Le Fleuve

We recently rearranged our bedroom and J.'s office are so that the two are more separate; this meant putting the office where the bed used to be. Today we spent the morning at IKEA buying shelving and cabinets, and when we picked up the items that had to be brought out separately from the self-serve warehouse, we realized there was no way they'd all fit into our (small) car. So we rented an IKEA van for $19.95/90minutes, and made a fast trip into the city and back. (No, we're not going to spend the whole afternoon putting the kits together.)

On the way back, the road runs along the St. Lawrence, across from the port with its transatlantic boats and cranes and multi-colored shipping containers piled like so many matchbox toys along the waterfront. A little closer to the city is the iconic Saarinen tower from the Montreal Olympics, and the round stadium with its ridiculous roof and multiple white peaks, always reminding me of a meringue pie. Beyond them, of course, the skyscrapers of downtown Montreal can be seen through the towers of the Jacques Cartier Bridge, spanning the wide river. On the other side of the road are the South Shore suburbs of Longueil: residential streets, small shopping centers, highway interchanges.

It's all very... urban. Very flat. A lot of people would also add "ugly."

But the river itself refuses to be anything but a river, and a wild one at that. I don't have any warm fuzzy feelings about the St. Lawrence; it looks cold, uninviting, and dangerous during every month of the year, full of unpredictable currents and whirlpools, often high, always fast. It's enormous, even here, a long ways from the gulf where it empties into the Atlantic, discharging 4 million litres of water into the ocean every second. Its width doesn't imply a flat gentleness. The Lachine rapids are still rapids, and without the canal that was built to bypass them, Montreal would still be as far inland as one could travel via the St. Lawrence alone.

Although the Vieux Port/Old City area has been developed somewhat for tourism, it's hard to imagine the city turning toward the river for recreation, any more than it does, or for aesthetics. At a distance, yes, the luxury condo-dwellers want the view of the water, but the river itself seems to remain sauvage, a dwelling-place for cormorants and gulls and many types of waterfowl, for the fish that sometimes jump from the swirling depths below the Victoria bridge, for the muskrat, mink, beaver and river otters that used to form the basis of Quebec's fur trade.

Driving along the river today, I saw it has calmed down from its spring flood. The low islands near Boucherville are emerging from the water, and the riverfront parks along the south shore bike path suddenly looked like a place I'd like to visit, binoculars in hand, to look for different bird species. When we first moved here from Vermont, all I could see near the river's edge was industrial, urban ugliness. Now I've either become more used to it, or curious enough to look past the manmade constructs toward the nature that continues to exist in spite of us.

As if to underscore my thoughts, a heron flew parallel to our route for a while today, legs outstretched, before slowing down to land in a reedy spot near the shore. We drove across the bridge, and up the steep slope that was once the bank of an inland sea. I think that's it: to me, the St. Lawrence still feels somewhat prehistoric: even if narwhals no longer swim within walking distance from my apartment, I feel like the river remembers, and maybe even waits.

Comments

[Marja-Leena]

This very personal glimpse that you offer makes for fascinating reading for me, on the other side of Canada. Montreal, the St Lawrence and Quebec are unknown to me except what I've read about in our history and media. I probably went through Montreal as a five year old immigrant on a train from the ship in Halifax enroute to Winnipeg, but I don't remember it. Our country is so huge that I've yet to have visited east of Toronto so it's on our must-see list for retirement travel.

[dale]

Two great rivers leading into North America: The Mississippi and the St Lawrence.

I only caught a glimpse of the river when I was there: I wish I'd made a little more acquaintance with it!

[lucas]

When I visited Montreal, I don't think I gave any thought to its river.

I like this story, Beth, the way it begins with IKEA and office furniture, and ends on a spooky note, the future's long shadow already falling across the water.

[AJ]

Just an architecture note, the Olympic Stadium is not by Saarinen (he died in 1961) but by French architect Roger Taillibert. I don't think Saarinen did anything in Montreal, but we do have several classic International Style Modernist examples: several Mies buildings (apartments and gas station on Nuns' Island, Westmount Square), I.M Pei's Place Ville Marie, the CIL building (now known as Telus Tower) by Skidmore, Owings Merrill, the CIBC tower by Canadian architect Peter Dickinson, and the "cheese grater" Chateau Champlain hotel was designed by Roger D'Astous, a former pupil of Frank Lloyd Wright.

[Teresa]

This is so good it brought tears. I love your writing, and this post just captures it.

Thanks. and I'll be there in a week!

Teresa

[Dick]

This is an evocative account, Beth, detailed and specific to your own river, but speaking for 'home' rivers across the world. Whenever I'm on Hungerford Bridge across the Thames between Charing Cross and Waterloo, I have very much the same thoughts concerning the prehistoricity (can I say that?) of that mighty river.