Francophone Roots

May 8, 2006
Southern Manitoba’s undulating rural countryside, with fields of grain and vast grazing land, is scattered with copses circling the enclaves of farm buildings and appearing like islands in the fields. They are filled with the prolific silver birch with its spring green foliage, tall dark trunked elms with their lacy branches and interspersed with deep olive green conical firs. Pastoral scenes reminiscent of Constable’s paintings are prevalent. It’s spring and nature’s awakening - where we saw cows, there were calves; where we saw sheep, there were lambs; where we saw horses, there were colts. Marshland is widespread and I now understand why Manitoba is renowned for breeding the biggest and most ferocious mosquitoes in Canada - with so much stagnant water, it is a breeding paradise. The little devils have already taken a couple of bites out of me and it’s only early May. I hate to think what it’s like in July.

We decided to detour to the little farming town of Swan Lake, (population 350) about 120 miles southwest of Winnipeg. This is the locale where Fernie’s Mom was born. We asked an old chap, chugging down the main street in his motorized scooter, if any Chabots lived around there. “Not in Swan Lake” he said “but there are some in Notre Dame de Lourdes just up the road.” We thought that Notre Dame de Lourdes was a convent especially when there was a sign indicating there was a monastery in the vicinity but apparently it’s a town.

According to Fernie, the countryside surrounding Swan Lake is so much like the Peace River Country that his grandparents would have felt an immediate affinity for it when they relocated there about seventy years ago. I wonder how they travelled all that way in those days with their family of young children. Wagon train? J I suppose they must have gone by rail.

Eight days into our expedition and it was time to find a sani-dump and fill with water. So, we were very pleased to find a facility in Swan Lake. As we pulled in, an old farmer in his tractor motored by and tipped his straw hat and a couple of men on the veranda of a house across the road, bid us a good day. These prairie towns are so friendly.

Dumped and watered, we hit the road again. A few miles west of town up on a ridge, a row of windmills spinning silently and gracefully, generated power. A bit further, dozens more dotted the landscape with their giant propellers. Standing alone off to the side, a group of three twirled their blades in perfect synchronization.

Walmart on the west side of Winnipeg was our host for the night. No wifi, but a perfect satellite signal. Fridge still performing well – won’t mention it again.