Noah suggested we drive up to Morin Heights today and hike around the mountain. Both of the kids learned to ski here, as I did. I like the idea of that.
My grandmother had a home in Morin Heights, just a few kilometres from the hill. We visited most weekends when I was very young and I remember struggling to stay awake for the 1hr. drive.
My parents actually moved our family to Morin Heights for a year. We lived in a large house with 2 other families that we were very close to. The husbands all made the daily commute to their jobs in Montreal. The house was then known as the “Watchhorn Farm”. The house is now a bed and breakfast called Le Clos Jolie. I’ve stayed there with friends.
When we all moved out, one of the families we lived with either bought or rented a cottage just down the road from the hill. Behind their house there was a path that led to some falls where we would swim in the summers.
My own family began skiing at Morin Heights when Noah reached an age where lessons could be considered. It was never easy. It takes a lot to get a 6yr. old to the hill every Saturday morning for 10 weeks. When Claire reached the age for lessons she came along and further complicated our Saturday adventures. Mel also joined and occasionally skied, but mostly she’d snowshoe until we all met up at lunch after the kids lessons. We occasionally made weekends of it in rented cottages near the hill and also spent a few consecutive March Breaks in the area.
As kids do with most things, they eventually outgrew the mountain. The memories I have of my youth in Morin Heights are certainly a blend of fact and fiction. I don’t want to know what I may have wrong with the images that I have in my head. I am very fond of how I remember everything about that period. I wonder how my kids will look back on Morin Heights, our days spent skiing, cottage rentals with friends, or these early exercises of looking back on memories and hopefully realizing that they represent a model for creating a life worth living.











