
Last week-end, for Thanksgiving, four friends and I rented a lovely ancestral home in the mountains, between Saint-Sauveur and Mont-Tremblant. On Saturday, Alex made his grandmother's borscht and on Sunday, I roasted a turkey and prepared a feast. We drank by the fire pit until four in the morning, visited Tremblant Village and the resort, drank wine by the fireplace and escaped to quiet corners to read, write, think and nap. Several deer came up to the house and, although we heard wolves and coyotes howling every night, one wolf got within 200 feet of the house and howled for a good ten minutes, while I cooked. All in all, it was pretty goddamn...