Août 2024

Jon's flight was scheduled at 7:29 a.m., so we planned to leave around four. But as it happened, house mama turned off the alarm thinking she had just snoozed it, and I was still out by a long shot, totally unaware. Last night had gotten way too late. Apparently something similar happened in Jon's room. It was daylight when she heard Jon racing about and she said, "What time is it?" I leaped out of bed.

It was 5:40 a.m.! Quelle horreur. 

Well, he got his luggage out the door and we threw it in the van. "Is this a dream?" he said.

"I think so." 

On the way I became aware my wallet was not with me. Oh well. I summoned all my amateur city driving skills and we sped to the airport. Over and over I thought, there is no way. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to find another flight later in the morning to the larger Houston airport. 

We got to YUL with only an hour to spare. We rolled the luggage in and walked to the check-in, finding a long line ahead of us. But no, this was Delta. We wanted American Airlines, on down a little. There was no queue so we ran to the counter to see what was what. "There may still be time," the agent said. He processed everything pretty rapidly and bade Jon run on to security before his luggage was even sent away. I helped a bit with that part after a brief farewell. "You have saved your friend a few minutes," the agent said. "Hopefully he gets through security and customs soon." 

The Honda sat outside the doors unattended but nobody came around to check it out. The agent told me where to turn to get into the employee parking lot and park for free while I waited to see how things would transpire. What a relief to get the message that he made it to the gate, and boarding was about to begin. And in the end, he made all his flights through the day and his suitcases did the same. A miracle, in my mind.

Au revoir, Miller! Happy trails in Texas. Thanks for being a part of our Montreal story.

♦ ♦ ♦

The four of us were on the sidewalks heading back to the house after a little time at the splash park, when a van overtook us and windows rolled down. More visitors, and family again! My one and only sister Karilee & Brendan Loewen with their four children (Annabelle, Alice, Edward, & Eliza) had just completed a long trek from Ohio to spend the weekend with us. They also came bearing some gifts: a 12-pack of Pennsylvania Dutch Birch Beer, some topical sprays for poison ivy (and now I probably won't need it, but it's good to have it), some sweet Lebanon bologna, cheeses. 

We arrived home as the guys were wrapping up their supper project: Beef Wellington. It's one of the hardest dishes to make apparently; tenderloins seared and wrapped in a layer of minced, sauteed mushrooms, thin sliced ham, and puff pastry, and baked a while after assembly. Caleb and Tyler aimed high and scored. We chowed down on thick slices of this creation. 

Julian and Alec warmed right up to their cousins and you can be sure the noisy times were on a roll. 

Brendan came along with the guys and me for the morning shift at Welcome Hall. Tyler and Brendan were assigned to stations for the food distribution, getting a pretty active role for the morning, and they enjoyed that. Caleb and I were runners with a couple other volunteers, keeping tables filled with the groceries at each station. 

Unsurprisingly, our footsteps took us to that fine little doughnut shop just across the train tracks and up the street from Welcome Hall after our shift. (We had some new guys to introduce to this place, after all!) I haven't tried every flavor yet, but so far the lemon meringue is choice. We returned home for a lunch of Dominican chicken, rice, and cabbage put on by my good sister. 

Steve & Shandele Penner accompanied a group of youth from Roxton for metro singing at Station Bonaventure in the evening. Altogether we made a good group and the singing went well, despite the warm evening. Back home, house mama had chicken curry, rice, naan bread, and watermelon for us all. 

Mid eighties and humidity makes for an oppressive day, especially in a city. Even the shaded Jean Talon Market (open-air but largely under a high roof) was a little steamy. We wove through the crowd and saw what all the market had to offer, then rode downtown to see Old Port. There wasn't much of an agenda; the amount of activities are limited when a group of young children are involved.

You hear English everywhere this time of year. Julian bumped into some Americans who had stopped suddenly to take a picture. I could have said "Sorry," but instead I said "Désolé." The lady answered with probably the only word she knew to answer this "French" guy: "Bonjour." 

Poutine restaurants were too full for our two families but in the end we ate some at the St. Paul Creperie. Then more hot sunshine and things to see down near the Ferris wheel and circus tents. It was cooler out along the river with a good, refreshing wind. Jet skis raced over the churning water below and music from a festival at Parc Jean Drapeau echoed across the river as we lingered in the shadow of the clock tower. 

We traversed the streets to the strip that is Chinatown. Lines were long for bubble tea so we didn't get any there. The afternoon was hot and the street was full of people. By the pavilion on the corner of Rue Clark and Rue de la Gauchetiere we stopped to watch a dance by five Chinese women in long skirts. 

Scattered through the crowd in Chinatown were more and more people dressed in fascinating and bizarre costumes for the Otakuthon anime convention going on this weekend. "Otakuthon is a Canadian anime convention promoting Japanese animation, Japanese graphic novels, related gaming and Japanese pop-culture" (Wikipedia). This event was held in nearby Palais de Congres which adjoins the Place d'Armes metro station, so we had been seeing these strange characters all over the downtown. My word, I couldn't imagine wearing costumes like that in this heat. Folding fans were waved in earnest. Some folks' attire was pretty light but most were really dressed up, especially the furries, people dressed as animals and wearing a full head mask to boot. 

We had enough heat and sights for the time being so we headed home after that. After supper we visited Mont Royal for the views and then Radikal for some good gelato. 

It was a soft, cloudy evening after another hot day. There were a couple quiet hours after lunch and farewell to the Loewen's, and off we went again to church for a program titled Serving Others. Light rain passed over the city as we listened to inspiring songs reminding us of our purpose in life.

