Ah, beautiful Lac Clair!
Freedom from responsibility (aka vacation) is one of life's great enhancers. Even better is vacation in the lowlands of the Laurentides, staying with a sparkling, interesting friend in a house with huge windows and fabulous, original décor. It has cool whiffs of fall, and late afternoons one needs a body blanket to sit outside. But it's still summer-green lush. Lac Clair is a well-kept secret; it's not private, but it's not widely known and the full-time and part-time residents don't promote it.
During the late nineteenth century the Quebec clergy encouraged (very firmly, as in co-opting) the Catholic population to move up and out into the Laurentians to discourage them from emigrating and opting for the terribly tempting United States, so close, just south.
After one has driven several kilometers down from Lac Clair on dirt roads, then several more on paved, there is Rawdon, the nearest town, with quaint stores and frame houses and the local Dollarama. The boulangerie has, you guessed, pain au chocolat and croissants, Brie des Meaulx, and other kinds of franco-gastro-nostalgia. The French spoken here is somewhat comprehensible, but some accents combined with moderate hearing loss prompt frequent "eh?" or "excusez", as they say here. I love the combination of nasal and clipped language, drawn out clear vowels followed by mystery sounds. Up here in the lower Laurentsds.
