A Sad Discovery

I think my father has found his second calling in historical research. Yes, the man can design a mean steel connection, but he also has an insatiable thirst for finding out "what really happened."

Part of this desire is manifested in his obsession with finding primary sources. As much potential as they have, I'll admit that I've been rather lax in that effort. The majority of the primary sources we've found so far have been frustratingly unhelpful; I can read very little French and people who can, can't read the script that most of the documents are written in. And they're all wicked blurry to boot. I've found myself skimping on that end of things in favor of summaries, translations, and, well, my good old imagination.

However, this week Dad found a document that witnessed a very poignant event. He found a PDF copy of the priest's journal who married Francois and his first wife, Marie Luce. The details of their marriage was not new information - I already knew the date, the location, and the names of the witnesses - but seeing the original entry told us one sad fact. While the priest mentions both the father and mother of the bride, only Francois' father (Charles) is mentioned by name. His mother is simply noted as "...". Why? Apparently, because Francois didn't know her name. Marie David died when he was six and he must have never learned or remembered her real name afterwards. Can you imagine not only loosing your entire family, but not knowing their real names either? How awful.

Old Men & Dogs

I spent the better part of last week in the company of one of Virginia's finest, which I tell you only because it explains why I found myself deep in conversation with a 70+ year-old Québécois at a New England country line dancing bar during the wee hours of this past Saturday morning. In between songs and their respective dances - which I butchered despite my best intentions - the man explained to me how he lost his personal fortune of over one million dollars (US or Canadian? I didn't ask.) and why people from Québéc (Excepting him, I'm assuming.) are so mean.

"If you want to meet nice people," he said, "you need to go to Ontario. The people in Québéc are mean because they deported a lot of them in the 1700s."

I wanted to point out to him that most of the people deported were from the Maritimes, although - granted - a lot of them did escape to Québéc, but it seemed neither the time, nor the place (And he was more interested in talking than listening.), so I let it go. I don't know how these people find me. So random.

(The man who stocks the bread aisle at the Granby Stop & Shop is also not a fan of our northern neighbor: [overheard] "I'm never going back to Canada. They're so rude there." Apparently, this man has not lived in New England very long. Or he's local.)

P.S. I apologize for the formatting on some of these posts. Html and I are not the best of friends.

A Short Bibliography

One thing that has been both a blessing and a curse throughout this process is the lack of reputable sources concerning the culture and events of mid to late 18^th and early 19^th century Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Maine. (Good grief. When I put it that way, it sounds even more obscure.)

This is a blessing because when I finish this little project of mine, I will be in a position with very little competition, but it is a curse because there is very little help in constructing a lively and accurate setting and atmosphere. I believe the lack of information is due to three key facts.

1. In the words of M. Bonaparte, “History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon.” In other words, history is written by the victors. After the British took Montreal in 1760, they effectively stamped out the majority of the French-Canadian culture outside of Quebec. And unfortunately for me, Quebec has little to no role in my story.

2. The Acadians were, for the most part, illiterate, which explains the lack of first-hand sources. The French, British, and Americans generally viewed them as completely ignorant. A geologist who visited Madawaska (Northern Maine) in 1837 noted “we were asked, when we spoke of France, if it was not separated from England by a river, or if it was near the coast of Nova Scotia; and one inquired if Bethlehem, where Christ was born, was not a town in France.”

I know that Francois could at least write his name, but this was probably due to his mother or brother’s influence. (Charles, his father, was also illiterate and could not even sign his own marriage license.)

3. And if I make a grand, sweeping, amateur statement, Canadian history is a topic that I’ve found very little public interest in, even among Canadians. (One man on Cape Breton Island admitted to me that Canadians know more about American history and current American politics than they do about their own.) Go to your local Border’s or Barnes & Noble and see for yourself: there is no Canadian history section. The history of Northern Maine is equally obscure. (Granted, Northern Maine itself is obscure, but that’s no reason to ignore it.)