"Lord, let me be Your servant, what can I do for Thee? 

There's so much pain and heartache that I see;

Father, work through me."

"Let the light be shining, keep it brightly burning,

Ever lift it higher in the darkening gloom.

Jesus is returning, let your lamps be burning,

Let the light be shining till the Lord shall come."

"Carry your candle, run to the darkness,

Seek out the hopeless, confused, and torn.

Hold out your candle for all to see it,

Take your candle, go light your world."

The program was an encouragement not to weary in well-doing. It's not all smooth sailing; sometimes the tasks can be overwhelming. Remember us in our efforts here in Montreal, that we can carry on in this good work!

Tires swish through puddles on the boulevard, blinkers flash, wipers clear glass. Time to run for groceries. Enough for now of the tasks at home and the mountain of laundry with insufficient space to hang it all to dry. We're all ready for a change of scenery. With underground parking and an elevator, our nearest Walmart is the place to go in this weather. 

We load our carts with provisions, get it all checked out, and splash home. As a point of interest, we go through a lot of orange juice. Until recently it had averaged four gallons a week. Now that the new guy likes it more than the former guy had, it looks like we'll be bumping the average to five a week. Do they sell jus d'orange in five-gallon buckets anywhere? It would be a novelty, but practical as well in our case. 

Soon it's dark. Alec refuses to sleep until he's been read a few stories on the rocking chair. Julian is out much earlier, settled in for a long night. I ask myself over and over as I whip together cupcakes for his big day tomorrow, "How in the world is that little boy turning four?"

Finally, finally, came the day Julian turned four. Such a splendid event was full of excitement for him. One fun activity was helping decorate the cupcakes. Never mind that the icing was a matter of great distress to mama (sort of a fiasco but it worked), and no matter either that the red gel lines on top to turn the cupcakes into baseballs turned out a bit wobbly. A birthday cake is always a perfect wonder in the eyes of a child. He helped dump a load of sprinkles on a couple extra cupcakes and stuck candles into them all, mostly in the center, and some got multiple candles. Then the pan went downstairs to the fridge so the icing could harden again. 

We spent the afternoon preparing a Mexican meal of chicken tacos and black bean salsa. We had invited Hugues & Amy and Louis to come for supper and a "final" French class, somewhat an official farewell party for the termination of their several years coming to Montreal for classes at CPS. Their life is simply becoming too busy to accommodate these times, sad but true. They arrived around 6:15 and we sat down to supper shortly after. It was a fiesta all right, complete with party hats for us all to wear during the meal. Pennsylvania Dutch Birch Beer was also liberally shared to go with the menu. 

It was decided we could have cake and ice cream later. We guys would have French class while the rest would walk to the park. Julian went by a different mode this time, taking his new little scooter on its inaugural journey. For a long time, any kid around the neighborhood or in the park with a scooter was one to be envied. He dreamed of having one of his own, predicting he would get one for his next birthday, and voilà! It will be his most prized possession for a long time, no doubt. So we guys gathered around half of the ping pong table downstairs while Hugues gave one more class, writing things on the whiteboard and tackling the challenge of covering enough language basics to give Tyler a good introduction. 

Time passed quickly and soon the ladies and children had returned so we gathered upstairs. On went the party hats again, lit went the candles, and then out went the candles as we sang Happy Birthday. The guys made a grand amount of noise and shortly brought forth gifts for Julian: a pack of washable markers, a big red kickball! It was the birthday of his dreams. 

Fun fact; another deja-vu. Exactly seven years ago on the same date (and the same place), the CPS family celebrated the fifth birthday of a little guy named Gage Johnson. My papas' oldest boy and my own share a birthday, eight years apart. Who would have known.

It was one of those days that felt so much like bright September in Pennsylvania. Low humidity, clear skies and sun, paradise. Please don't remind me summer is just a bit shorter here than back home, it's been flying right on by and before we know it, guess what. 

The main highlight of our day was an afternoon in the Jardin Botanique. We parked right at noon, threw stuff in the stroller, and headed off to present our free tickets to the agent at the gate. They are free thanks to my yearly family pass I'd purchased from Espace Pour la Vie not long after we came, and tell you what, it's the way to go saving dollars if that matters to you. 

We had Julian's kickball stuffed in the bottom of the stroller behind a bag and then figured out at the entrance that things of this sort weren't supposed to enter. Well, this one did I guess. And in those few sun-soaked hours nobody came running up to us saying, "Il ne faut pas apporter un ballon dans les jardins!" like I imagined. 

All the water lilies and lotus flowers are quite striking in the ponds of the Chinese gardens this time of summer. Also the waterfall up on the big pile of rocks was turned off and the pond level was lower, as workers finish assembling the large silk and wire sculptures erected on platforms out in the pond. I imagine it's in preparation for the annual Jardins de Lumiere (Gardens of Light) thing they do in the evenings in September and October. (We're definitely come back for that, stay tuned!) The architecture and layout of this section of the gardens is always fascinating, with the graceful architecture, the exotic plants, the bonsai courtyard, and the airy little pavilions. Back a little trail through ferns and trees we found a bed of hardy hibiscus with huge red flowers. 

From there we followed winding paths through the woods, skirted a pond plastered with lily pads, and took a wider gravel trail out into the big open arboretum a little way to find a picnic spot. Nothing but grass, trees, crickets, and a crystal sky, and you could mistake it for the countryside except for the muted rushing of traffic and city noise beyond. I kicked off my Dollarama flip-flops and we all went barefoot. And when had I last climbed a tree? The boys ran around and found a smaller one to climb on. We had a little lunch on the warm, crunchy late-summer grass, kicked the ball around, and had this green world largely to ourselves. Oh, la joie de vivre. Oh, the joy of living.

