Postcards from Quebec
Just back from a trip to Quebec with my sister. It was just the two of us, very rare.
So many times in the past, our visits have included spouses, our children, other people’s children, a lot of distraction and grilled cheese making and trying to find another pillow for somebody. This time, it was just a coupla Sassy Sues out on the town, and we did all sorts of crazy things.
We had ice cream for lunch.
We made a charcuterie board out of a hotel ironing board.
We visited an outdoor establishment where they put Adirondack chairs in a giant pool about a foot deep, and you sit in the Adirondack chairs while cooling your heels in the water and slurping a local microbrew in the company of, say, a very suntanned couple from California who are likewise doing absolutely nothing but slurping a local microbrew.
We drove two hours north of Quebec City to visit a garden Buffy had seen on Netflix. (The documentary is called The Gardener, in case you’re looking for a quicker trip than ours.)
I avoided reading a single thing about this garden before this trip—I didn’t even watch the trailer for The Gardener, hoping for once to come upon a place without having researched the everlivin’ soul out of it.
This garden is not exactly easy to get to, and it was lovely, the whole thing. Up top you can see some of the garden, none of my images capturing even a fraction of the place’s beauty. My favorite parts were the least-manicured moments. Nature untouched was best of all, fields and forests and mountains in the distance.
I’m guessing that The Gardener covers the place well—I still haven’t watched it. (There’s a book, too, which you should probably get from your library because a copy on Amazon is asking a pretty penny right now.)
The next day, we drove around Ile d’Orleans, in the middle of the St. Lawrence River, where you can sample nougat and and beers and poutine all the day long. Which we did.
Another fancy garden, this one on a slope down toward the St. Lawrence River.
Elaborate fantasy life at work here.
The closer we got to the river, the less fussy it got, and the more I liked it.
Back on the road, our craft radar led us to an artisan shop attached to a small church.
Of course, I was not about to leave until I tracked down what I knew would be there somewhere: local yarn.
PS Thank you all so much for all the container garden wisdom you shared with me last week—incredibly helpful. A thriller, a spiller, and a filler—love that idea!