoyed themselves. 

It's not often that a visitor comes to our evening service, but this time we had one, an African man who had stopped by at our last metro singing in Station Henri-Bourassa and talked to Regan for a few minutes. He's from somewhere near Congo and speaks French. 

Fritz and Hugues had a good long conversation with him after the service. I pulled a chair up to listen while they explained the Christian faith and showed him a few things in the French Bible he was given to take home. 

"I don't think he was very knowledgeable about religion," Regan said later. "He acted like his parents couldn't read or write, and because of the political or financial state of his country, they didn't have schools and churches."