Julie Larade
Canadian author Auteure canadienne ​
text in English texte en français
Reflections by Julie Larade
An Early Unexpected Christmas Gift
Un temps pour réfléchir
Yearning for Home
A link to the Past
Le jour de souvenir
Reconnecting with Craig
A Special Moment​​​​​​​​
.jpg)
Photo (avec permission) d'un pont sur la propriété de Coady and Tompkins Memorial Library à Margaree Forks sur l'île du Cap-Breton.
​
​
​
​
An Early Unexpected Christmas Gift
​
It was Christmas in 2019. We had sold our home in Saint-Joseph-Du-Moine earlier that year, and with the holiday upon us, I felt lonesome for my upright piano, which I had left behind. My mother had given me that piano nearly 50 years ago, but my vision had grown poor to the point where I couldn’t read the music. Also, since I hadn’t believed our new apartment would be large enough, I felt I had no choice but to let it go.
​
Feeling close to tears, I messaged Sabrina, the lady who had bought our house, and rashly asked her if she would keep me in mind if she ever decided to part with it. I was consoled by the fact that there would at least be little competition, for selling an upright piano, let alone giving it away, had become practically impossible. I didn’t know what I would do with it if she replied, but something pushed me to ask anyway. She said she would certainly keep me in mind, and that was the last of it for several years.
​
That Christmas passed as did many more, and I was grateful at least to have a keyboard and made do with it each year. It wasn’t the same—"Star of the Sea” never sounded like it should have—so I never played that piece again and put thoughts of my beloved piano out of my mind … until November 4, 2025, six years later, when I received a message from Sabrina. She wanted to know if I was still interested in acquiring my old piano.
​
Over those years, my vision had improved dramatically to the point where I could read, write, drive, see our children and grandchildren and … play the piano again. When I read Sabrina’s message, my legs went weak, and I could hardly breathe. But then reality struck me. I could see well enough, but how would we get a 500-pound piano up to our second-floor apartment? That seemed to be a major challenge, one I wasn’t sure we were up for, and I felt flattened again, reminded of one of the reasons why I’d let it go in the first place.
​
Except this time, I decided to share the news with my husband and our son, Gilles. To my surprise, both of them were nonchalant about getting the piano upstairs. They assured me that it could be done with a boom truck, and what’s more, my husband was enthusiastic about suggesting places in the apartment where we could easily shift some furniture to make room.
​
I was overwhelmed with joy! I felt I was tiptoeing through my home like a fairy, flying here and there in all directions, waving a sparkly magic wand! I was so thrilled especially since I had resumed playing my keyboard. I’d even begun attending a weekly jamming session at École de musique Raveston Music school in Chéticamp along with a talented bunch of jammers led by our dynamic facilitator, Nicole Deveau.
​
My music lessons began when I was eleven. I practised and played because my mother wanted me to, and I went on to play at concerts at the Saint-Joseph-Du-Moine Consolidated School and even led a church choir as organist, but time and energy did not allow me to practise often enough. It wasn’t that I didn’t love music—I did very much and grew up with so many waltzes, songs, marches and hymns in our home—but learning and playing the piano in my youth was not my passion, to my mother’s dismay. I never felt I understood the basics, and the entire process seemed more … like work.
​
Now, all these years later, perhaps it took losing my piano to recognize how much playing is a part of me. There is still much to learn, but with Nicole, who became my instructor a year ago, I am finally understanding the process, one lesson at a time.
The news of getting my piano back indeed caught me by surprise. It took twenty days to get our Canada geese all in a row, ready for the move. On November 24, 2025, my husband and I met our son and his friend Troy, and off we went on our mission, fifteen miles up the road, to reunite me with my piano.
​
It was a cloudy but calm day. On our way, droplets of rain started to fall. Gilles had brought along a huge tarp and ratchet straps just in case, but to my delight, as soon as they got the piano outside, the sun pierced through the clouds. Then, only moments after the piano was safe inside in our apartment, did the skies open and it began to pour. Something or someone was smiling down on me that day.
​
I never could have imagined that my mother’s gift from 50 years ago, a stand-up cabinet grand with a rich and resonant sound, would return to me.​ I look forward to practising. My mother would be proud for she always said these words – if you’d practise more often, you’d play better - How those simple words used to displease me but deep down, I knew she was right. 50 years later and back at it but this time around, with a passion. My piano … an unexpected and most welcome Christmas gift!
​
​​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
Un temps pour réfléchir
​
Dana Deveau, tutrice à lUniversité Sainte-Anne, Campus de Saint-Joseph-Du-Moine, m'a lancé l'idée d'écrire un article de réflexion après le lancemen​​t de mon troisième roman. Le voici ! Je vous invite chaleureusement de le lire ...
Qui aurait-dit ?