Then we were off to see the brilliant colors of the flowery brook and exposition gardens, the splashing fountains, and detoured through the alpine garden on the way back to our parking lot. Much as we wished to prolong the good time, the boys were tiring and we needed to move on. 

Guess what we did next? Yes, thrift shopping at a Value Village down the island. 

I'm not sure how I got the propane grill to fire up last evening for the sweet corn, but it sure wasn't happening this evening. That appliance has had one wheel in the grave for a while already. What is the average lifespan of an outdoor gas grill? Five years? That seems a bit short, but it's how long this one had been in service. It was getting a little rusty inside like they tend to do but the issue was the burners somehow. Turned on high, and for sure all four turned on, precious little vapor would come out of the tubes, even with a canister hooked up that I got refilled just this afternoon. Was it a leak somewhere? Blockage? Maybe one of you readers knows a little about this kind of thing, and could tell me what we were up against. If someone actually figures it out it'll be too late anyway. It was no longer responding by this evening. We declared that this grill had Seen Its Day and forthwith pronounced it Dead. 

Bad news for the guys who were trying to get it to light so they could grill their kabobs for supper! Then, inspiration. Up came a bag of Royal Oak Hardwood Lump Charcoal and the grill was transformed into a charcoal one for the first and probably the last time, sealing its ruination. It did the job though, Tyler's supper turned out very good. The kabobs were assembled with sausage bites, chicken chunks, chicken hearts, sweet peppers, onions, and pineapple. There was a pot of rice to go along with that, and later, some good chocolate and banana ice cream. 

Rentrée la Tête Haute: "Return [to school] with your head held high." That's the slogan for Welcome Hall's annual Back to School event. As described on their website, "In preparation for the start of the school year, Welcome Hall Mission distributes school supplies to thousands of children whose families who are members of Marché Bon Accueil. Music, fun, food and activities are on the menu and make this event a memorable time for children! Each participant receives a new school bag filled with all necessary school materials." This year there are two days of this. One was today in Montreal North for clients on this end of the island, and the other is planned for Tuesday at the primary location of Welcome Hall Mission where we volunteer.

Carrying an umbrella this morning wasn't as much a matter of staying dry, as it was of getting a bit less wet. The rainfall was tremendous through the early morning. We hurried to catch a bus that never showed up, at least not in the ten or fifteen minutes we were there. Traffic continued to splash up the boulevard. Suddenly a red Ford  Ecosport was backing up along the sidewalk and the window rolled down. It was Adrianna, one of the Welcome Hall staff! Finding out we were headed in the same direction she urged us to jump in. What luck! We folded our leaky umbrellas and dashed around to cram all three of us in the back seat. Her husband was driving so it was a full ride from there. We jumped out at the Pavillon du park Henri-Bourassa where the event was planned, thankful that the main idea would happen indoors. Too bad though for all the outdoor activities planned for the children! The rain shut down that all except for a couple tents Home Depot workers put up outside another door for their activity.

One of the staff dressed up in Welcome Hall's teddy bear mascot suit for the morning to interact with children and get in on lots of pictures with them. The pavilion was noisy and festive, an exciting time for the children who got to choose the backpack they wanted and enjoy a couple activities. Caleb and I were stationed at the main entrance where people were to enter and exit, so we practiced well a few French lines. They climbed the steps to the doorway. Bonjour! Bienvenue ici! Entrez à gauche, s'il vous plaît. Amusez-vous bien! Bonjour, bonjour! And when they left with smiles, toting stuffed backpacks, balloon sculptures, and popcorn bags, we said, Au revoir, bonne journée! And Caleb would throw in, Bon appétit! 

The rain continued through the morning and thankfully not as intense, sometimes slowing to a sprinkle. It got a bit tiring standing in one place so long. Tyler, robed in a plastic poncho and stationed down on the sidewalk, found the position relatively boring. Caleb switched places with him towards the end of the morning. It would have been fun to be more involved, helping hand out the backpacks and stuff, but we played a role at least and the morning went right by. This event got some publicity and various large cameras were carried around to film the activity and a few interviews. (Below is a link to the Radio Canada coverage.) 

Finally the smiling faces of the last clients for the morning had exited the pavilion and new volunteers were showing up for the afternoon shift. We wished we had signed up for the afternoon as well, but it was nice to get back home and out of our wet shoes and clothes. On this first of two Back to School days, more than 800 backpacks were handed out. Tuesday will see more like 1,200 handed out in St. Henri. 

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOIFLrGNhUU) 

Turns out I wasn't ahead of the rush, leaving a bit after two to take the guys out to Roxton Falls. The traffic backup grew longer through the neighborhoods as we crept towards the Jacques-Cartier bridge which is not our usual route. I didn't discover until later that the tunnel was closed for the day, and whenever a main connection to the island like that is shut down, beware of traffic jams elsewhere! Crossing that iconic bridge is always fun in the end, even if it means a wait. You get a good view of the downtown and Old Port. 

Finally we were out of the city's tangle and speeding through glorious countryside. The world was washed and vibrant after the four or five inches of rain the day before. (Remnants of that tropical storm set new records around here.) Humidity was down today so the sky was mostly clear. As I've said other times, I never tire of this change of scenery, the abundant beauty of wide open countryside of fields, woods, and distant Monteregian mountains. Almost heaven. We arrived at Marc & Gayle's in good time for the guys to catch a ride with their friends to Vermont for volleyball in the evening. 

