Our paternal figures are sometimes inscribed in everyday objects. A sandblaster or an ax becomes the symbol of the affection one has for a father, an uncle, a mentor or a grandfather and of the time spent with them. A simple pocket of nails can also tell the links between three men of the same family, over more than three decades.
“Do you remember that? asked my uncle Normand, as he helped me renovate my first house. In fact, it was rather me who was helping him. The skills, he had them, not me. The “it” was the nail pouch he wore around his waist. And no, I didn’t remember. “You gave it to me when you were young,” he reminded me.
PHOTO PROVIDED BY PATRICK VIGNEAULT
Normand Vigneault, uncle and godfather of our journalist, was not only a good mentor in construction, he also did cabinetmaking and made several wooden horses for the children of his extended family.
We can still guess the year, which he had written in marker next to his name: 1988. That meant that my godfather had been using a carpenter’s apron for 20 years, probably bought cheaply from Pascal by his 15-year-old godson… when it died, it was my cousin Patrick, also a Vigneault, who got it back. Shortly after, I wrote him an email where I asked him with my fingertips if he would agree to give it to me…
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PHOTO PROVIDED BY PATRICK VIGNEAULT
At the end of adolescence, Patrick Vigneault also learned from his father, Normand, how to make the wooden horse that the latter had designed.
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PHOTO PROVIDED BY PATRICK VIGNEAULT
There are some who make furniture, Patrick Vigneault pushed the teaching received from his father to the point of making articulated wooden toys.
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PHOTO PROVIDED BY PATRICK VIGNEAULT
When he didn’t have a workshop, Patrick Vigneault, our journalist’s cousin, made wooden toys on the kitchen table in his apartment.
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“Perhaps you’ll find it silly, he replied, but I’m finishing my deck and I would like to do one last project with my father. Then I send it to you. Patrick was worried that I would find it corny that he gave such an intimate meaning to an everyday object. Yet that was the only reason I had to ask him to bequeath it to me: it is a precious symbol of a man important to me.
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PHOTO FRANÇOIS ROY, THE PRESS
The “pocket of nails” that our journalist gave to his uncle Normand 35 years ago returned to him after his death.
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PHOTO FRANÇOIS ROY, THE PRESS
Normand, recalls his son Patrick Vigneault, used to write his name on all his tools. He also did it on his carpenter’s apron. He had also written the year he received it, 1988, in the right corner of his name (not visible in the photo).
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PHOTO FRANÇOIS ROY, THE PRESS
In the family, we say the “nail pocket”, but nowadays, it’s more screws that our journalist puts in… in addition to demolition residues that end up there by accident.
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Patrick spoke to me at length this spring about his father, with whom he did roofing, learned to mount divisions and above all did cabinetmaking. He also told me about his deck, this “last project” made with his father. “Maybe you’ll find it silly, he said again, but when I put my hand in his pocket of nails to take one, I felt like he was giving it to me. . It was me who was doing it job, but he was the one who gave me what I needed to do it. »
A transmission symbol
It’s not the tool itself that has value, it’s of course the link with the person it represents that does. Jonathan Charrette, it is when he uses certain mechanical tools that he feels in touch with his mentor. “It’s like a little voice in your ear giving you advice, reminding you that you have to do it like this and not like that,” he says. Working with him also reminded me that being a mechanic was what I had wanted to do since childhood. »
PHOTO PROVIDED BY JONATHAN CHARRETTE
Jonathan Charrette collects, among other things, his family’s tools, but also retains a special affection for those that belonged to the man who taught him the basics of mechanics.
This gesture of transmission has a very concrete resonance for the sisters Véronick and Nathalie Boisclair, co-founders of the Jardins du Boisclair, in Bromont. Following in the footsteps of their father, Léon, they embarked on vegetable production and still use a device purchased in 1968 by their father: a manual seeder dating from the 1940s.
“He weighs a ton, he’s not the fun to use and we swear when we take it, says Nathalie, but her dinosaur is the most reliable and best suited for peas, beans, edamame and all seeds of this size . And it is indestructible: unless you run over it with a truck, it will still be there in 100 years! »
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PHOTO MARTIN CHAMBERLAND, THE PRESS
The seeder dates from the 1940s.
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PHOTO MARTIN CHAMBERLAND, THE PRESS
Nathalie, Léon and Véronick Boisclair in the Jardins du Boisclair greenhouse. The sisters embarked on vegetable production, following in their father’s footsteps.
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PHOTO MARTIN CHAMBERLAND, THE PRESS
Octogenarian, Léon Boisclair continues to share his knowledge with the family, his children and his grandchildren.
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The object is obviously much more than a work tool: it embodies the continuity of agricultural work in their close-knit family. “That’s what our parents started farming with,” notes Nathalie, turning red with emotion. “We are privileged that he works with us, that he shares his know-how and his tongue-in-cheek humor,” adds Véronick, containing his sobs with pain and misery.
The attachment of the two sisters to the knowledge inherited from their father is such that it is a photo of him working the land that inspired the logo of their company. “He’s an integral part of our team,” says Véronick. Her octogenarian dad also makes it a point of honor to share different knowledge with his grandchildren, adapting to the interests of each, specifies Nathalie.
life lessons
All the tools that my cousin Patrick inherited from his father do not have the same value in his eyes. ” A drillit’s a drill, he said. A ribbon sander that I used to make a wooden horse for a boyfriend who had just had a child, that is significant. Normand made wooden horses for the children of the family. I practically only used it for that, me, and it reminds me of my father. »
Élise Provost admits to being attached to the jigsaw given to her by her father. “She’s miserable, but I can’t throw her away to buy another,” says the designer who still works in set design. She knows, however, that through the jigsaw, it is the lessons of her father that she cherishes.
PHOTO PATRICK SANFAÇON, THE PRESS
Élise Provost and the tools that belonged to her father. She does a lot of gardening with her father’s shovel and pitchfork.
“My father didn’t just give me tools, but also the pleasure of working with his hands, the concern for a job well done,” she explains. The skills she has acquired not only help her in her work, they allow her to be more independent, sometimes to free herself from repairers and also to lend a hand to friends.
“Beyond anecdotes and memories, these tools are the manifestation of knowledge,” she insists. They allowed me to transmit in my turn the know-how of the do-it-yourselfers, as well as the pride and the pleasure of manual work. When I became aware of this heritage, my heart swelled with gratitude. And I say: thank you, Dad. »