Father Fisher

I think curiosity is to blame for the winding paths that formed my life. As a kid, I remember making the discovery that no matter how far I walked, there was always more to go.

But where to?

The St-Lawrence river didn’t seem to struggle with this decision. During the entirety of my childhood, I watched its current restlessly flow in a northeastern direction. It rushed through the lower regions of Quebec and caressed the edge of my hometown, leaking into the Atlantic.

My father would often taunt me, saying that if I fell into the river, they’d have to fish me out of the ocean.

Well, I’d never been there before. Nor had I met any fishermen.

From that moment, I wanted to know what the breeze smelled like when it rushed from the sea. What song did the wind sing that made tall grass fibers sway by the shoreline; did the fishermen hum the same tune when they floated on its surface?

After years of traveling in unplanned directions, I believe these questions are what first sparked my interest in following the St-Lawrence’s flow towards the Gaspésie Peninsula.

Full story in my

Photography

and

poetry book,

Father Fisher