From there I continued east to deliver a bag of small clothes to some friends. The countryside was so welcoming, so beautiful and quiet, I wished we all could have spent the evening out there, but there were other obligations so I made the long trek back to the city.

The rainbow last evening had been a good sign, all right. We had been feeling a bit overwhelmed with the tasks at hand, namely, the organization and orchestration of the church service and potluck. Regan's were gone to Nova Scotia over the weekend for a tract worker meeting, so we unlocked the door, turned on lights, and toted a bunch of things in when we got to church. The gathering turned out to be a warm time of blessing for us all. 

It was good to see Akli back after his long trip to Algeria, his homeland. His wife and daughter came along with him to church. Keith & Karen Wedel arrived with their youngest daughter Andrea and a friend Chantale Penner, and then the Toews boys showed up with our guys. From Alexandria came Misael & Diana with their two children, the Mexican family that moved from Saltillo just a few years ago. Emile was there, Louis showed up during Sunday school, and Rose came after that. Misael did very well sharing his thoughts in English and Keith translated it in French. We sang some more together, wrapped up the service, and then set up for dinner. 

What fun it was getting acquainted and making a few connections with Misael & Diana. And it's always enjoyable spending time with the Wedel's. Aside from Regan's being gone, it was like many other good times there. It all came together well and I know for certain it was thanks to more than our own efforts! At last we all parted ways, gathered our things, turned off the lights, and locked the door. Then we headed home to have a few restful hours before running off to Alexandria for the evening.  

They are just muted pricks of light overhead, but they glisten in the clear sky. I make out a string of them, then the shape of a dipper, directing my gaze to the tiny sparkle fixed in the northern sky. So much light fills the atmosphere above the metropolis, masking much of the wonders overhead. But even in the city, stars shine.

The trees are motionless in the soft air. A crescent moon hangs low and soon sinks behind treetops. Outdoor lights glow from every home in the neighborhood out upon groomed yards and clean pavement. After the noise of daily traffic has died, still it isn't all quiet -- there's light music in the air as summer deepens. Even in the city, crickets sing. 

I'm glad it's not all concrete and steel in this city. Montreal is full of trees and green spaces. Sometimes you'll see random things like we did yesterday, and it was pretty remarkable; a small group of turkeys traversing the street. An older couple was out walking pretty close to them and they didn't seem to pay much mind. Where they came from is anyone's guess. When we left for church the turkeys were still pecking around in a neighbor's yard, looking fairly comfortable in their surroundings. Even in the city, the natural world is manifested.

Seated on a low, curving stone wall just inside the woods, I watch a junior fire builder chop to pieces some dry pine wood to feed the hopeful little flames in the fire ring. "I learned how to use this ax last week," six-year-old Carson Penner says, striking confidently. A cheerful sight, those curling, snapping flames. It has been so long since I've enjoyed this ambiance. Gradually he builds the fire to a useful size for cooking like his mom wants. 

Shandele returns across the yard carrying a couple containers of food to dump on the disc blade made ready. First the bacon sizzles a while, then the hamburger and sausage, and last some finely chopped veggies. Completed, the melange is scooped into a covered dish and ferried indoors. 

Here we are at Steve & Shan's residence to spend a fine summer evening, surrounded by maple forest strung with blue vinyl sap lines. Exactly four months ago we'd come on a cold and rainy spring evening (see April 13); it's nice to be back in the summer. Caleb and Tyler have spent the day out here helping Steve and Thomas in a different patch of woods, running chainsaws and preparing the acreage for future tapping. A day of good physical labor. 

Presently we're dining around a built-up fire, Steve & Shan with four of their five children: Jackson, Tara, Thomas, and Carson (Shanay, Mrs. Drake Hodgson, lives in Alexandria); and the six of us that make up CPS. The Penner family are some fine folks and we pass a very pleasant time.

The sun goes down all gold behind some trees across the field. String lights hung above the campfire spot glow brighter. While most of the group scatter to different activities, Steve and I settle in by the blaze for some more chat. The ladies rejoin us later and then it's time to go. We soak in a little more smoke and heat, wishing to capture the essence of this summer ritual. "Anytime," they tell us, "even if we're not at home, you're welcome to come out here and have a fire!" 

And true to their generous hearts, we return to the city with more than we brought -- there's another case of maple syrup for us to take home. The guys come out to the van with a case each in payment for their work. Then we roll out the lane under a starry sky. 

♦ ♦ ♦

There's a GoFundMe page set up for Jackson Penner, who suffers a lot of back pain nowadays resulting from an accident last year. He plans to go for surgery in Germany before long. Feel free to check it out and send a donation! (https://www.gofundme.com/f/jacksons-back) 

After nearly three months the wireless mics and speaker were hooked up again for a little singing around the living room. We had done French studies for most of an hour, wrapping up with a number of songs out of the French book. Then it was decided to switch to English and hook up the system. 

This activity is preferable to happen after the little boys are in bed, but they weren't this time, so Julian had fun amplifying his brainwaves before the singing began. Actually, Caleb and Tyler did the same, exploring the novelty of using wireless microphones. For a while they hosted a podcast and Caleb interviewed Tyler on his theory of the earth being neither round nor flat, but shaped like a hot dog. That was followed by melodies of an odd sort sung through the mics. 

At last we opened the English hymnals and got the idea back on track. It had been a long, long time it seemed. And then, "tout à coup," all of a sudden, it was another late night. Singing a while like that is always good exercise. And I know another thing, it did away with a lot of tension I'd had all day in my lower back. True story. Singing does things like that. 

