To Hell and Back

It was during one of those crazy heat waves in July 2014 that we decided naively to clear a section of our land in order to have a better idea where to locate the house's footprint. We had spotted a surveyor's marker between us and the neighboring property which gave us a vague idea of ​​the real extent of the width. On the plans supplied with the purchasing contract, and Google Earth, you could see the property.  However, in the real world, when you walk on land still uncultivated, it is not obvious at all. In addition, Pierre was already designing the house and had to explore the possibilities of applying for an international accreditation system according to an eco point allocation. The house's position in regards to the sun and winter winds was crucial since this was to be a sustainable ecohouse. In addition, we wanted to maximize our view of the St-Lawrence River. In other words, the egg had to come before the chicken. What we did not know was that we would have to go to hell and back to find that chicken.
 
Armed with new toys like our chainsaw for which we viewed the training video, brushcutters and our lunch, we began cutting where it seemed logical to locate the house. After several hours of hard work and accomplishing very little, we rationalized as the intellectuals we are, that viewing chainsaw videos did not make us instant experts and neither all the Youtube videos in the world. It was obvious that we had underestimated the task. First, it was not the best time to engage in brush clearing as the heat waves were overwhelming. Second, despite our best efforts, we had never seen so many Alders in all our lives. It seemed as though they were regenerating as soon as we cut them down. Needless to say, our famous cutters were too small for the job. We needed Big Bertha. Third, as we thought we were making progress, we realized that the area cleared was tiny. Every night, like the stubborn people we are, we headed back to our hotel with our heads hanging pretty low. After a well-deserved shower, we would crash into bed before the cows came home to soothe our real and imaginary aches.

We repeated this exercise for two weeks except on weekends when we returned to Gatineau to refuel physically and psychologically. The third week, while cutting wood and moaning to the high heavens, we heard the hum of a powerful engine. Finally! A sign of civilization among the Alders of hell! The noise of the excavator came from our neighbor who was digging her well. I have no need to elaborate, but in a flash, we had hired Claude Tremblay of TB Excavation who, after inspecting the field we had cleared, announced that he would take the contract and clear the desired area in addition to stacking the trees that would be good for firewood. At last, the planets had just alligned.

 A few weeks later, as promised, Claude cleared the area and the possible building site miraculously appeared in front of us. For the first time, you could see approximately where the house would be located. As the cold winds coming up from the St-Lawrence reminded us that autumn would soon vanish, we decided to return when the first snow would come to burn the huge pile of debris that Claude had thoughtfully packed for us in the center of the area.

November, the first snow had just fallen and we returned to the lot with our game plan to burn our famous mountain of trees. I remembered having seen farmers burn trees in their fields and it all seemed pretty simple. Call the municipality to warn them you will be burning and all would be well. To add to our strategy, I watched videos on YouTube to see how others did a safe burn. Ah the joys of the self taught woodsperson.Armed with all our gear, we lit the fire at 9am. The wind was calm and the fire was tame. The municipality had been informed and when neighbors came to check where the smoke was coming from, we nodded back at them giving the impression that we knew exactly what we were doing and that everything was fine. Around noon, while eating our sandwiches, we could see that bulk carriers on the St-Lawrence followed the coast a little closer than usual. No doubt they watched the fire. We waved at them with a big smile as if they could see us. I could imagine the master of the bulk carrier watching us with binoculars and just shrug in amazement..
 By 4.30 pm, it was obvious that the saga of big pile would go on forever. Night fall was coming and the fire was still burning. Considering that we would spend the evening to watch the fire, I went to get supplies at the Metro in La Malbaie. I knew that I smelt like smoke, however, if I had cast a glance in the rearview mirror before leaving the car to buy our supper, I would have noticed much more. I could see that children in the grocery store were afraid of me and their parents were speechless. Nevertheless, I finished my shopping and went back to join Pierre at the fire. It was not necessarily dinner by the warm glow of candlelight, still we ate by the fire that would not die. I must say that it was rather beautiful. It was a starry night typical of Charlevoix. The skies here are impressive in their nightly displays. There is even an astronomical observatory in La Malbaie.

As bulk carriers continued to roam the coast with all their lights, they looked like floating fortresses. Our big pile of trees had diminished significantly as we diligently watched the blaze continue to glow into the night. The red embers  looked like lava. From time to time we got up to stir the ashes and blow them with the leaf blower to hasten the process. Finally, at 22:30, it was over. Returning to the Domaine Forget where we had rented a studio, we had the surprise of our lives. While undressing, we could see ourselves for the first time in the bathroom mirror. We could not stop laughing. Our faces were black as ebony. That's when I realized why the children were afraid of me at Metro. The next morning we went back to see the result of our fire. The heat had been so intense that the soil Under the fire had baked. Satisfied that all was in order, we went for a stroll on the riverfront, promising to return in the spring to survey the land.

The moral of this story. Although  modern settlers view training videos about chainsaws, the wood is far from being cut. When it takes a big Berta, it really takes one to do the job. Next time, we will make smaller piles to burn and take a good look in the mirror before going to Metro not to scare the local children. The descent into hell lasted more than twelve hours of monitoring. When you first realize you're still stuck with brush that will not burn and that you have run out of munchies or toilet paper, you start to ask yourself what on earth we you thinking. One consolation: at least in November, there are no mosquitoes.