Laurentians - route to roots

Seated in an oh so chic Tim Horton's with a fake fire place, a French show on he television as we listen to catchy French music, makes this all that more Quebecoise. Wow... Travelling to St. Donat singing my father's old favorite song "St. Donat" with Hal trying to figure out the connection between a barber, a five cent coin with a hole in the middle and donuts was enough in 29 degree heat to sent anyone reeling. La touristic information was so helpful to she gave us her only map to assist us in the hunt for our family cabin at Lac De La Montagne Noire. Easy you think, there are numerous lakes with very similar names and several detours to Montagne Noire en route. Meeting a fellow Albertan on a small chemin, road, was our luck, he had two possibilities of which the first was successful.

With heart pounding in my mouth, I gingerly walked down the familiar steps from the car port to the house hoping someone would be home and be generous enough to invite us in. Yes, the Stephen's were there and equally excited to meet the daughter of the builder. We toured the home which had been kept in it's original state. I was gleeful recalling all the fond memories of Christmas' carrying water from the lake with my father because the pipes had frozen. The deck were a myriad of parties had been held by my parents and friends down the road, of which they knew. Dad they knew the Gurvin's. We toured the waterfront and although the daughter had cleared a few more trees and build a basement everything has remained the same. Large Frank Lloyd Wright windows overlooking the forest onto the lake, warm light fronted the deck and windows in the bedroom. The rock house had been taken down to my dismay, yet the jetting rocks off the shoreline were there. We were not invited to swim which would have truly made my day, yet a fine drink in hand and taking pictures and exchanging email addresses with the Stephens made the day.

We began our day waking up to loon calls echoing across Lac a la Truite nestled in the deep woods of the Laurentian's just north of St. Agathe des Monts, another childhood favorite town we used to pass en route to the cabin, where banana flavored popsicles savored our tongues along with lollipops with stripped colors. St. Agathe des Monts has grown considerably since we were young. The town is touristic, yet still unique, with quaint boutiques, boulangerie, patteserie, and charcuterie's all done in a traditional mode.

Mont Tremblant was hosting a running race upon our arrival and the announcer was hamming up names, times and making up stories about each contestant that crossed the finish line. We attended the Catholic church in town that was packed with grey hair nannies, and Hal who I was impressed followed easily the mass in French. We took the mountain route to St. Donat which buttresses Mont Tremblant National Park. With time pressing on, our hike had to be postponed, yet not the tasty bread in St. Donat.