My boyfriend is a true Havre-aux-Maisons native. His childhood took place « au pied de la Butte Ronde » (at the foot of our curvy hill), that steep-sloped butte that proudly rises at the end of l'Échouerie, in Pointe-Basse. True gem of the township, the sugarloaf-looking mound, adorned with a great white cross, was the preferred location for this little boy's endless adventures. In the winter, he and several of his pals would arrange to meet at Martin's house, where they would all put skates on. From there, they would roam the fields lining the hill and speed over the black ice covering the area's small frozen lakes. In the spring, when snow had melted, they would have so much fun sliding from the hilltop on what they liked to call "the small ladder" and "the tall ladder", joyfully hurtling down paths of green moss as their K-Ways got wet, or hiding in the "plaster capes", those huge chunks of whitish rock, concealed on the north side.
At the very beginning of summer, the kids would go off and explore surroundings near the stream behind Butte Ronde. Once on-site, they would tap their heels with their rubber boots until the ground shook under their feet; nothing like it to bring out frogs from moist grass. The question remaining is who would catch the most toads, each boy immersing them in their own bucket, previously filled half way with water from the stream. In the evening, crouched in a line in the darkness, hearts pounding, they would cross the culvert passing through beneath the dirt road, from the foot of the hill to Échouerie Beach. It was quite a mission for this "Stream Commando".
One day, like so many, the kids heard about Butte Ronde's legendary treasure, apparently buried in the north side of the hill. They began to picture a chest filled with jewels and gold coins. That's all they needed to elect to immediately conduct their own search. That night, with their headlamps on, while digging through every corner of the hill, under conifers' roots and bonesets, they discovered an opening covered up under rock cliffs. Without hesitation, they threw pebbles into this dark, gaping hole: right away, the boys heard a set of metallic sounds clattering, like some good omen. Stunned, they quickly realized that none of them was small enough to fit in the hole! They dashed off to their respective homes, after bringing back shovels, ropes and flashlights to that place filled with promise. Dreaming of gold bars and pearl necklaces, they dug, crawled, pounded... ultimately discovering that the highly coveted treasure was merely one big, empty gasoline can. Taking away all fleeting moments of infinite wealth!
What does it matter? Today, in my boyfriend's heart and mind, memories of his Butte Ronde shine like a priceless treasure.