The sunlight is tinted more golden today with the thickening haze of wildfire smoke from distant wilderness blazes. By evening, the sky is largely a creamy white and the sun a deep orange before setting. The waxing moon glows a strange red. Aside from the mosquitos, it's a pleasant world outdoors in the cooling air.

The string light glows around the perimeter of the CPS backyard. Up on the porch, catfish fillets and brown sugared pineapple discs come off the grill and we gather around for the delectable supper. Caleb apologizes for how things turned out. "Wait until you come and see us in Mississippi in a couple years," he says. But my word, I guess I just don't know better. This is five-star.

For dessert, a skillet comes out of the oven with peach halves baked with maple syrup and butter in their hollows. That and vanilla ice cream. Merci beaucoup guys, you did it again.

Cadillac is legendary to all who have come through this volunteer unit because it's our home station, a bus ride down the boulevard from our neighborhood. It's one terminus of the Express Lacordaire bus, the 432. You can also catch it on the way home after the day's activity if you time it right. Countless times have I passed through this metro access, this portal to activities and adventures.

There's a harp sign on a wall in the north entrance and I noticed it often, but never had experienced a singing in its echoing space, until tonight. Seven youth came from Roxton Falls and we filled the room with great harmonies. This is one of the few above-ground singing spots in the system, so as we sang we could see traffic and pedestrians through the large windows that line two and a half sides. Buses arrived and departed periodically and many, many people walked through. A few sat on the low bench along the wall to listen, and others lined up on the sidewalk for the bus had a more pleasant wait than usual, no doubt!

We belted out those chansons en français for a good hour and reassembled in the CPS backyard later for supper in the soft evening.

Parc Pie-XII, our nearest park, has basketball and tennis courts, a public pool, a big sand lot with playground equipment, two ball fields, a soccer field, walking trails, and a patch of woods. Typical really, except for one feature that sets it apart from all others -- a cave, of all things. There's a little history with this cave; it was discovered over two centuries ago, and in the 1830's it was a hideout for patriots during a rebellion.

Caleb, Tyler, and I dressed up a bit and walked over to the park for an early afternoon tour that began with a presentation in the park pavilion. Two guys were there when we arrived, ready to accompany the scheduled group of visitors. We had a little time to look around the room at the interpretive exhibits and the showcase with a nice variety of fossils. Then more folks arrived and one guy gave an animated presentation in French along with a slide show illustrating things like age and formation of the cave, special features, and some fun facts, and then we buckled on hard hats and strolled along the woods to the cave entrance. 

Although smaller than I was expecting, it really was a cool cave. The gates were unlocked and we stepped into the humid silence of the underworld. While the other guy guided the rest in French, the one who gave the presentation guided our tour in English. He was full of funny little comments throughout the visit. The small cave comprised two main sections: the entry chamber, and a low passage leading to a deep crevice which we climbed down into via ladders. We all squeezed down in there and did a couple things like turning off our lights to experience the blackness and holding very still to see what we could hear, aside from muffled voices from the other group above and around the corner. No sound from the outside world penetrated the cave except for an occasional vibration of a low-passing airplane. No sound inside the cave except a soft drip and splash of water, and as we listened, a very soft "rrrar," and small sounds of escaping laughter.

Unlike other caves I've been to, we could crawl around and get dirty in this one like real spelunkers. Our guide showed us a small opening in the rock above us toward the back of the crevice and challenged us to get through it. One by one we climbed up and squeezed through it. There we were close to another small tunnel closed off with cables, which leads to the part of the cave opened up in 2017, which is many times as large as the portion known for two hundred years and has a lot of water. We shown our beams in through there and longed to go, asking if we might. He acted like maybe we could, but we didn't have the time and he didn't want to lose his job as a guide.

We crawled out of there and climbed back to the larger chamber so the other group could have their turn in the fun part. Our guide showed us rock layers, fossils, and formations. Then there was another fun challenge for us: go back in an increasingly narrow passage to the very end, ring a bicycle bell, and return with the light turned off. I went in first and when I came to the end, down to a crouch, I could find no bell. It was no place for a claustrophobe, I was all but buried. I could have gone just a little farther by wriggling on my stomach but thankfully that wasn't necessary. The guy came behind me and found where the bell had been put up nearby, and tossed it in front of me to ring and throw farther back into the cleft. Then they turned off their lights and I did the same, first figuring out how to get my body turned around and then out through the uneven passage. 

Then the other guys took their turns, and it was fun hearing the sounds that came back to us. "Dude!" Scuffle. A little laugh. "This is crazy!" Shoes on rock, a small splash. Eventually the ringing of the bicycle bell, and then out went the lights as he found his way back. The guide took a turn too. He was really quick, being so familiar with the tunnel, and as he had said earlier, "I was always built like a number two pencil." He went in and back without a light, and eyes closed for that matter, at a fraction of the time we all took. Eventually the doors to the outside world opened and light flooded in. Wet and muddy, we climbed out the entrance, took off our jackets, and walked back to the pavilion to return hard hats and collect a couple brochures.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

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

Attending the evening service out at Roxton Falls was more special this time around, with Russ & Gloria Isaac from Manitoba back in Quebec for a visit. I hadn't seen the folks since 2017. Back then the family was in Quebec City as missionaries and we CPS folks would drive out there once a month for a supper and Bible study with them. Good memories; if you know, you know!

Russ & Gloria appeared as I remembered them, and thankfully so considering the bad accident they were in last fall, where a truck came through an intersection and struck their vehicle. That Gloria survived is a miracle. Russ says she's about 80% as far as healing and still does physical therapy every week. 

