At the Greenhouse

Yesterday I went to Île d’Orléans to buy flowers.

It was the end of the season, and one of my usual greenhouses had already closed. I found another family-run nursery instead. There weren’t many customers, so I ended up spending nearly an hour talking with the owners.

They’ve spent more than fifty years building their life on the island. Orchards, flowers, vegetables, jams, the Grand Marché… the work never really stops. Seven days a week, season after season. At one point, the woman told me she now closes an hour earlier than she used to because she had a heart attack a few years ago. “It’s a good thing we love what we do,” she smiled.

As we talked, I realized we weren’t really talking about flowers anymore. We talked about life on the island, about farming, and about what it means to care for a place over time. They spoke about neighbours who rent their land to other farmers, making sure it continues to be worked with respect.

We talked about old homes that are lovingly preserved and others that have been stripped of their character, and I told them about the 1867 house I once owned on the island and how important it had been to me to preserve its soul. They smiled when I told them I had come from a farming community myself. “A kind recognizes kind,” I said, and I realized that was why I always feel so welcome on the island.

Before I left, they told me that perhaps one day, when I finally retire, I would come back for good. I laughed and told them that, in many ways, I already do. Almost every week I find myself crossing to the island to buy fruit or vegetables, to stop in somewhere, and to chat with people. They still feel like my people.

Afterward, Buddy and I went down to the beach.

As he ran through the water, I found myself thinking about the conversation we’d just had. How fortunate I am to have this season of my life. At 55, I have the freedom to spend an afternoon with my dog, wander the island, plant flowers in my garden, and simply enjoy a summer day.

Their life and mine look very different, but each carries its own kind of richness.

It’s easy to admire the beauty of Île d’Orléans—the orchards, the river, the villages—but yesterday reminded me that the real beauty of the island has always been its people.

I have a feeling I’ll go back.