​
À peu près en même temps que j’ai commencé écrire mon
troisième roman intitulé The Stories That Lead Us Home, j’ai eu
l’occasion d’apprendre de nouvelles habiletés en technologie.
Quelle chance !
​
Après presque trente années comme enseignante, je suis
maintenant apprenante, inscrite dans un cours de technologie
à l’Université Sainte-Anne, au campus Saint-Joseph-Du-Moine
au Cap-Breton. Tous les lundis matins, je rencontre ma tutrice,
Dana Deveau, qui est une enthousiaste dans son domaine. Qui aurait-dit qu’à mon âge, vingt-quatre ans déjà à la retraite, que je serais une fière apprenante ?
Un peu d’histoire
​
Le 3 mai, 2015, le lancement de mon premier livre, un roman historique, à propos d'une femme acadienne, intitulé Laura’s Story, a eu lieu à l’Université Sainte- Anne au campus de Saint-Joseph-Du-Moine (à ce temps connu comme le Collège de l’Acadie). Barbara Le Blanc, professeure à la retraite de l’Université Sainte-Anne, était la maîtresse de cérémonie. L’évènement fut un début absolument agréable.
Quelques années plus tard, je me suis rendue compte qu’il y avait un détail pertinent que je ne connaissais pas quand j’écrivais Laura’s Story. Ceci m’a poussé à écrire une continuation intitulée, To Fly Again, publiée en 2020.
​​
En plus de mes romans, j`ai aussi écrit quatre livres pour enfants à propos d`un petit détective nommé Lazare/Lazarus. (deux livres en Français et deux livres en Anglais), publiés en 2018.
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​​​​​​​​​​​Lancement 2025
Cette année, j’ai publié mon troisième roman intitulé The Stories That Lead Us Home. Le lancement a eu lieu à l’Université Sainte-Anne, campus de Saint-Joseph-Du-Moine, le 4 mai, 2025, juste dix ans après le lancement de Laura’s Story. Et encore une fois, l’évènement a été très agréable avec famille, ami(e)s, lecteurs/lectrices dévoué(e)s, l’illustratrice de la couverture du livre, Alyssa Walker, et même mon éditrice, Jenna Kalinsky de One Lit Place, qui demeure à Toronto, ON, s’est branchée à nous virtuellement.
​
​
​​​​​​​​​​​
Un pont qui relie la lecture à l’écriture
​
Je n’ai jamais rêvé devenir auteure même si j’ai toujours aimé/adoré la lecture. Écrire était parfois un passe-temps, jamais quelque chose que je prenais au sérieux. Aujourd’hui, je pense que mon amour pour les livres de choix, ma fascination avec la lecture et même avec une bibliothèque en plus de mon admiration pour les écrivants et les écrivaines sont les raisons pourquoi je suis devenue auteure. Cette attraction à la lecture m`a beaucoup influencée. En réfléchissant, c’est le pouvoir de cette amour qui a éventuellement créé un pont, une force invisible qui m’a inspiré à traverser de la lecture à l’écriture. J’imagine que ce désir dansait dans mon esprit subconscient depuis longtemps.
​​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​​
​
Les fruits de mon labeur ...
-
Laura’s Story : une femme acadienne; un roman historique
-
To Fly Again, une continuation de Laura’s Story
-
The Stories That Lead Us Home, publié en mars 2025
-
Children’s Books: The Lazarus Series
-
Livres pour enfants : La série de Lazare
​
La mise en scène de mes deux premiers romans se déroule
principalement dans la province de la Nouvelle-Écosse,
en particulier Antigonish et Chéticamp. Mon troisième
roman prend place entièrement à Antigonish, N.-É.
.
Biographie
​
Je demeure avec mon époux à Chéticamp, au Cap-Breton en Nouvelle-Écosse. Enseignante à la retraite, et maintenant, à ma grande surprise, je suis devenue auteure. En plus de l’écriture, j’aime la musique, la marche, le tai chi et surtout passer du temps avec mes enfants et mes petits-enfants.
Pour en savoir davantage, je vous invite chaleureusement de visiter mes autres articles de réflection ci-dessous ainsi que les autres sections de mon site web.
​
​
​
​
​
Yearning for Home
St-Joseph-Du-Moine and Chéticamp in Cape Breton are awash with natural beauty. Little else is as powerful and moving as its setting sun, the particular scent of the ocean, or the mountains wrapped in multi-coloured fabric. Some who grow up here tend to remain, raising their families, generation after generation. Those who don’t want to leave but must, to find work, often yearn to come home, returning for the occasional weekend, a few weeks’ vacation to summer homes, or to retire in order to satisfy their yearning to stay connected to their roots and to the land. This place lures outsiders too; they come to witness the landscape or even to make their homes in our Acadian niche. In my novel, Laura’s Story, Laura leaves the village as a young girl, but as she grows older, she longs for her home and feels a distinct pull to reconnect to her native village of Chéticamp. What is it about home that holds us there or beckons us to return?"
