Here

I am here. Well, 10 minutes from here, my grandmother’s birthplace, that is. All I can say is mon dieu holy cow wow wow wow. I’m ashamed. J’ai honte. Why have I never been here before? Why why why? This is my history. These are my people, through and through. The way they look, the French they speak, their mannerisms.

I’m staying in a bed and breakfast owned by two lesbians (whose lesbianism I didn’t have the courage tonight to confirm…tomorrow, bien sur). It is in St. Cuthbert, 10 minutes from St. Norbert, my grandmother’s, my great aunt’s birthplace. It is a different world up here. This is only about 6 hours from where I was born (southern Maine), but what a world apart in some ways, so alike in others. Here, is the most farmlandish I’ve ever been to. I’ve *always* longed for fields, to be in them, to run in a field of cornstalks, sunflowers: this is that. It’s quite possible I love fields more than the ocean, where I grew up; I’ve always longed for the smell of crops growing, the vastness of fields…is it possible my heritage was showing itself before I even knew a thing about it? My grandmother grew up on a farm. We’re talking farm farm. Tomorrow I’ll see her little town.

They pick chamomile on the side of the roads here. This is like the quaintest, smallest European village I’ve ever seen.

It’s so bittersweet. I have one remaining great-aunt left. My memere is long gone, and my other great aunts, who I adored, are also gone. Why couldn’t I have done this travel 10 years ago? I was certainly old enough to be interested. Two of my other great-aunts were still alive.

Yet, I have one remaining great aunt left: she’s still alive, and she was born in St. Norbert, where I’m visiting tomorrow.

One of the women who owns this has a friend who works at the Church in St. Norbert where all the birth records are kept. She got me an appointment with this woman for Tuesday morning, for an hour.

There’s a full moon over the cornfield which is just about 50 yards from this amazing old house. It’s almost surreal, mystical, this experience, like the entire family rose from the dead to greet me here.

We had a 4 or 5 course meal for dinner, just me and the women who own the place. Couscous, homemade ‘sausage’ (ham-like), asparagus, bread; followed by lasagna made from zucchini and with some ground meat of sorts, carrots and pea pods; followed by cheeses and crackers and dried fruit; followed by homemade fruit bread with strawberries; followed by hand-picked chamomile tea. We spoke in both French and English. One speaks some English, one not at all. We talked about Quebec separating from the country (they are for it…must confess, in a foreigner’s humility, that I am too), about conservative religious beliefs, about separation of church and state.

Good god I wish my French were better. I’ve regressed with it. The next time I come here, I promise myself to be much, much better. I wanna come back soon. Within the year.

So amazing this experience. So, so amazing. Better than I imagined so far. I feel at home here, in this little town. I do. I feel like it’s a home to me.