Street of Riches

Balade on Deschambault Street, the street and the book

Warning: If you hope to shed new light on the work of Gabrielle Roy here, you must stop reading now. NOW !

I went to the intersection of Rue Deschambault / Street of Riches (the text published in 1955) and rue Deschambault (the street in Saint-Boniface); my interest in plants took me on various tangents. And I got lost. But I learned a little about the plants and animals encountered at the intersection of the two Rue Deschambault. And it is my learnings that I humbly share here. I hope I haven't forgotten any excerpts from the text where other plants or animals are named.

I have no naturalist training; I've stated this elsewhere, so it must be true. Do not believe everything you read here, nor the contrary. It is very likely that the information is accurate, but also very possible that it is not. Discussion is permitted.

Note that what is in red (I couldn't find any other colors) comes from Gabrielle Roy's text and that what I say is in black. Although most of what is shown was seen in the neighborhood, not all of the photos were taken on Rue Deschambault or along the Seine River nearby; they nevertheless illustrate (very?) well elements of the environment. Also note that the identification that accompanies each photo has been confirmed by an expert, which reduces (not eliminates) the risk of error.

And now that my intentions are understood, let's continue reading - if we still wish. Bonne balade.

Photos : birthplace of Gabrielle Roy; at the end of rue Deschambault, access to the river and the Gabrielle-Roy trail; the Seine river nearby, in winter, you guessed it. 20220128

When he built our home, my father took as model the only other house then standing on the brief length of Rue Deschambault — still unencumbered by any sidewalk, as virginal as a country path stretching through thickets of wild roses (in French text : aubépine, hawthorn) and, in April, resonant with the music of frogs. Maman was pleased with the street, with the quiet, with the good, pure air there, for the children,

Let's talk hawthorn (which we still find today, probably tomorrow too, at the end of the street). Its Latin name, Crataegus, refers to the hardness of its wood. Leaves and flowers are said to have medicinal properties. The fruits can be used to make compotes and the thorns are said to have been used by Aboriginal peoples in Western Canada to make hooks. What we learn on Wikipedia! A symbol of innocence in Antiquity, its discreet presence in Gabrielle Roy's childhood memories is then very appropriate. Maybe.

Often of an evening my mother would go out on the open porch in front of our big house and say to my sister Odette, "Supper is ready. Run over and tell your father; he's still at the Guilberts'. Bring him back before any argument begins."

Odette would sally forth across the field. When she reached the Guilberts', there my father would be, his pipe clamped between his teeth, leaning against our neighbor's gate and chatting peaceably with Monsieur Guilbert about rosebushes, apple trees, and asparagus. So long as the two men were on such subjects, there was no need for alarm; and here Monsieur Guilbert was willing enough to accept my father's views, since he granted that my father knew more about gardening than he did. Then Odette would espy Gisèle's face at one of the upstairs windows. Gisèle would call out, "Wait for me, Odette; I'm coming down. I want to show you my tatting."

About what type of roses were discussing MM. Roy and Guilbert? The question piques my curiosity but, for lack of expertise in this field, I will move away from it to focus on wild roses (oh! maybe that was the subject of discussion?) and their surprises.

To date, there are 115,000 species of wasps. The number comes from an expert, not from Wikipedia, and does not, of course, take into account the wasps whose existence is not yet known. Some orders of wasps, not all, produce galls; I will come back to this. Connoisseurs identify four species of roses that are native to the province, and some grow along the Seine River; I hope you find some that have galls.

Here (photos) are three (a novice's number) types of galls. The first is formed on the stem of a Woods' rose, the second on a leaf of an arctic rose or a Woods' rose, and the third on a bud of a prairie rose. The identification of the wild rose remains a challenge for me, especially since some roses (according to another expert) can hybridize (is it correctly said?) with another species, like hawthorns do. So good luck to the wasps, most of which specialize in one or a few types of roses. Note that other wasps have no interest in laying eggs in roses and only visit blueberry, or oaks, or…

Speaking of specialization, the same goes for weevils: depending on the species, they are only seen on hollyhocks, or clovers, thistles, etc. Here (photo), this guy lives on the rose. Weevils are herbivore and recognized as crop pests. Perhaps not the one in the photo, which limits its activities to wild roses. Note the presence of antennae on the rostrum (oral organ which allows holes to be made - and a drop of water to pass around). And yes, weevils are easier to photograph than gall former wasps.

Like two good neighbours, insects and roses seem to go together, depending on each other without harming their growth - at least no neighbor told me otherwise. The gall changes the appearance of the host plant without jeopardizing its survival. Another time perhaps, I will dwell on the roses. You were warned: I was going to get lost.

1. Galls from wasp Diplolepis spinosa, 20211016.   2. Rose curculio, 20210629.
3. Galls from wasp Diplolepis polita, 20210612. 4. Gall from wasp Rabdophaga rosacea, 20210905

Prickly rose, 20210618.                                      Woods' rose, 2020613.                                Rosa arkansana, 20210720.

