Hello, Kuei dear readers, On tiptoe, together we move glaciers! I owe you an apology, as yesterday a second part of my story was meant to follow. Unfortunately, the strong winds carried it away.
Jokes aside, I have grown accustomed, with you, to continuing the evening story.
Let us return to dinnertime. Once again, our kitchen team amazed us. Steaming spinach soup supported by giant cheese curds, coconut milk curry over rice with, as an island, a naan bread drowned in its coconut milk broth. To crown it all… carrot cake topped with its richly buttered, luscious icing, even in this polar cold. Everyone bows before our valiant cooks. What they manage to create at lightning speed borders on the divine. They are funny, coordinated, calm, organized, and caring.
The nutrition team is always in action. Rich, flavorful, balanced, and calorie-dense meals responding perfectly—unanimously—to what every mobilized body is craving. Gastronomic pleasure may take a pause; we will indulge instead in “astronomical pleasure.”
I am the winter expedition blogger. I have come to understand that what we experience on the lake is similar to the therapeutic adventures of young people in cancer remission: unifying, empowering, formative, and hope-bearing. In full permission to be oneself, to create bonds, to speak of everyday life. For this part, I would rather speak to you about Mélanie, Judith, Caroline, and Valérie—four women in their thirties who met during a therapeutic adventure. On Saturday evening, in the dome, nearly 50 people gathered to experience powerful testimonies, revealing that cancer, as a first symptom, triggers physical and mental isolation. The On the Tip of the Toes Foundation already alleviates this unwanted effect and offers, as treatment, nature, hope, meeting oneself and others, rebuilding trust in one’s body, and the possibility of reconstructing what had been annihilated since diagnosis. One cannot imagine how, in one’s thirties, financial, emotional, and social realities completely disrupt the “eco-self-system.” Valérie—my “valiant one”—radiates her projects. Cancer became the catalyst for a career reorientation.
Alas, the wind persists. Each participant buzzes like a hive, trying to invest their energy in getting dressed, preparing the sleeping quarters, and thinking through what lies ahead, leading us to the daunting nightfall—which, in itself, is an ordeal. Is it better to go to the little corner before filling the hot water bottles? Should I change to eliminate moisture, or preserve the warmth of the moment at the risk of a bit of dampness? Are my earplugs in the sleeping bag pocket? The fleece? Or still in the sled? My lips are dehydrated—clearly I haven’t drunk enough. I know the reason: reducing nighttime trips. Because yes, dear readers, portable toilets in nightwear are not something you plan for. Though expedition toilets are cleverly designed and practical in every way, this rustic, northern touch surprises us every time.
Another night of thinking, turning, eating, adjusting, closing, tightening, clearing, placing, blowing one’s nose, zipping, clipping, protecting, tying. It’s decided: everything that might save me sleeps with me. We must sleep, because 12 km of walking will open tomorrow’s day. Unlike us, the gusts remain upright all night, complicating comfort.
But beyond all this, WE ARE HERE. Witnessing a symphony while lying down is not given to everyone. The ice cracks beneath our bodies. The score shifts—from gunshots to whale songs. Sound bubbles shatter the absolute silence. The lake’s song, like a poetic incantation. Metallic, vibrating notes reminding us that water, too, breathes.
Tonight, the moon will be my streetlight to the little corner. Feeling lucky to walk on MY LAKE (for it belongs to all of us), imagining that my steps make it roar. I sleep, I dream differently; my headboard is oriented differently.
Today, Sunday, the Lord’s day. Let there be light. There are only beautiful mornings when they begin with hearty feasts. Poutine!! Can you imagine!! Sweet potatoes, bacon, vegetables, cheese, hollandaise sauce. I’m told I must go into battle; filled by this meal, there is no hesitation. The reputation of the “Café de la Pointe” is spreading—everyone in the village is talking about it. Officially opening this imaginary café would be quite the fundraising venture for the Foundation. (In my post-expedition mental fog, an idea emerges.)
We are promised an azure-blue sky. Nine kilometers like brand new—a new day. For the Foundation teaches us that, in predictions, living in the present moment has its reason: to enjoy, to breathe. More than once Mario has told us: sunshine, food, water!! We’re good, eh. Better than a day at the office. Mindfulness finds me. In silence, I walked; in my head, perhaps I ran. This sovereign space, this quest, I experienced it in safety. For in the absence of words, we sensed the pains. Which leads me to believe we should never hesitate to ask for support. The language of the body is sometimes more meaningful.
It progresses, it moves forward, as a family. After three days together, we are a WE. Rhythm and tempo composed by the two super Marios. We follow their lead. The finish line will soon sound. Excitement, easing of tension, and self-compassion. Even on tiptoe, we will move glaciers. For whom? FOR THE YOUTH.
So many distinguished actors in this foundation that nourishes only noble values. I could tell a story to describe the good souls of everyone I met. Guides, guardian angels, coordinators, transporters, designers, maestros—I lack the words. No doubt you will recognize yourselves in: “Are you okay?” “You good?” “Let’s go!!” “Can I carry your pulka?” “Are you cold?” “Are you hungry?” This humble, modest, inclusive, diverse, discreet, professional organization reconnects me each time with the goodness of humanity. Quietly pulling participants out for safety: RESPECT. Offering alternatives so dreams can be realized: RESPECT. To relieve, stimulate, and elevate possibilities: RESPECT.
I cannot end this text without thinking of the First Nations. For three days, the lake was challenging. Like a painting, we crossed it in our own image. My skis brushed, at times, styrofoam, peaks of meringue, angel food cake. The grip and glide made us believe the lake would have preferred to keep us.
With steady steps, we walked on Piekouagami (Flat Lake), the Innu name for Lac-Saint-Jean, our inland sea.
To the two Marios, transmitters of knowledge
To all of you, agents of healing
To Julien, the belt, the link
A joyful heart is good medicine — Indigenous wisdom
Tshinashkumitin
Thank you
Blogger: Mélanie Villeneuve
Photographer: Charles-David Robitaille
In pictures
