I am lucky enough to have grandparents who live in the country and are always happy to have us visit. In their big house, I have my own room at the end of the hallway. During the day, I often go work on crafts in the workshop.

I think Grandma loves to cook because there is always something delicious to eat when we arrive. I really enjoy helping her prepare meals. A few years ago, my sisters and I helped her make fruitcakes. They are her specialty, and they are the best. She makes nine batches, each weighing seven pounds. That day, the cakes were for us. With my hands in the large mixing bowl, I mixed the fruit into the batter. We had so much fun taking part in what felt like an assembly line.

In the evening, I get out the Crokinole and Tock boards, and she plays a few games with me. I try to beat her, but I can see she has more tricks up her sleeve than I do; we have a great time.

Two years ago, my Uncle Pierre wanted to buy an ATV, and Grandma offered to pay for half of it so that her grandchildren could use it too. She is always thinking about what makes us happy.

Having visited many countries, she loves telling us about the people she has met and sharing stories of the various adventures she has experienced.

A few years ago, I used to go on bike rides with Grandma. She struggled to keep up with me on her old, forty-plus-year-old three-speed bike. But one fine day, at the age of 75, she went out and bought herself a brand-new 24-speed bike. Now, at 80, she pedals 10 km every morning before breakfast. Wow! On top of that, she paddles down the Rivière aux Brochets to Lake Champlain several times throughout the summer. She even encouraged me to take up hunting. Here is the story of how that turned out.

In September 2015, while staying with my grandparents, I took a firearms safety course. Every day, I would see the hunting trophies Grandpa had mounted in his farm buildings and dream of the moment I would add one of my own.

That autumn, I had time off school right in the middle of hunting season. I was in luck, I had five days ahead of me. Every morning, starting at six o’clock, I would sit in the blind located in Uncle Pierre’s woods. Settled in with the black-powder rifle I’d borrowed from Grandpa, I waited for a big buck to cross my path. I waited there morning and evening. Nothing showed up on the first day. On the second day, I saw four deers, including a big buck, but they were too far away. On the third day, I saw two of them crossing the cornfield behind the woods, but they were out of range. Grandpa always said that to be a good hunter, you have to persevere. Meanwhile, Grandma was planning to serve venison tenderloin to the family, but she was short on meat and would have to add a pork tenderloin to the meal. On the fourth morning, confident and with that big buck still on my mind, I returned to my hiding spot. Around eight o’clock, I see a deer approaching; it stops behind two large trees. After a few moments, it moves forward a few feet, and I am able to take the shot. It bolts like an arrow, but I hear it fall a short distance away. I climb down from my hide and spot a patch of white, it’s my deer. It isn’t the big buck I had hoped for, but I am overjoyed because, at fourteen, it is my first deer.

Back at the farm, I rush to tell Grandma that I have the tenderloins she needs for the family celebration. No need for pork tenderloin now. I call my mom in the city; she sounds a bit skeptical when she hears about my feat. But seeing my enthusiasm, she realizes it’s true.

What adventures I experience on my grandparents’ farm.