The Magic That Once Stood at 110 Chemin des Patriotes Sud

If you were to take a drive down to 110 Chemin des Patriotes Sud in Beloeil today, you would be met with an unremarkable modern, one storey building tasked with providing some forgettable service to the clientele of the neighbouring public manor. If you were inclined to stop there, step out and take a look around, I bet you wouldn't be able to guess the history and magic of the place that once stood there. The place that my grandparents, their kids and their grandkids once called home.

A lot of this may not make any sense to you; I apologise in advance. A lot of my memories of the old house were formed during the time in my life when I was too young to understand the scope of the world around me; when my social circle was limited to the people I saw frequently enough to know anything about. At the time, that circle was just my family, and that family was my whole world.

My grand-parents had 5 kids, my mother was one of them, and each of them had at least 1 of their own, totaling 11 grand kids, or 18 individuals in total-- not counting the sons and daughters-in-law.

I was the fourth born grandchild, and the third was 8 years older than me, so in a way I was kind of the first of the "second generation" of grandkids, not that it ever really made a difference in our relationship.

We were good friends, more than just the type of friends you'd normally make at that time in your life– you know, the friends by circumstance that you made because they were sitting in the seat next to you in class? I can't remember how often we saw each other at that house, but when I was younger it felt like we were there every weekend. A home away from home.

As a kid it was hard to feel like the house wasn't magical, in the sense that it was so extraordinary that I couldn't wrap my little head around the way it made me feel. Even now, at 21 years old, I have a hard time putting into words how enchanting it was, how much larger than life it could be. Even now, the only logical explanation was that it must have been magical.

If you were to take a drive down to 110 Chemin des Patriotes Sud in Beloeil 10 years ago, you'd be met with a lush, green forest and a small opening between two hedges leading into a gravel path that made its way to the front yard of the house. That was the view I always saw as my family pulled up to turn in, I never got tired of it. Going down the path felt like travelling down the forest's throat with the house at its center, like a pearl in a clam's shell.

Half-way down, the trail widened up on one side where the house's firewood was kept in a neat stack. Did I mention this was an old house? Well it was, but its age definitely contributed to its charm. Every year, right before the first snowfall, the entire family would get together to help bring wood down to the backyard so my grandparents could have easier access to it. My grandfather would bring out his tractor that had a trailer attached to it, and we'd load it with firewood over the course of an afternoon. I remember how strong I felt being able to lift more than two pieces at a time, the adults would stroke my ego by pointing out how big they thought I was going to become because of it. My secret was that I'd grab the driest pieces at the top; they were the lightest. I'm pretty sure everyone knew.

Once the trailer was full, the kids would hop in and we'd ride it all the way to the backyard, taking in the glamour before we had to unload it again when we stopped. That was my second favourite tradition at the house, the loading and unloading of the firewood. We have a picture of everyone in the trailer together lying around somewhere in my house.

Continuing to the end of the path, the forest opened up dramatically onto the property, as if it were showing off its favourite possession. All forests are magical in a different way, and occasionally they'll pull something from the outside world into their own to participate in their impenetrable festivities. The entire plot was the host, and we were the guests of honour.