Jamming on a Souris winter afternoon
(c) 2010, Dominique Millette
Despite the -30 wind chill, it's a beautiful Sunday morning. I'm alone and headed from Summerside, on the west central coast of Prince Edward Island, to Souris, on the easternmost tip of the province. It's around 185 miles there and back (300 km), a four-hour round trip on these meandering winter highways. My destination is an Acadian music jam, which is quite rare in the province and especially the area. There are barely 8,000 Francophones on the Island as a whole and 70 per cent of them are in the western part of the Island, in Prince County.
Music brings everyone together. Despite their small numbers, Acadians participate eagerly in the provincial and East Coast music scene. The band Vishtèn, hailing from both P.E.I. and the Magdalen Islands, has acquired an international fan base. Fiddlers Caroline Bernard and Louise Arsenault are known throughout the Maritimes, the latter a former recipient of the regional Golden Fiddle award. Lennie Gallant is a regional award winner who writes and sings in both languages.
Souris is a French name that means "mouse", and, according to the town marina's website, likely comes from an infestation of mice that occurred around 1724. In 1744 it was identified on a map as "Havre à la Souris", or "Mouse Harbour." This is the first time I've ever heard of a town named after an infestation, but I guess anything can happen. The town was first settled by French fishermen from Normandy in the early 1700s. Even today, the website is bilingual. It's the main port for anyone wanting to go to the Magdalen Islands, which are part of Québec.
I do my best to navigate roads with lines so faded it's hard to tell if the right lane exits or if cars can go straight.
In Charlottetown, I stop to grab some lunch, since most restaurants along the highway are closed except fast food outlets or gas station counters. This is the poorest province in Canada, with the lowest wages. I'm guessing people are so poor no one wants to risk opening a restaurant or café and not getting enough customers. Of course, there's also the fact that the entire province has fewer than 200,000 people.
As it veers away from Charlottetown, Highway 2 goes north, then south again, along the coast. Seeing ocean coves and harbours wrapped in ice gives them a completely different vibe. Still. Remote. Suspended. Asleep.
Fishing boats hauled up from their watery habitats lie stranded on their owner's lawns. They loom over pickup trucks, SUVs and sometimes even dwarf the houses. The signs of lobster restaurants designed for the tourist season dangle and creak in the omnipresent wind, accentuating shuttered windows and darkened doorways. Many snowbanks are the colour of Island dirt, a deep reddish brown.
I get to the music jam and it's at the local school, which turns out to be a series of portables cobbled together. The school has 40 students. According to the organizer, about ten people show up on average every month. Today, the ten include about four children. Not everyone speaks French, so we have to speak English most of the time. We sing traditional French songs with two guitars. One woman has an Irish drum but doesn't quite know how to play it. I’ll be more of a spectator, with ears wide open.
Afterwards, I ask about the size of the French-speaking population in Souris and the organizer doesn't know. It isn't easy to find online either. Souris is in Kings. I'm guessing the French-speaking population is about 100.
Meanwhile, two of the people who have shown up own a Bed and Breakfast about 18 miles (30 km) west, the Tír na nÓg Inn. It’s one of the very few such facilities open all year. Will, the husband, says he's involved in trying to encourage winter tourism on the Island. That would be great. I'd be a major customer if I could go snowshoeing or horse-sledding and then go have lunch or at least some hot chocolate and snacks somewhere. I hope Island businesses can make something happen. Maybe if it's concentrated somewhere, or just have existing facilities better advertised and make sure people using them can grab a bite or cuppa. There's a national park in Cavendish, a park in West Prince, another near Charlottetown and there ought to be something on the eastern shore.
We wrap it up and eat some cookies together, with very bad coffee. However, it’s flavoured with a lot of hospitality. I return to Summerside with fond memories of a group of people struggling to keep their traditions and language alive.
(c) 2010, Dominique Millette
Despite the -30 wind chill, it's a beautiful Sunday morning. I'm alone and headed from Summerside, on the west central coast of Prince Edward Island, to Souris, on the easternmost tip of the province. It's around 185 miles there and back (300 km), a four-hour round trip on these meandering winter highways. My destination is an Acadian music jam, which is quite rare in the province and especially the area. There are barely 8,000 Francophones on the Island as a whole and 70 per cent of them are in the western part of the Island, in Prince County.
Music brings everyone together. Despite their small numbers, Acadians participate eagerly in the provincial and East Coast music scene. The band Vishtèn, hailing from both P.E.I. and the Magdalen Islands, has acquired an international fan base. Fiddlers Caroline Bernard and Louise Arsenault are known throughout the Maritimes, the latter a former recipient of the regional Golden Fiddle award. Lennie Gallant is a regional award winner who writes and sings in both languages.
Souris is a French name that means "mouse", and, according to the town marina's website, likely comes from an infestation of mice that occurred around 1724. In 1744 it was identified on a map as "Havre à la Souris", or "Mouse Harbour." This is the first time I've ever heard of a town named after an infestation, but I guess anything can happen. The town was first settled by French fishermen from Normandy in the early 1700s. Even today, the website is bilingual. It's the main port for anyone wanting to go to the Magdalen Islands, which are part of Québec.
I do my best to navigate roads with lines so faded it's hard to tell if the right lane exits or if cars can go straight.
In Charlottetown, I stop to grab some lunch, since most restaurants along the highway are closed except fast food outlets or gas station counters. This is the poorest province in Canada, with the lowest wages. I'm guessing people are so poor no one wants to risk opening a restaurant or café and not getting enough customers. Of course, there's also the fact that the entire province has fewer than 200,000 people.
As it veers away from Charlottetown, Highway 2 goes north, then south again, along the coast. Seeing ocean coves and harbours wrapped in ice gives them a completely different vibe. Still. Remote. Suspended. Asleep.
Fishing boats hauled up from their watery habitats lie stranded on their owner's lawns. They loom over pickup trucks, SUVs and sometimes even dwarf the houses. The signs of lobster restaurants designed for the tourist season dangle and creak in the omnipresent wind, accentuating shuttered windows and darkened doorways. Many snowbanks are the colour of Island dirt, a deep reddish brown.
I get to the music jam and it's at the local school, which turns out to be a series of portables cobbled together. The school has 40 students. According to the organizer, about ten people show up on average every month. Today, the ten include about four children. Not everyone speaks French, so we have to speak English most of the time. We sing traditional French songs with two guitars. One woman has an Irish drum but doesn't quite know how to play it. I’ll be more of a spectator, with ears wide open.
Afterwards, I ask about the size of the French-speaking population in Souris and the organizer doesn't know. It isn't easy to find online either. Souris is in Kings. I'm guessing the French-speaking population is about 100.
Meanwhile, two of the people who have shown up own a Bed and Breakfast about 18 miles (30 km) west, the Tír na nÓg Inn. It’s one of the very few such facilities open all year. Will, the husband, says he's involved in trying to encourage winter tourism on the Island. That would be great. I'd be a major customer if I could go snowshoeing or horse-sledding and then go have lunch or at least some hot chocolate and snacks somewhere. I hope Island businesses can make something happen. Maybe if it's concentrated somewhere, or just have existing facilities better advertised and make sure people using them can grab a bite or cuppa. There's a national park in Cavendish, a park in West Prince, another near Charlottetown and there ought to be something on the eastern shore.
We wrap it up and eat some cookies together, with very bad coffee. However, it’s flavoured with a lot of hospitality. I return to Summerside with fond memories of a group of people struggling to keep their traditions and language alive.