Day 35 - Revisiting the Framer's Childhood - St. Bruno, Montreal

Invigorated is the way I felt, as I drove through traffic leading into Montreal; Near paralyzed is the way I felt as I carefully orchestrated rush-hour traffic in Montreal and out through the airport! When I left the lovely serene park in St. Bruno at 5:30 pm, I knew I was hitting rush-hour, but what choice did I have? I could park on the side of the street and likely get a ticket before morning, or I could head into the roads and conquer them one by one.

Imagine a covered wagon that headed out of a prairie homestead many weeks ago. The picture in the mind’s eye of the driver was simplicity, as she drove through wide open spaces with bison dotted here and there. At no point had she realized she would master taking that wagon with all it’s precious contents down near perpendicular cliffs, cross rushing rivers or face off against sheriffs when she was nothing but a simple homesteader’s wife in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Now imagine a stampede of bison - thousands upon thousands - thundering across that prairie - and in the midst of that frantic flow is one little covered wagon being carried along in the midst of it all. That little homestead wife is hanging onto her reins with all she has as she realizes it’s do or die! 

This is NOT the busy traffic. That was too dangerous to take pictures through!

There is a bridge ahead and many lanes, and once over that bridge there is no time to catch one’s breath, as there are lanes and lanes - up to eight of them going in various directions moving forward and backward. There is even a row of buses coming right at her - in her lane, but that’s only because it’s rush-hour, and there is nowhere else for them to travel speedily, but in the opposing traffic lane!

From the outskirts of Montreal, right around the city, and then into airport traffic, and onto outlying larger cities - the traffic and craze did not stop for over ninety minutes. I cannot believe what I have had to face in the last five weeks!  Lost in the evening on the streets of Chicago while walking with children, driving through downtown Chicago when supposed to be in outskirts, ousted by police in middle of night in Ohio, group separation at train station in DC, transmission blow-out on I-78 in Pennsylvania, flat tire in Quebec, rush-hour traffic in Montreal. I am certainly notching a few on the belt of unexpected experiences! 

Perhaps the rest of the trip across the country will be less adventurous? Perhaps I will not face snow storms as I pass the Rocky Mountains or tornados as I pass the prairies of Canada? We shall see, but whatever happens, I can certainly say I have learned a few things on this ‘serene drive across the wide open prairie’! 

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This trip has not been without it’s pleasant surprises as well as its learning curves! Early yesterday morning, as I got up while the children slept, to deal with my flat tire, I knew the day would not go as I had planned. My hope had been to be on the road by about 7:00 AM, since I knew it was about nine hours to my next destination. I had had word from the Framer that his new contract was to begin by the first week in October, and due to the delays I have incurred, I figured I would not be home until the 10th of the month. Therefore, something had to give, as that was three or four days too late for him.   

When we had arranged our farm-sitters, we had done so knowing that I could add days if necessary to the trip, and I had taken on the beginning of the journey with rather higher speed than I would have liked since I already had dates booked in different locations, but I knew that as I rounded the corner of Prince Edward Island, I had more time on my hands, and I could slow the pace, if all were well at home and do some real camping and catch our breath. Or at least, that was the hope. But life is meant for challenges, and so we had to pick up the pace a little and out the window went the relaxing few beach days in Prince Edward Island.

I really wanted to be able to spend three days in Old Quebec, and really have a chance to see the old town and learn some of the history and just immerse ourselves in the culture, but due to the incredibly horrible wet and cold weather of our first day, followed by the flat tire of the second day, quickly followed by the information of the Framer’s new deadline, there was no option but to cut it short and move on. 

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I called Triple A and within an hour a mechanic was out to put air in the tire. I explained I wanted the spare taken off the back and replaced with the front, as I was nervous of that hole tearing and us becoming a statistic on the highway with tire shreds from here to high heaven. With limited English - nil - he tried to understand. 

Finally, after digging in the recesses of my French bank, (note: I was excused from French class in England as a hopeless case after moving there at the age of thirteen, so I do have a pretty bad history of learning the language!) I came up with a little ditty I learned in 7th grade in Mrs. Melville’s French class in Canada, (before my move to England) and I proceeded to play it out with my hands, kind of like ‘one potato, two potato, three potato, four”, “Sur, sous, dans... Sous!” 

And I pointed to the back of the van, “Sous - tire”. The mechanic, light dawning, said, “Spahre?” And I said, “Yes,” forgetting to use one of the simple words I did know - “Oui.”

We were good to go, or so I thought. He began working on dropping the tire, but would not listen to Courage who told him to use the short tool versus the long one. I decided to leave him to it and eat my breakfast. Eventually, he picked up the phone and called someone, and then went and got a KOA young man. This guy spoke good English and proceeded to tell me that the tire was rusted on and wouldn’t come out. I told him I had just purchased the spare and it would certainly come out. They just had to try again. 