Seven years sure brings changes in children and their four girls had really grown up. I didn't even recognize the youngest. "You would've seen her," Russ said, "she was only around nine months old back then." 

Speaking of Montreal, Mr. Isaac said he'd served six months there beginning in the fall of 2000. Marc Toews wondered what year I had come, and said he had been through the volunteer unit in 1993. Unintentionally I made Marc feel old by saying, "That's before I was even around." We shared a good laugh. Except for the absence of activity during the pandemic of recent years, the CPS program in Montreal had continued since its start around 1990. 

La Marguerite is warm and cheerful on a rainy early evening. Julian is excited to stop at our neighborhood bakery after a grocery run, and he can't decide which colors of macarons to choose. One shelf holds many trays of different colors. We get two, one for him and one for Alec.

"Deux macarons, s'il vous plaît."

"Deux?"

"Oui, orange et jaune."

"C'est tout?"

"Aussi un gâteau au fromage. Et une tarte au fraise."

"Ce sera tout?"

"Oui, merci."

Julian carries the paper bag with the two macarons and I take the box with the slice of cheesecake and the little strawberry tarte. First thing when we get home is enjoy those wonderful things. House mama is enthused about the cheesecake and we take a few minutes for the impromptu treat. It's a rare moment of peace between the young brothers as Julian gives a macaron to Alec and they set up their camp chairs on the living room rug to eat the macarons.

A day of cool and gray over Montreal, and then a day even cooler and full of rain. We bundled up a little to go to Welcome Hall on Tuesday morning. It felt a little like fall, but wait, it's only August, and the world is still too green... although somewhere recently we saw young maples that were no longer entirely green, forerunners of the coming autumn glory.

"In Montréal, the summers are long and warm," says a weatherspark.com article, and I think to myself, "dream on, good friends, you got that only half right." Please, let me prolong les beaux jours! 

The day of rain well soaked all the land, sometimes falling with intensity and sometimes just a steady light shower. Farewell at least for now to the dry spells and the watering of yards that I didn't keep up with all that well. Everyone's turf is doing great. The guys were glad to get home after their day of being out a lot in the weather with their furniture deliveries. We all gathered around and filled up on fish tacos, chips & salsa, and corn on the cob.

Jordan Koehn is among the small group of guys from Mississippi, Caleb's friends, who flew into Montreal late tonight. Back in June, Jordan had come with Shelton Wenger for a visit and loved it so much he's back for more! The guys and I have a couple minutes to walk around in the terminal before they materialize among the stream of arrivals and we welcome them to Montreal. I ask Jordan if he's packed up for the next six months here. "I wish!" he says. The other buddies: Josh, Lamar, and Patrick, all Koehn's. We return to the parking garage, pile suitcases in the back of the Pilot, crowd in, and navigate back up the island.

We're back again at 5385 rue Francheville towards 1:00 a.m. Everything is toted through the garage and into the part of the basement where all four of them will sack out on the couch, air mattresses, and whatever else has been scrounged for them. I disappear upstairs, and it's a while before things quiet down. Gotta try out some of those spicy snails from the Chinese market on the guys first, and other stuff! Fortunately the little boys sleep through the racket below and in the end we all get at least a few hours of sleep.

Moments before stepping off the metro at Lionel-Groulx, I shook Jake's hand. "Take care. It was fun working with you and getting to know you."

"See you some other time," he said. And I wondered if there will ever be another time, as I joined the flow of people across the platform to wait for the train on the green line. 

Jake is a young guy, just 18 or so, who showed up at Welcome Hall throughout the summer to volunteer on Friday mornings. He was born to Chinese parents and grew up on the island nation of Mauritius, in the Indian Ocean east of Madagascar. His family moved around the globe to Montreal early this year if I remember right. He's a soft-spoken fellow and fun to talk with.

Jake did his last shift at Welcome Hall this morning. Because of that and with Caleb's buddies out, we opted for lunch down the street at Tejano BBQ Burrito, for some chock-full burrito bowls and refreshing Jarritos to drink. A good time together! We went our ways on the metro. I switched trains after one stop to head straight home, Jake rode on to Bonaventure as usual, and the rest of the bunch rode farther to see a sight or two in the afternoon. Jake is off to Waterloo, Ontario next weekend to begin his studies in mathematics and accounting at the university. 

♦ ♦ ♦

It was one of those epic metro singings that I wish you could experience sometime if you haven't, and what's more we sang in the Jean Talon station. We've been there a couple times in the past few months but with a smaller group than tonight, and a big one is needed for volume to fill the cathedral-like spaces overhead. The majority of Alexandria's large youth group showed up to help us out. 

How many folks passed through that station in an hour's time? Easily a couple thousand I'd say. But the singing carried to the levels below and above us so many more would have heard some harmony than the ones who passed by. A few would stop to listen or capture this a cappella encounter on their phones. 

The highlight of the singing was the song Caitlin suggested we sing by memory: Fill Up My Cup. Everyone put their heart into it and the effect was stellar; I wish you were there to hear 30+ voices all but shouting together, "Fill my cup, let it overflow, let it overflow with love," and to hear the echoes overflowing through the levels and corridors of Station Jean-Talon.

Just eighteen miles east of our neighborhood (but still most of an hour's drive) lies the 3.41 square mile "Parc national du Mont-Saint-Bruno." This mount is one of the lowest of the Monteregian Hills, a mountain chain of which Mont Royal is a part. Autoroute 20 which we take to Roxton Falls goes right past and from the route only a part of the park is seen, the prominent features of that north-facing incline being an old quarry and a tiny ski slope; very unassuming. Around the backside, though, are the treasures: hiking trails, lakes, picnic areas, and a stone mill that was built in 1761 (replacing a former one) which is now a most charming tea house.  