Apple tree ! Gathering tree: jays and other birds, colors, squirrels, children, smells if apples are left to rot on the ground, as well as wasps and other insects, then, later, gatherings of another kind around cakes, pies, jams, juices, ciders, etc.

Wikipedia claims that there are several thousand varieties of apples; I will list them in a future publication, identifying the species that are native to the province (none it seems) and those that have been introduced. What species was on the menu of the discussions heard by Gabrielle Roy? I choose (and my chances are good: one in a few thousand): the species Malus domestica, the common or domestic apple tree - of which there are 20,000 varieties. My choice is justified as follows: I only have photos of this kind of apple tree, taken in one wood or another. Let's admit that it could also be a question of crabapple, which others call Malus cv, a smaller tree which gives smaller apples, and of which there are several cultivars.

In the end, the world of the apple is all one to discover: you just have to fall into it.

Asparagus (experts add "garden" to its name, "cultivated" in its French name and, when they speak Latin: Asparagus officinalis) is a plant introduced to the province. It is found today, in addition to gardens, almost everywhere in the country; I have seen them in several wooded areas of the city. There is a good chance of finding seedlings when hiking the trails along the Seine River. Grains stolen by birds, mammals or the wind, then scattered far from the gardens? Do some asparagus plants found in the woods not far from rue Deschambault have ancestors who grew up with the Roy or the Guilbert?

Asparagus has been used for 2000 years for its medicinal and food properties. It would seem that it prefers soil that is not disturbed and that it can lengthen 15 cm in a day. We eat the shoots, the young shoots developed from the buds attached to the stems. Rather rare plant in the forest (compared to others) but easy to recognize in all seasons. Personally, I find that shiny pods (not berries!) give off a certain magic, a smile in the woods.

Out of patience, Maman would ship me off to corral them all. But I would chance to meet the Guilberts' dog, and we would start playing in the tall grass (in French text : folle avoine, wild oat); among us all, now at loggerheads, now so closely knit, I think that only I and the Guilbert dog were always of the same temper.

Meanwhile, the Guilberts were having serious money trouble. Monsieur Guilbert had retired because of age; the large house, so similar to our own, was mortgaged. The children who were still at school required heavy expenditures. When she realized how distracted her neighbor was, my mother tried to help without wounding Madame Guilbert's pride. One day she sent her a quantity of hare, of which she claimed to have far too great a supply, and on another occasion, when we had received

In Saint-Boniface, on Street of Riches by Gabrielle Roy, as in La Tuque, barefoot (Pieds nus dans l'aube) by Félix Leclerc or in Natasquan in certain songs from Gilles Vigneault, each neighbor is a character, has a story, and inhabits a corner of the imagination. Each neighbor can become the subject of a story, a memory. Like, at home, far from here: my Claude and his brown paper bag, the Oscar and his driving, this Madeleine and her telephone calls, the cousin's husband and his rocking chair, Lionel - ah! Lionel - and his adventures. Or the girl next door. Especially the girl next door. So, here or there, the legend is perhaps only a color of reality.

If I chose the extract above, it is because it presents an animal: the hare. Townsend's hare? Snowshoe hare? Cottontail rabbit? But since I don't have any presentable photos of any of these species seen in Winnipeg, I'm content to highlight the importance of real people in childhood memories. I will not mention "Moi mes souliers : journal d'un lièvre à deux pattes" (Me my shoes: diary of a two-legged hare), autobiography by Félix Leclerc, in order to avoid making connections between hares where none exist.

Let us come back here, to this web page, when a local hare has come closer to the lens of my cell phone camera.

In those days on Rue Deschambault we lived as though we were in the country. But along Rue Desmeurons, where our street ended, and which itself was none too built up, a yellow trolley car passed by every fifteen minutes. It discharged very few passengers for Deschambault:

On these same evenings, so soft, so perfumed — for in those days along Rue Deschambault there were untouched stands of clover and wild hay, which a man sent by the city would cut down with a scythe only at summer's end — on these evenings which were summer itself, my mother would often "fetch" Madame Guilbert for a little walk. 

Four species of clover grew at ease in front of me, all introduced into the province. Someone (not me) has encountered a fifth species in Manitoba: the golden clover, Trifolium aureum. Clover is known for its protein content for ruminants: was it part of the diet of the cow Bossie, a gift to Gabrielle Roy on her eighth birthday?

On my photos, you can clearly see the inflorescence (the cluster of flowers) which attracts the bees producing the honey. The plant also feeds several types of moth caterpillars. From a less down-to-earth perspective, the clover is, for some, associated with magic; a number of leaves greater than three announces a happy event, which may vary depending on the number of leaves. Don't forget: trèfle, three; the usual number of leaves. Depending on one's beliefs, it may be necessary to examine the plants before mowing them.

      Alsike clover, 20210830.                    White clover, 20210917.                          Red clover, 20210818.              Rabbitfoot cloverf, 20210803.

to me, the wind whistled. Even at that age I loved the wind in high places, attacking neither men nor trees, doing no harm, a simple traveler who whistles as he goes. Two large elms planted by my father thrust their highest branches to the edge of my window; by stretching my neck a little, I could watch them sway; and that, too, must have been for me alone, since I was the only person perched high enough to espy the upper branches of our elms.