Eventually, it was decided (not by me) that they could not do it, and I would have to drive the van down the road and have the front tire repaired. Thankfully, the tire shop was just a kilometre away. We unhitched the caravan and the children hopped in and off we went. 

Arriving at the garage, I jumped out and approached a mechanic, asking him if he spoke English. He did and very well at that! I told him my situation and took him around back to show him where the spare tire was stored up under the van and told him how the mechanic with Triple A could not get it to come off the van. 

Ummm.... Well, I guess it is a good thing that I did not travel far after they did their job, as the tire was hanging on the ground! 

I was hustled into the garage and a number of men quickly got to work on the van: We were hoisted up into the air while they fixed the spare back under the van, and then took my front tire and repaired the rust on the hub which caused a slow leak. The original mechanic told me that Courage had been correct - we did need to use the short rod to remove the spare, not the long one as the Triple A driver had tried to insist. Courage is the man, once again! 

Repaired, I went in to pay the bill and waited for a total. Given my history with repairs I was thinking $100 plus for the 45 minutes we took in the garage, and was surprised and pleased when I was handed a bill for a mere $28!

With thanks I paid, and then we were off to the campsite to hook up and head out for Ontario. Before I left though, I had to figure out what to put in my GPS so that I would not take myself through the centre of Montreal. The name Drummondville shone at me from the map near the city, and I remembered the name from the Framer’s childhood, so I sent him a quick text asking him if this was where he had lived. He said he had. I asked him the address and finding it was ten miles from Montreal, I decided I would try my best to take the children to see this part of their dad’s past. When I was planning the trip, one of the two places that he had showed desire to visit had been Montreal, and I knew from hearing him over the years that St. Bruno held fond memories. 

 Our KOA Campsite

I didn’t want to get his hopes up, in case I was not able to make it there, so I kept it to myself but headed out with hope. The drive was beautiful! The day was super hot and the scenery spectacular as usual!

It really wasn’t hard to navigate my way into the vicinity, and the area leading to his village was really quite beautiful, and I knew why he loved it. Before I knew it, I was upon his old home. I parked the caravan on a corner and headed over the road to see if the people were home. My desire was to explain who I was and see if they would let the children see the house. The Framer and I had done this once before in my old home in England; We had arrived with a baby in hand, knocked on the door and announced I had lived in the home for two years as a teenager. The occupants were ever so willing to allow us to wander through the home and take pictures. I hoped for the same today. The second best thing to the Framer sharing this part of his life with the children was for me to be able to bring them.

Sadly, noone was home, but I was able to take a few pictures of the front and back yards, and show how well kept the property was. It was a simple home with a very private, pretty backyard. The area around it was also one that would cause one to want to take children for walks or children to ride bicycles. 

After this, I pulled up the road and texted the Framer to see the directions to the park he was telling me about earlier. It turned out to be a Provincial Park now, and as I was sitting there, a man came out of his garage and asked if I was lost. I explained my situation, and he told me he had lived in the area for ten years. He kindly agreed to tell the present occupants that I had been by with the children of a little boy who had lived in that house for five years from Grades 1-5, and then we set off on our way, with me feeling like the Framer had left his footprint in his old childhood neighbourhood. It felt good. 

Around the corner, as I was trying to figure out the way to the park, I saw an older lady and a young man talking. It was interesting because as they approached I thought he might be her son the way he deferred to her when she tried to use her English. He would give her a word if she looked to him, otherwise he stood back and let her work it through. At one point I was so impressed that I asked if he was her son, and he said, no. I had to say to him, “You are a good man!” His respect of her efforts was so evident.

It turned out that I was at an entry point to the park, and he suggested I park the caravan, and she told me that I was in good hands, and he would take us to the lake. I did as they suggested and we said good-bye to the elderly lady, and joined our new guide, Francois, as we entered the park through an orchard. 

We walked through the orchard that was before the park, and then onto the walking paths. I was concerned about getting lost again as there were a myriad of trails leading off and all roads were written in French. I had the children take very careful note of landmarks as we passed on through. As far as I was concerned they were a little caviler about the whole thing, but I suppose they trust that I can save them! Who would save *me* if I got us lost?! 

Eventually, we came to a T where Francois directed us to take the right road while he took the left. Having taken his email address, as he hopes to visit France one day, and having seen his kind heart, I wanted to pass his name onto our dear friend, Lisa, who lives there, we said Good-bye and carried on with our journey.