While the group of guys spent the day abroad on the island, the four of us packed up a small picnic lunch and drove out to spend a couple hours in the great outdoors. The outing was something like a Duolingo story where the characters "prépare un pique-nique" and drive "à la campagne," to the countryside. But unlike a Duolingo story, there was no hilarious plot twist to wrap it up. I even thought to challenge myself and write this post in French but that would hardly be practical.

House mama had relatively low expectations of this place. Of course, she was glad for time together like this, and although she had a headache, surely it wouldn't last. Fresh air is always a good idea. Her take was altogether different afterward.

"It was definitely more than I expected it to be!" she raves. "And so refreshing to be out in the mountain air with beautiful lakes to picnic by and walk around. So that's what we did; first off we found a nice picnic spot by a wooded area and close to one of the lakes to eat our lunch. There were many families and couples about, hiking, playing catch, picnicking, reading, etc. My favorite part was the old mill house, now a coffee shop/tea house. Such a vibe! We got some pastries to share and an iced matcha latte and iced chai latte. Then for a long and leisure stroll around one of the lakes! It was so good for my soul and was a beautiful day to be in the country."

Not to mention the rich forest air abundant with negative ions and earthy odors erased the headache too. Or maybe the headache had disappeared in the tea house, I'm not sure anymore. The experience wouldn't have been the same without that highlight. The walk around the largest lake was marvelous all the same. Partially hidden among trees on a couple sides of the lake are some nice estates of wealthy folks, some old and some modern houses. Most had a good view of the lake and forests if not a dock and boat down on the water besides. The boys rode in the stroller and were mostly content to watch the woods roll by, but there came a time when they tired of the activity and we found our way back to the visitor center before going home.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://carlascanvas.com/2018/10/14/salon-the-mont-saint-bruno/) 

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

"It's been going by pretty fast," I said. "We left home right on five months today."

"So we'll likely be leaving Montreal right around your halfway point," Regan said. 

We stood by the swings in the semi-darkness, pushing Alec and Skye as we talked. Azure and Julian were nearby under the supervision of their mamas. Caleb, Tyler, and the guys were not far away, washing sand off their feet near a bocce ball court after a game of sand volleyball. The spacious Jarry Park was full of visitors now in spite of an early evening rain that swept through before we had come for a picnic supper of pizza. Now the sky was clear and descending airplanes passed low above us regularly. We discussed Montreal experiences among other random things. 

A countdown is on -- there's only a good month left with Regan's here. Their term was up a couple months ago already, and while it sounds like replacements have been found for a mission couple in the city, there will likely be no overlap. 

Our birthdays are just two days apart in October, and Regan is a year older than I. They'll be back in Alberta by then. What's more, his grandpa's 100th birthday is on the 12th, the day after Regan's, so there'll be a family gathering for that. "It's always been easy remembering my grandpa's age; we're 70 years apart." 

Yes, five months here have passed quickly, a short time getting to know the Toews family. I've wished they were only halfway through the term, but at least they'll have been here for half of ours. It has been good times. "In a way it would seem selfish to stay longer. I'm having so much fun here, but someone else really needs to experience it."

If you'd looked across the fence that evening, when the afternoon heat had faded and supper was over, you would've seen a campfire flickering under the tree and four chairs around it, two of them the tiny plastic Adirondack chairs a neighbor had given for the boys. You might have noticed no smoke rising from the fire, and if you were close enough, the absence of the usual snap and crackle that a normal fire has. Instead, you'd hear a soft hiss and see a propane canister parked by the hedge, sending fuel through the line to feed the flames. 

I would've never known one day I'd get myself a small propane fire pit but I'm really liking it. Here in the city when you can't have the real thing, you can do something like this and the effect is pretty close. Set it up just about wherever, turn the knob, light the vapors, set the stream low or high, and watch the flames dance above the pumice stones that form a layer in the pit and camouflage the burner. Aside from the lack of sound and smoke, this campfire has warmth and a cheerful light. And better yet you can still roast marshmallows together. Alec wanted a marshmallow on a skewer just like Julian and I had, and he "roasted" his briefly and a safe distance from the fire before stuffing it in his mouth.

Though the aéroport is 21.8 km (13.5 miles) from home, and around twenty minutes when traffic is good, it took three times longer in this rush hour. It seemed like everyone was heading there that afternoon. When we were less than a kilometer away, the map said it was still ten minutes to arrival. 

Caleb's friends had enjoyed their visit to Montreal, and Jordan was sad to leave a second time. "Je ne veux pas partir," he said. He's fallen in love with the city and has been studying French for a good while, after all. Unloading along the curb was quickly done, followed by handshakes. "Merci beaucoup pour tout," said Jordan. 

I think he'll be back; time will tell.

It was the first time and perhaps the last that I've gone to Old Port and been a vendor for a short time. I didn't have much to offer, only four dream catchers created a while back using natural things; the willow and goose feathers came from a nearby park. They turned out well, really, though not as colorful as the imported ones you can find in some shops. House mama has strong opinions about fake ones and maintains that my creations are much more genuine, bless her heart. I guess sometimes I have misgivings. I thought I may as well give them away and be done with it, and then for sure there'd be no risk of being accused of cultural appropriation, however small the chances. 