Later my brother came to the foot of the stairs to cry out to me that he was going fishing in the little river ... would I go with him? ... make up my mind! He was not referring to the Red, our valley's important river, but to our small Seine, a narrow watercourse that twisted its way onward like a snake between thickets filled with rose haws, a tiny river buried in the grass, muddy, secret, of little danger to us, even were we to plunge into it headfirst... my pretty river, green as cats' eyes!

Very interesting article on passportsante.net whose information is echoed on other sites: fruits integrated into several indigenous recipes, particular smell of the flower, use to treat certain heart conditions, use of wood in the manufacture of tools, etc. It is said elsewhere that a wine can be produced with the fruits. Of course, I recommend not taking any initiative before talking to an expert. While talking to her/him, ask why this tree has two names in French. Merci !

Photos : buds, fruits and thorn. 20220128

We would leave the house together, and I was enchanted at seeing that we always took to the wilder side of the street. Never did we go — Alicia and I — toward town; that did not interest us; we would follow the narrow wooden sidewalk as far as the last house on our street. Then we would continue on across the fields, soon reaching our little grove of black oaks. In my childhood I thought this grove huge; I believed it a forest I have long realized that it was merely a largish clump of trees none too close together; it could not even wholly hide from us the distant gable of our house. No matter; it was among these small black oaks that I most fully felt the slightly dangerous mystery, the attractions, the solemn joy of being in the woods. Alicia helped me maintain this feeling. She would say to me, as we drew near our little oaks, "See! They look just like conspirators wrapped in their long, black coats." Then we forgot that the oaks were conspirators; we stretched out on the grass and watched the acorns fall, which sometimes landed right on our noses, when we had not been quick enough to dodge them. We could spend hours without exchanging a word. 

Black oak (Quercus nigra), as a species, grows particularly in the southeastern United States. If the word black rather refers to the color of our "usual" oak (bur oak, Quercus macrocarpa, a native tree of the province), it is more likely to see this species in town and, among other places, along of the Seine river.

Here's one. In mid-winter, lateral buds and terminal buds (photo 1) are ready, covered with a scale. We also see a down; we have the fur coat we can. Inside, small leaves wait for the heat to come out. Strange flower here (photo 2); no, it's more of a gall! A wasp (Andricus quercusfrondosus, yes) laid its eggs in the bud, which caused a chemical reaction, an outgrowth of tissue, a gall. And there (photo 3), other galls from another type of wasp (Disholcaspis quercusmamma): obviously, the eggs hatched and the larvae found the exit by eating their way out.

The oak therefore seems very welcoming for certain types of wasps, as well as for the silence of conspirators. Here, my next game: try to spot galls at different times of the year. A challenge: finding a wasp that causes one of these galls.

a meal. Thus quite often we persuaded Maman to give us permission to take some bread and jam, which we then consumed — was it not strange? — in a cornfield lying a little beyond the oak grove on the edge of the diminutive Seine River. This spot was not a bit comfortable - it afforded us no least level space on which to spread out our food, and obviously there was no view. Nonetheless, between the high rows of corn, Alicia and I had long taken delight in

Corn ? Where could this pleasant, and uncomfortable, field of corn be found? No trace on rue Deschambault.

The plant is native to Mexico. Yes, several countries are represented in Gabrielle Roy's text. Traveling the other way around: meeting elsewhere right at home. I will have to look at this idea more closely. I think about it: wasn't there later the Spanish, the Pekingese in Gabrielle Roy's writing?

The small countryside at the end of rue Deschambault remains a place to consider for enjoying bread and jam; no banal table though. Be careful: the plants and animals encountered in the text are not the only ones that we will see along the Seine River! Should I mention poison ivy, coyote, mosquito? Simple precautions are enough to avoid unwanted meetings. Have a nice picnic!

notions as well. I think that we were very happy, since we had only the most ordinary worries: thus, would the fine empty fields west of our house remain so ? One day or another should we not see rising there some wretched structure which would cut off our view and shut out our lovely early sunlight? Up until then it invaded unhindered all our windows on that side, and there were several of them that faced east; in those days care was taken to face the windows of a house toward the warmest sun of the day. Yes, I believe this was then our most serious worry: would we lose our sunshine!

My stroll on rue Deschambault is coming to an end. I've checked: the sun always rises on the east end. About worries: ordinary, perhaps, yes; especially if we can put them into perspective, and lose some of them in the wild. As for the buildings, I found them nice - but I didn't go inside any of them. And if they block the view of the sun, there is, waiting for our steps, a path nearby, forgotten memories, and others to be invented.

What would the Guilbert family have to say?

in the pools not far from our house, some evening toward April, began a kind of piercing, vibrant music, softly sad withal, which lasted almost all summer, only to cease whenever the water in these pools had been wholly consumed by the sun or by the earth.

The tiny singers — hundreds of frogs - were invisible. Emerging from winter, from their numbness, from the mud, did they recapture this thin, strident