Going to Howick was the best trip I’ve taken in years. Peu importe that it’s only 30 miles from home. We’d been planning the trip for about two months, ever since I had Mom and Dad talk to Aunt Nita about growing up in Howick, PQ, and moving to Churubusco, NY. She said she could remember how to get to her old home, from which she’d moved 81 years ago. She’s been back to Howick to visit family several times over the years, driving past her old house once or twice. The last time she’d visited was about ten years ago.
Michaelene and I took a four-day weekend to go home for the trip. To get the long weekend, I went to work 12 days in a row. I knew it’d be worth it. We told Aunt Nita we’d pick her up around 11:00 Sunday morning. My only preparation was to get a map from Malone to Howick off Mapquest, at my father’s request. Take Route 189 over the border crossing at Churubusco. Route 189 becomes Québec Provincial Route 209. Turn left on Provincial Route 203 to Howick. Sounded simple enough. We got to Malone around 11:10 am, a little late due to the weather. It was cold and snowy, about 20 degrees and snowing sideways. I was nervous when we went into get Aunt Nita. After speaking indirectly to her for so long, face-to-face interaction was sure to be more difficult. But when we stepped into her apartment, her face lit up as she stood and opened her arms for a hug. Michaelene was still at the doorway when Aunt Nita offered her the same greeting. We drove off into the North Country weather.
When we got to the border crossing in Churubusco, the customs officer asked for the purpose of our visit to Canada. When we explained it to him, he smiled and wished us luck. So we continued into the Great White North. We continued north on 209. As we passed Route 201 on the left, Aunt Nita thought it looked familiar. We pulled over and discussed what to do…follow Mapquest’s directions or the directions of Aunt Nita’s memory? We decided to continue on 209 to find 203. After about 15 minutes, as we approached St. Chrysostome, we decided we’d gone too far in that direction. So we turned back around to take 201.
Just as we turned on 201, there was a little gas station on the right, with another road just past it leading off into the woods. Aunt Nita thought that road looked familiar too. We decided it was time to ask for directions. I, being the more mobile of the two Francophones in the car, was sent in to inquire. The teenaged girl working inside seemed unsure at first, but finally decided that we should keep going down 201 until we reached Ormstown. At the “quatre-stop” there would be a Petro-Canada on the corner. There we were to take a right on Route 138 toward Montréal. I got back in the car and we headed in that direction. After a few miles we stopped at a second gas station for snacks and to double-check on directions. The teenagers working there said we were headed the right way, so we continued on. About ten minutes after turning onto Route 138, we passed a sign surrounded by cornfields saying “Bienvenue à la paroisse de Très-St-Sacrament” (Welcome to the parish of Très-St-Sacrament). Aunt Nita recognized that as the name of her church, so we knew we were getting close.
Finally, after a couple hours of driving, we arrived in Howick. We made a right turn onto the main street through the town. The first landmark we saw was a small family-owned restaurant, “Restaurant aux Pierro.” We continued on down the road about a half mile more before reaching the church, Très-St-Sacrament. Aunt Nita recognized this as the church she and her family went to while living in Howick. They didn’t go every Sunday, though. Living out in the country, she said they only attended mass when they were able to beg a ride from one of the neighbors. I got out and took a few snowy pictures, then got back in the car to discuss our next move. Aunt Nita said she couldn’t remember how to get to her old house from the church, so that option was ruled out. We were all getting hungry, as it was nearing 1:00 pm. We headed back to Restaurant aux Pierro for lunch and to ask for some assistance in finding our way. |
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Upon entering the restaurant, its three tables and barstools seemed to give it the feel of a small town diner. Only its décor was of bright, vivid colors, and the people working there approached us as strangers, more with curiosity than with disdain. The waitress was genuinely friendly, by nature, not by job requirement. Michaelene and Mom ordered chicken sandwiches, Dad and Aunt Nita ordered club sandwiches, and I got a sous-marin avec les frites dedans (subwith the fries inside). |
The waitress seemed amused and, with a smile, said she’d have to explain it to the cook. When she came back with our food, my father explained to her the reason for our trip. This sparked her interest. She said she’d be right back.
She asked what road we were looking for. Aunt Nita told her Road 4, “Rang du Quatre.” The one thing that sticks out the most in my mind was how gentle and respectful the waitress was toward Aunt Nita. Whenever she was talking to her, she’d bend over and get right down at Aunt Nita’s level. Her tone of voice and even her body language changed as she spoke to Aunt Nita. I don’t remember the names of anyone in the restaurant, but I remember the waitress telling Aunt Nita that she was the grand-daughter of Emile Bergevin, who as it turns out went to school with Aunt Nita. After some discussion, the younger waitress, who was 16, came over to give us directions to Road 4. She was given that task, since her English was better than the other waitress'. It was just up past the church, about a mile or two away. We thanked her and continued eating lunch.
During our meal, the cook came out to inquire about my sandwich. I told her I’d first eaten them like that in France. Intrigued, she said she’d have to add the “European Sandwich with Howick Sauce” to her menu. Twice, as we pointed to something on the menu or on the counter, the waitress thought we were pointing to her and rushed out to see what we needed. What service! All throughout the meal, we could see everyone in the restaurant talking and debating about the subject of Road 4.
Just before we finished our meal, an older couple came over to our table to help us. They explained how the roads used to be numbered 1, 2, 3, and 4, but were eventually changed to Roads 10, 20, 30, and 40. Four other roads were then designated Roads 1, 2, 3, and 4. This new Road 4 was the one that the young waitress had given us directions to. After about 15 minutes of discussion, the older man decided that the Road 4 we were looking for was now Fertile Creek Rd. He gave us directions, and as we left everyone wished us |
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luck, bade us adieu, and demanded that we return another time to let them know how everything turned out.
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We got back into the car, energized not only by our full stomachs but also by a renewed sense of confidence. We turned left out of the parking lot, and took another left to head south on Route 138. Following the final set of directions given to us at the restaurant, we then took another left onto “Chemin du Rocher”. One final left put us on “ Fertile Creek Rd,” which |
still had “Rang du Quatre” on the sign. About a mile ahead, Aunt Nita letus know, very matter-of-factly, that her grandparents lived over there on the right. We continued another mile or so when, again, matter-of-factly, Aunt Nita told us that this was where she used to live. The old house had since been torn down, with a new one built just in front. Across the road and to the north stood the farm where Arthur Kerr lived. It was Kerr who’d employed Aunt Nita’s father, Henri, and rented the house to them. We pulled over in front of the house, sitting in awe that we’d finally found it, not moving for about five minutes. I got off a few pictures through the snowstorm, and Aunt Nita told us a few more stories from her childhood. Then, almost anti-climactically, we turned around to head home, having accomplished our mission.
On the way back, we followed Aunt Nita’s directions. It was soon quite evident that we should have listened to her in the first place. Every road that looked familiar to her on the way into Howick was the right one. And had we taken those roads, we would have cut at least a half hour off our travel time.
After crossing the border back into Churubusco, we drove to her family’s final home just a mile or two south of the border. If you take the proper route, it’s about a 25 mile trip. Aunt Nita described to us how her mother Cecilia, lonely and never having wanted to leave Québec in the first place, made the journey back to Howick by foot more than once. |
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All in all, it was a long day filled with all different emotions. Aunt Nita seemed to be calm and subdued the whole time. But as my father was driving her back to her apartment, she told him that that had been the most fun she’d had in a real long time. We were all relieved to know that she felt the same way we did.
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