I guess I have my job cut out for me. :)

If you’re interested in reading up on the life and times surrounding my book, here are a few books that I’ve found very helpful so far. Most of them are about Louisbourg because Louisbourg is really the best-documented French-Canadian culture of that time period. A few are a little obscure, but if you live close enough to me, you can borrow my copy. Enjoy!

• Louisbourg by J.S. McLennan - McLennan wrote this book in 1918 – long before Louisbourg was even reconstructed – and almost 100 years later it is still the definitive work on the fortress.
• Life and Religion at Louisbourg by A.J.B. Johnston - Johnston is the modern-day expert on Louisbourg and works for Parks Canada. (I would love to work for this man.) This book gives a good overview of daily life is Louisbourg.
• Endgame 1758 by A.J.B. Johnston - Endgame does a great job describing the ’58 Siege of Louisbourg and placing it into the larger context of the French & Indian War and the traditional struggle between England and France.
• Roger Sudden by Thomas H. Raddell - Modern critics slam this novel for its unflattering portrayal of the native Micmacs, but it is a fun read that is all the more interesting for its historical accuracy. It also does a good job of tying the struggles of the Jacobites into the context of Louisbourg and the bad blood between France and England. Who knew? Not me!

The Official Maritime/Maine Photo Album...

...can be found here.

Enjoy! :)

I am too overwhelmed to write right now.

So here's some pictures. :)

My Professional Opinion

Excellent coffee without going overboard on the cream and sugar (Oh Dunks, when will you ever learn?). Not-super-sweet donuts, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Comfy, Starbucks-esque seating. Unfortunately, I think they use Euro cup sizes (My medium was a small. Come on. Who are you kidding?) and they don't sell anything with sprinkles. That could be a problem long term. I'm old enough to forgo them now (sometimes), but what would I eat if I was still five?

We drove up through Chignecto today, crossed the causeway to Cape Breton, and followed the east side of the Bras d'Or Lake to Sydney. We are in Louisbourg now. It is pretty sweet. More later.

Halifax

I am excusing myself from any sort of literary post today by because Francois most likely never traveled south of Halifax; therefore, very little of what I saw today will have any effect on my book, other than the fact that I may mention a lot of spruce trees. And porcupines. Instead, I will regale you with non related tales of Tim Horton's and, well, a very long day of traveling.

*Ahem*

I saw five Tim Horton's and managed to take pictures of four. Number five snuck up on my and I couldn't turn my camera on fast enough. I have yet to actually enter one.

And today was a long day of traveling.

We drove up to Portland last night because we had to get up at 5:30 in order to load the car in time for the 8 a.m. ferry. I was expecting something along the lines of the slow Wellington/Picton ferry - the last real ferry I've been on because Block Island doesn't count - but it was a Cat ferry, and therefore, quite different. It had carpet. And a casino. And someone forgot to change out the Aussie outlets in the bathrooms. It was a nice touch.

We landed a little before 2 p.m. (EST) in Yarmouth and drove off and through customs. (Nova Scotia is in ADT so it was 3 p.m. local time.) Downtown Yarmouth is cute, but small, and one thing I've noticed - throughout all of today - is that there doesn't seem to be any people anywhere. Granted, it was an off season, Sunday afternoon, but still. The weather was gorgeous, and judging by the latitude, will be short-lived. I would've been outside.

We shot through the outskirts of Yarmouth (past the Wal-mart and - of course - the T.H.) onto Highway 101. I think Dad would've stayed on 101 all the way to Halifax if he was navigating, but he wasn't, so I managed a couple of detours on Route 1, which runs along the coast of St. Mary's Bay. It was and is Acadian country and I think these kids got Americans beat for the number of flags they can hang on a single building. I've never seen such 'patriotism' outside of the States. It was kind of interesting, especially considering they have no country to speak of. Culture is a powerful thing.

We're staying just north of Halifax tonight and leaving bright and early tomorrow morning for Louisbourg. It's a six hour drive. And it's my turn at the wheel. Woo-hoo!