I noted the time - 4:21pm and turned off my phone. The battery was dying, and I did not want to be left without a watch if per chance we got lost in this forest! Francois’s advice to us was to next time be sure to bring water, as he carried a water bottle in his hand. Words of wisdom, but it nailed home the fact that a person could get lost in this huge wood, never to be seen again.... ;)

Before I did though, I sent a text to the Framer, as I did not know how to make a note to myself on my new phone. I sent an email address “Dreammaker@.....” with the name Francois attached. 

Then I had a chuckle. I had better do a semi-explanation, or I would have the Framer panicking. He was normally very confident in my abilities (perhaps a little too confident!), but I had given him a bit of a scare the other night in Nova Scotia, when he had received a phone call from my phone at 5:00 am, and all he heard was the ocean waves and other than that silence. He had sent me a text about 10:00 am asking me if I was up, and if I had been out late the night before. I had told him I had been at the communal fire until about 11:00 and then had gone home to put the children to bed. 

Unfortunately, texting is difficult when you deal with a small screen as I do, and at the moment that he was looking for information as to who might have been calling in the middle of the night, I was getting on board a tiny fishing vessel and heading out to sea. 
Things got very frantic very quickly as the children began catching fish and voices were crying out with excitement, and my phone got forgotten, and my poor husband left hanging across the world thinking things were very odd, and someone might have my phone. 

What likely happened is that I rolled over on my phone, and in the silence of the caravan the phone shifted to ‘Phone the Framer’, as I have seen it do a little too easily, and with everyone sleeping the only thing that would be heard would be the waves as we were parked a few hundred feet from the shore. 

After I was back on land, I saw that he had been texting again, and was able to sort it out but not before leaving my husband with some dreaded thoughts. So this time, as I sent this mysterious text with a man’s name on it, I figured it might be best to explain, and since it was so difficult to write on this tiny keypad, I simply wrote: “Friend of Lisa, France,” and sent it off. 

Moments later, I received a text: Call Me. I may be a bit of an independent spirit, but it is nice to think my husband is feeling protective, as every girl wants to have a knight in shining armor!! It turned out he was just wanting to explain about his neighbourhood to me and not worrying, but I shall be sure that my phone does not slip to Call the Framer in the middle of the night again!

We headed on through the park and trails and eventually came to a little gatehouse with a house that made me think of Snow White’s little cottage.  The paths continued and it was the most wonderful place. It was similar to Central Park with all its lakes, running paths, trails, and picnic areas. I would love to have been able to camp in the area and spend the entire next day enjoying what it had to offer, but due to our new deadline of getting home I knew there was no way I could do this, so we just had a quick trip through and then headed on with our trip back to the car. I was quite relieved, I will say, when I saw the landmarks I had noted on our earlier journey through!

The Paths That Are So Mis-Leading!

A Mother Doe and Her Triplets

The children decided to have an Apple War with all the rotten apples in the orchard as they passed the entry to the park. This kind of reminds me of when I was a child in England. Behind my grandmother’s house there was a park we called the Swings Park. There were a few crab apple trees in the park, and the group of children I got to know back there taught me something fun. Something I should not have done, but it was naughty delight. We would take very bendy sticks and pierce a small apples with them. Pulling back with all our strength we would then wing those sticks forward propelling the tiny apples through the air to land on one of the rooftops outside of the park. They would hit with a small thud and then come rolling off. Of course, we didn’t want to get caught, so we would drop into the bushes once we had let fire our grenades. 

"Watch Out, Mum!" 

It Was Hard to Drag Them Away - the Fun Was Great!

Such a Pretty Neighbourhood

St. Bruno Park

Back at the car, it was time to head out of town towards Ontario. I tried to pick a town that would get me past Montreal, and I had a contact in Cornwall, so that was where I was headed but unfortunately, by the time we got out of the Montreal rush-hour and within 100 km of the 401 freeway it was too dark to continue. The semis were nasty, and one guy in particular, came up on my right side where his lane disappeared into construction, and rather than pull back behind me, he shoved me to the left, and if I had not been paying attention, we would have all been pancakes or ketchup! 

On the Way to Montreal

Amazing Sunsets!

I kept careful hands and eyes on my driving and told the kids to watch for the Cornwall signs. When I saw we were still about 30 km away, I told them to watch for any town; Anywhere we could safely get off the road for the night. It was not long after that that I saw the KOA sign, and I was ever so thankful that as of the night before I had become a KOA member. It felt like a lighthouse in a stormy sea!

We pulled over and down a few dark roads and then found the site with its four remaining spots, did a self-check-in, and parked for the night. Tomorrow we hit that Auto 20 and head for Ontario, but this time, noting the millions of high-speed semis, we will try to get off the road and take some backroads, even if it takes us longer!!