Today I drove just under seven hundred kilometres with my cat in the passenger seat to a trailer in the woods in Quebec.
The further east I drove the more the temperature dipped, and as I pulled into my new corner of the world, everything was covered in a thick wet blanket of white. Good thing I had my snow tires removed last week.
Up the muddy, snowy laneway until a rusty old trailer came into view. We’re here, I said to Murray, who had finally squeezed himself onto my lap, sandwiched between my legs and the steering wheel.
Through the door, with the classic creak and bang of any old trailer door, was a wood stove, a table, a little kitchen area, a bed. With numb fingers I lit a fire, then scrambled back and forth to the car to unpack my now very meagre belongings, as fat snowflakes settled over everything that wasn’t moving.
First order of business, find water from the “beautiful natural well” where my water for cooking, washing and drinking will be hauled from for the next month or so.
Followed the sign for eau in faded blue paint, through the muddy woods to a small wooden shed. Inside was a murky black hole with dead frogs in the bottom. Texted Marie, who rented me my hiding place a few weeks ago.
Just sweep away the cobwebs and dunk your bottle bottom first. It’s perfectly fine!
… maybe boil it first, just to be safe. But I’m sure it’s perfect!
Good. Great. This is what I wanted. The adventure(?) begins.