A group of about fifty heterogeneous dwellings spreads out at the end of a row, on the south shore of Lake Saint-Pierre, in the small municipality of Baie-du-Febvre, in the Centre-du-Québec. An impression of strangeness emanates from the place: are we welcome in this nondescript place? Is it private land? Public land? The place seems half abandoned. Who lives in these rickety shacks on stilts, in these rusty mobile homes, in these trailers?
In the midst of a housing crisis, are we dealing with an improvised encampment? A kind of campground?
The gravel road leads us to a building clad in red siding, on the edge of the lake. A few cars are parked in the garnotte parking lot. Surprise: it’s a restaurant-bar. Let’s go see. On this weekday lunchtime, the smell of good home-cooked food envelops the dining room, where about twenty regulars are seated.
The lady behind the counter greets us with a smile. She’s got a chat. Josette Gouin, manager of the restaurant-bar and pillar of the community, tells us the history of this unusual place: we’re in a vestige of the seigneurial regime of New France. More precisely, in the commune of Baie-du-Febvre, created more than 300 years ago on the model of French communes. It’s one of the few communes still in operation in Quebec.
A historical document consulted by The Duty indicates that Mr. Jacques Lefebvre, from Trois-Rivières, got his hands on this territory in 1683 — thus becoming the “lord” who could give access to these lands to the “censitaires” who paid an access fee to graze their livestock there. For three centuries, farmers from the surrounding area took up to 2,000 animals to graze in the fields of the seigneury.
The heirs of Lord Lefebvre long ago lost their property rights to the area, but the commune of Baie-du-Febvre still exists in another form. This entity is part of the municipality of Baie-du-Febvre, but it has a different status: the commune is managed by a private “corporation” with 325 members.
This land along the majestic Lac Saint-Pierre (which is an outgrowth of the Saint-Laurent River) has not been home to livestock since the 1970s. Industrial agriculture has almost eliminated the need for pastures. The municipality has a new vocation: part of its land is devoted to growing corn and soybeans. And the area along the shore has become a minimalist resort that refuses excessive development.
A tight-knit community
“We never get bored here,” says Josette Gouin as she prepares the daily menu at the snack bar. This young grandmother has been overseeing the establishment for 25 years, and it is packed in both summer and winter. The cold season is the busiest, because the Club de la Landroche—that’s the name of the restaurant, after the river that flows nearby—is the only relay on the snowmobile trail that connects Sorel and Bécancour.
“Our closing time is when there are no more customers,” says M.me Gouin. Sometimes, on Saturday nights, the last snowmobiler finishes his meal—and his big Bud Light—after midnight. And Sunday morning brunch starts at 8 a.m. The days are long at the Club de la Landroche. And very pleasant, too.
“It’s a family affair. I grew up with the world that’s here,” says Mégane Gauthier, Josette Gouin’s granddaughter, who helps out her grandmother (and her mother, Annie, a waitress at the restaurant). The 19-year-old knows all the customers seated at the table for dinner. She shows us a photo from 18 years ago of her sitting in a baby seat on the counter of the snack bar.
Between her studies in documentation at CEGEP, her part-time job at the Nicolet municipal library and her hours at the restaurant, Mégane is like her grandmother: she “never gets bored.” She finds at the Club de la Landroche a sort of extended family. Everyone knows each other. The customers are all neighbors, friends.
A well kept secret
Josette Gouin shows us around the commune. The spirit of the place is reminiscent of a campsite, but there is no barrier to entry. The buildings — most of them rudimentary, others more elaborate — belong to members of the commune who rent a plot of land to park their trailer or build a hunting or fishing camp. Some come once or twice a year. Others spend the summer here. Or weekends.
Some homes are connected to the Hydro-Québec network. Many are equipped with large 250-gallon tanks filled with rainwater or spring water. Running water remains the exception.
This little corner of paradise is a well-kept secret—at least outside of the Centre-du-Québec—and the people of the commune are keen to preserve their tranquility. A hiking trail, nicknamed the Compostelle du lac Saint-Pierre, passes close by. Residents sometimes welcome hikers or allow them to pitch their tents.
One guest has already posted photos of his temporary camp on social media: “The next day, lots of people came to camp,” laments Josette Gouin. A large recreational vehicle stopped without permission on land hiding a septic tank, which broke through.
Coveted lands
The place arouses covetousness. In the 1960s, there was talk of selling the town to real estate developers. At the same time, the Quebec company Laduboro also sought to explore for oil in the area.
The town’s administrators have “always prioritized the protection of natural environments,” explains Francine Hébert, secretary of the “corporation” that manages the area. She points out that Lake Saint-Pierre is recognized by UNESCO as a world biosphere reserve. The organization Canards illimités has also set up a sanctuary there to welcome the tens of thousands of migratory birds that stop in the area each spring — a real tourist attraction in the region.
In 1953, the federal government expropriated nearly three-quarters of the municipality’s territory to build a National Defense firing range. A mine-clearing company is still looking for (and finding) unexploded shells in Lake Saint-Pierre. The mine-clearers are housed in construction trailers set up in the municipality.
Endangered
A handful of communes from the seigneurial regime remain active in Quebec, explains Rodolphe De Koninck, a retired geography professor. These relics of New France are all in Lake Saint-Pierre and on the islands of Berthier and Sorel. The 81-year-old geographer, an authority in his field, devoted his master’s thesis to the Baie-du-Febvre region in 1967. He returned to the area in 2000 to further his research.
“I was surprised to discover communes. At the time, they were somewhat closed societies,” he says. In addition to Baie-du-Febvre, three communes remain in place, in Berthier, Île Dupas and Île du Moine. A few animals spend the summer in the pastures, but these are now mainly vacation spots.
The geographer recalls a time not so long ago when dozens of cattle and sheep were taken every summer to graze on the grass of the islands. The quality of the soil, fed by the silt carried by the spring flood, has undoubtedly contributed to the longevity of the communes in the region, believes Mr. De Koninck.
These creatures from another era now seem like endangered species.