Christmas in July

The COVID-19 pandemic held in thrall so much of the world’s economy, and ended the lives, or damaged them, of so many around the world, that the restrictions imposed upon us all began to seem the ‘new normal’. Even this clumsy characterization became a cliché. The Toronto grandchildren had not been to see their grandparents since Christmas 2019, although the use of Zoom had helped ease the distance somewhat. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but this truism was no compensation for official disapproval of all physical contact between family members on account of the fear of contagion. Eventually, however, vaccinations eased the restrictions, and long-postponed reunions could be eagerly awaited once more.

Paul and Lisette prepared to receive Michaela, her little brother Daniel, and their parents for their Canada Day arrival. Lisette brought out gifts that Santa had left for them months before, and placed them under a miniature artificial tree lit up for the occasion: Christmas in July. Paul mounted a ladder to hang paper streamers from the eavestrough in place of the outdoor lights that had been put away months before. The long-awaited meeting was a success, with enthusiastic hugs all round in defiance of the pandemic, now mercifully in retreat. It was a hot day, with cloudless skies and temperatures in the high twenties. The air conditioning had taken the place of the furnace, and instead of snow and sledding on the hill at the park, there were screams of delight at the park’s splashpad and water tunnel, luxuriant green grass having long replaced the neighbourhood rink and its boards, and snowsuits and scarves having become swimsuits and sandals.  Instead of Christmas dinner with twelve family members wedged snugly into the card tables in front of a roaring fireplace, there was birdsong and sunburn on the deck over a barbecue, with sausages and chicken instead of turkey and mince pies. They still sang Christmas carols loudly at supper to the amusement of the neighbours, but could not attend church as was their custom, as access to worship services was then still severely limited. The children eagerly awaited the next phase of their visit to their grandparents’ home, this time a short stay at their cousins’ cottage high above Lac Forgeron, a two-hour drive east along the highway to Montreal and then directly north from Ange-Gardien in the direction of Mont-Laurier along the bank of the Lievre River, through picturesque rolling countryside interspersed with the occasional wayside village with its depanneur and casse-croute, past Notre-Dame-de-la-Salette where a 1908 landslide had taken the lives of many of its inhabitants during the night while they slept: some 39 villagers’ bodies were never recovered, and the slide’s enduring effect was to divert the course of the Lievre River from then on. So absorbed were the children by what they saw, including counting and reading French signs en route with a little correction from Lisette, that they never asked the question all parents dread, “Are we there yet?”