Parc Oméga : outside you are three wolves,

Last week we spent an evening, night and part of a day at Parc Omega, a Safari-like park just outside of Montebello, Quebec. There's often so much activity, from music lessons to Guides to birthday parties to other things, we'd barely been able to catch our breath, or do something as a quiet unit for a while, it seemed. We'd been to the Parc prior, driving through to see the wolves, boar, bears, deer (which you can feed carrots to, from your car), silver foxes, moose, bison, etcetera. We'd only driven through (roughly an hour to ninety minutes to drive through), Christine suggesting there were cottages one could rent, with options of a panoramic view, or into a space where wolves might congregate. We picked the wolves, the whole one side of the building set as window, watching what was most likely three wolves wandering, moving, strolling. White wolf who walks by the window, in one direction. White wolf who walks by the window again, in the same direction, again. A third, a fourth time. As though this wolf, these wolves, a pattern, a path, worn into snow. One who spent much of the evening on a small mound, sleeping. The same (presumably) white wolf that would wander by and prod it, move a bit, before returning to their spot. All their movements, set upon a pattern.

We suspected that their food was delivered somewhere in this space, which is what would bring them by. 

It was a lovely, meditative space, with the option for a small fire in the woodstove, as well; although the hour drive there took two, given traffic and snow (and near white-out driving conditions, along highway 50), after the hour-plus I spent collecting the children from each of their schools, collecting Christine from work (the first forty minutes of our drive out of town purely on King Edward in Lowertown, which was irritating). While (finally) there, nestled into our cottage, we attempted best to keep off machines or phones while there, and Christine could hear them howling throughout the night. I don't think the young ladies did. Aoife and I played Uno, our game lasting around an hour or so, until I finally won (by a hair's breadth, to be sure).

This is far different than those childhood family trips I recall going to Parc Safari with my parents and wee sister, back in the 1970s (a space I somehow thought was north, but a map now tells me it sits south of Montreal, just by the American border). Seeing giraffes and lions in a Canadian setting always seemed confusing to me (especially an outdoor setting), but Parc Omega was rather nice. And the horrible cold was so cold, the next morning one of the workers wandered by removing snow with a leaf-blower, if you can imagine. Terrible.

We woke to wolves wandering, attending food, it looked like. We woke to wolves and to the crows, which might have been ravens, who also wished for some of whatever the wolves were having. Good morning, wolves. Good morning, crows.

And then, close to lunchtime, leaving our cabin to attend the rest of the parc, strolling through with the car, our young ladies feeding carrots to deer through the windows, Rose catching videos of her feeding (we were told we weren't allowed to talk when she was recording), and an eventual lunch at the chip truck. Curious to be in a space off-season, mid-week, nearly empty of anyone else but the occasional worker, attending repairs on the roads or elsewhere. The quiet of minus twenty, minus twenty-three. This solace of wolves.