So I printed off a small sign reading,

GRATUIT / FREE

Fait à la main à Montréal avec des matériaux naturels

Handmade in Montreal with natural materials

On this cooler late-summer day it seemed emptier in Old Port, but then it probably wasn't much less than a usual weekday. More people were down along Rue St. Paul and out along the boardwalk near the Ferris wheel. I had Julian help in this venture by standing on one of the round concrete blocks that define the pedestrian-only space, holding them out for passersby to see while I held the sign. Someone said, "Hi baby!" to Julian. He turned to me with a scowl before they were out of earshot. "I'm not a baby!" It was slow going at first. Gracious, I thought, you can't even give away art in Montreal. But all you need is the right people to take it.

A few older ladies walking by stopped to smile at Julian and rattle on to him in French, asking him if he could smile. I guess he was so focused on keeping his arms outstretched and that grew tiresome. Later he stood on the ground again to continue the job. Randomly a young Ferris wheel worker came by and wanted to take one. A lot of college kids wearing "Frosh City" shirts were out and about in the crowds and quite a few passed through there. One girl came back to us and asked, "Are these really for free?" She seemed delighted to take one from Julian. Now just the two larger ones remained. It wasn't long before a woman and her friend, newcomers to Montreal but of what nationality I'm not certain, took interest and checked us out. "Yes, they are free," I assured her. But she insisted on giving some cash and they took both dream catchers. 

Mission accomplished. We set out to find Sabrina and Alec on some nearby playground equipment. The donation given at the last never made it out of Old Port -- it bought tickets for mama and the boys for an exciting ride on the little choo-choo train near the Ferris wheel, and a bag of popcorn to munch along the boardwalk. 

I had thought the time of roses to be long over, but some are blooming now in the botanical gardens, tall, long-stemmed beauties of different colors. The stems were flexible enough to bend down a few for the boys riding in the stroller. The garden has some reblooming roses that put on a second show from late August to the time of frost, so maybe that is the case with these. Or maybe it all comes down to proper care of the bushes; I am no authority on roses. Though there were fewer blooms than the early summer peak, these were no less striking and magical. 

I've probably mentioned it plenty but I always love the exotic Chinese Gardens, with the courtyards, stone walkways, pavilions, waterfall and jade-colored ponds, and of course all the beautiful bonsai. The last time we visited, the waterfall was turned off and the pond level was lower because of preparations for the Gardens of Light, involving large wire and silk sculptures erected across the water's surface. Now all is in order; the two-month event is just about to launch.*

We wound our way through there and another themed garden yet before finding a spot out in the arboretum for a small picnic under a massive swamp oak. Then we checked out another nook of the gardens we'd never seen. "It seems like each time we come here we see something altogether new," house mama commented. I have not yet seen all the treasures of the gardens for myself. 

♦ ♦ ♦

*(https://comm-espacepourlavie.ca/experiences/jardins-de-lumiere/) 

Supper over after metro singing (it was just us and Regan's), we guys walked to the park to play some pickleball. I have no great skill at any particular sport but this is a fairly simple one, I can swat the ball at least. We played a few games with Caleb and Tyler against Regan and I. They won a round, and then we did, so we need a tiebreaker.

The guys upped the stakes by declaring that if we lost, we'd preach on Sunday, and if they lost, it would be on them. Yes, it was a deal, sealed with handshakes to boot. I didn't offer my hand but stood by as a noncommittal witness to the exchange. 

So the game proceeded more seriously than the others. The score climbed on both sides, and then one team gained the lead until great exclamations from the court accompanied the achievement of the winning point. And now we're looking forward to inspirations brought by the unit guys on Sunday.

The middle-aged woman wore a long, light trench coat and her graying hair was swept back in a clip. She stood right beside the sliding doors of the Metro Marché along Rue Jean Talon, a large, empty reusable shopping bag against the wall and a sign in her hand. I'm not sure what the sign said, except it started with "S'il vous plait" and mentioned something about a refugee family. Her eyes smiled and she greeted us as we passed by, and then when I'd put Alec into a cart and was ready to shop, she was watching us through the window. I was sad I had no spare change; maybe I could get some cash back at the checkout. 

That wasn't an option. Maybe somewhere in the Boulevard shopping complex was an ATM, but I didn't see one nearby, so I headed back out. We said hello to her again at the doorway and had another big smile for Alec. How many hours had she been standing there? Shoppers weren't ignoring her altogether; I saw one or two giving her some cash. 

We hurried out through the light drizzle, threw everything in the van, and came back to return the cart and try out some French conversation. "Madame," I asked, "are there some things I can buy for you here in this store?" I soon learned that she spoke just a little French and practically no English. "Romanian," she said, and made motions to suggest we could use my phone to communicate. I retyped my questions into Google Translate. She clasped her hands to her heart saying, "Oui! Merci!" Her sign went into the bag and we entered the store together. 

She didn't choose a whole lot. Soaps, a couple hygiene products, paper towels, cooking oil, some chicken, just a couple fruits and veggies. Basically after every choice she would make sure if it was fine with me; she didn't want to take undue advantage of charity. 

Standing in line a few minutes, I tried asking her how long her family had been in Montreal, but she couldn't quite understand. "I wish I could speak Romanian," I said, and again she motioned that we could use the phone. I typed my question and she typed her answer: "For two weeks." 

We checked out, returned the cart, and parted ways at the door. Her eyes were warm with gratitude as she repeated, "Merci, merci." 

"Mon plaisir," I told her. 

All the while I was thinking of you all whose dollars these are that blessed a random refugee woman this evening. I'm passing on to you her words of thanks, the warmth of her smiling eyes. 

She must have headed to the bus stop right after that; when we drove out of the parking lot, she had disappeared.