Manic-depressive spring. Quick chocolate and taffy to get over it. It was almost summer for a few days, then winter came back. It’s still spring there. Don’t flow, the maples will be able to leaf out like every year, we know that well. Things, despite appearances, are sometimes well done, come and go with their truth.
At the end of March, against a backdrop of clear blue skies, planes leave white trails and returning geese yap in flight. Soon, forest fires will reappear like oracles, telling the future.
After two days of squalls and gusts last week, I had to go around the boilers again to pick up the covers torn off by the winds. Part of the cuts borders the L’Acadie River. River which has not frozen this year, or very little, barely on the edges. It is at the end of this forest behind the house that it originates, fed by a few agricultural streams and other natural ones which come together and which did not freeze this winter either. It will then flow into the Richelieu, which flows into the river. While doing this round of collecting lids, at -10, I crossed white water courses with interest! Several thousand people got up in the early morning to collect and stock up.
According to a tradition (more popular than religious), on Easter Sunday, this water is collected before sunrise, because it would have magical properties: protect houses against lightning, help eyesight, cure eczema, diarrhea , fever, osteoarthritis, and a thousand other curative virtues. It gives strength, slows down aging, helps with seduction, and it seems that it also wards off misfortunes and evil spirits. Well, well… promises that might help one day or another. You can never be too careful.
I have met several people, between a long time ago and today, who swear on their mother’s head that they were cured by beaver glands or oil, bear bile, while climbing the steps of the Oratory on their knees, by holy oil, by reading their horoscope, or by invoking Heaven or a nearby ghost. What if sometimes believing was enough? Or at least get halfway there and hope?
Some precautions are required: make sure to collect the water before dawn, in a running, non-stagnant watercourse. And against the grain, otherwise it could become corrupted, they say. So it was with a 5 gallon that I ventured into the darkness of the late night. And, in a burst of infinite charity, I will have drawn and filled the boiler to the brim, taken it all out of the stream (so that it is official) and then put the enchanted water back into the same stream. water. I don’t know the exact dosage, but thus – I told myself – all residents between the American border and Sorel and its downstream (this is where the Richelieu joins the Saint-Laurent) and up to the Atlantic will benefit of enchantment. That’s divine goodness, ma’am. Sorry to everyone upstream of Sorel. We will find a way to include you for a bright future.
In view of the news and the surrounding air, can we still believe that science, progress and other advances of which we are so proud will have improved the state of the world and the conditions of human life? No cynicism here. We find that all modern patent lacks spellbinding and marvelous these days. We seem to have somewhat forgotten the idea of morality in progress, and it sometimes resembles, too often, what we have been saying about our nature since the dawn of time. The environment, the tools, the communications, the research, the vaccines, the central banks which control the gospel of the essential growth of the economy, all this is well and good, but the basic principles of our consciousness still resemble and always with a prehistoric past; those of a conscience, precisely, with variable values, for its benefit. The era is sorely lacking in magic. And imagination.
We are well aware that we are far from science here. But a serious proposal: that every spring, we charter the CL-415s (SOPFEU tanker planes) before the summer fires to collect and sprinkle the whole world with Easter water. And if I fail to be heard or taken seriously, I will drink and eat my emotions by stealing chocolate from the children, because there is no more snow to make taffy. No intention of tasting, but of stuffing my face. We are somewhat responsible for his miracles. Happy Easter, even to the ungodly.
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