We came through the winter thinking we knew what was essential. I watched the rancher’s cattle scrounge for grass on the wintering grounds. The cattle face east this morning, where the tractor or the quad will appear. They stand perfectly still—vigilant, to a...
July, 1983 When my family came back from Beirut, we took a taxi to 5972 12th Avenue, Rosemont: the one fixed point in the ever-changing landscape of my childhood. Now that my father’s peacekeeping mission was over, Grandmaman and Grandpapa’s brownstone was where we...
The first time I was ever on the St. Lawrence River was with my father. He would load my mother, my older sister, and me, into his motorboat and navigate from the Verdun Yacht Club to one of the river’s many offshore islands for a picnic. In one of my favourite...