A Link to the Past
​
I don’t usually write for the newspaper. In fact, this article is my first but for some unknown bizarre reason, I feel compelled to share this tidbit of history. You see, for some forty years, every other summer I have painted my maternal grandparents and great-grandparents’ tombstones. I was well trained by my mother. She insisted upon it, in fact. Since she passed in 2001, I have continued to tend to the tombstones. Whereas this year seemed like any other, something touched me to the very core.
In the morning of September 3, 2018, with the sun warming my back, I crouched down, meticulously painting the chiseled letters on my great-grandparents’ tombstone, which indeed carries the names of my great- grandfather, my great-grandmother who died the same day, as well as their son, who died twelve days later. The year of their passing struck me – 1895. Suddenly I put my paint brush down, stared wide-eyed and creased my forehead. Who would have thought that 123 years later, their great-granddaughter would be caring for their tombstone? Might the fact that I carry the same name as my great-grandmother be a factor, I mused. Ridiculous. Similar names often carry over from one generation to the next, even if they’re just used as a second name.
​
My paternal grandmother’s first name is also the same as mine. At the age of forty-four, in 1922, she died forty-five days after her last born. She had had sixteen children. Several years ago, I noticed her tombstone had broken into three parts. In 2009, my husband and I bought a new headstone and placed it on her grave.
I never had the good fortune to know any of my grandparents, but I got to know and admire my step-grandmother, Hélène. She was in fact the inspiration behind my novel Laura’s Story which is not only a tribute to her but to my biological grandmothers and to many women’s unheard stories.
In our parish cemetery, there are many beautiful and well-tended tombstones but as my father would say: "Beautiful or not, they’re dead anyway." He had a way with words, you see. On a more sombre note, because of such factors as age and harsh weather, many headstones are broken, faded and/or illegible. Every spring, a time is set aside where parishioners can help with the dilapidated stones but for the most ancient ones, some are beyond repair. Besides keeping the grounds immaculately mowed, should we tend to these forgotten headstones that mark the souls who once lived, loved and ultimately link us to the past?
​
_JPG.jpg)
Le jour du souvenir
« Le 11 novembre – le jour du souvenir. Je me rappelle très bien des cérémonies à l’église St. Joseph de la paroisse St-Joseph-du-Moine, il y a de cela longtemps déjà. Les vétérans étaient dans le sanctuaire : parmi eux, il y avait Joe Arsenault, Freddie à Paul Au Coin, Eddie à 'Milien Chiasson et Arthur à Marcellin Au Coin. On voyait dans leurs yeux, dans leur visage, une tristesse parsemée de fierté. Leur présence était digne et solennelle. C’est cela dont je me souviens…»
Reconnecting with Craig
Many Questions; Few Answers
Have you ever had a day, or a moment in a day, when you felt absolutely great, even blessed, after reminiscing with old friends, getting together with family, or making new acquaintances? September 8, 2018 was such a day for me.
On a warm Saturday afternoon, in our home, my husband and I welcomed a relative - my husband’s first cousin’s son, Craig, his partner and their beautiful eleven-month old daughter. If we hadn’t expected his visit and he had simply appeared at our door, never in a million years would we have recognized him.
The last time we saw Craig, he was in his early thirties with long blond hair, a dark goatee, a warm smile and soft brown eyes. Now at forty, he had short hair and a red beard, but he still had his warm smile and soft brown eyes. My husband and I had to look twice to make sure he was indeed our expected visitor. However, as soon as we saw him going from the kitchen to the living room, we both looked at one another, amazed. He walked exactly like his late father! In fact, we would have recognized him even on a busy sidewalk!
As soon as our visitors sat down, Craig inquired about his great-grandmother, Hélène. I was profoundly touched by his eagerness to know more about his ancestor, the heroine and inspiration of my novel, Laura’s Story. Both he and his partner asked question after question about Hélène, but we had few answers.
Amidst the joy we felt in reconnecting with Craig, my husband and I were also somewhat saddened. Later that evening, we discussed Craig’s visit and his many questions. The more we talked, the more we realized that when we were younger, we thought our parents and grandparents would always be around. Why hadn’t we asked Hélène, Craig’s great-grandmother, who was my husband's biological grandmother and also my step-grandmother, more questions while she was still alive?
Had we been more curious about Hélène’s experiences, perhaps we could have answered more of this young couple’s questions. Today what remains of her legacy are only a few photos and very little information about her. Many questions; few answers.
​​
A Special Moment
In July 2019, in Brampton, Ontario, my editor, Jenna Kalinsky, and I met in person for the very first time. Since 2011, we worked online now and then, becoming good friends but we had never met face to face. It was a moment I will cherish forever!
