Erica

Life in New France is not at all what I thought it to be when I came here. The King promised us wealth and excitement, not being given a thin strip of forest we had to clear and poor soil that for the rest of our lives we had to plough, seed and harvest and only keep barely enough to last my husband, our 8 kids, and myeself, Eliane Olivier, for the year. Since the moment we got here, we have been farmers. Today, like any other day, we get up earlier than the sun and groggily, feed the pigs and chickens, milk the cows, tend to the crops and do more chores. After the animals were taken care of, we had breakfast, we mostly eat bread, but it isn’t filling and it’s very hard to chew. Peaks of sunlight seep through the heavy window shutters as I added the salt pork and onions to the pea soup I left in the kettle overnight. The rest of the family headed to the fields, my husband and oldest son do most of the plough work, which has been easier now that we bought some oxen to pull the iron plough and turn the sod. We mainly grow wheat, but we also have some oat, barely and corn crops, as well as a vegetable patch. I stay behind for a few hours to clean the house. The shack of a house we built is made from the trees we cut down, it’s two rooms crammed with the very little homemade table, chairs, cabinetry, and ourselves. We own very little, a kettle and some knifes are some of the only things we didn’t make ourselves, like tools and wooden plates. We don’t even own this ribbon of land; we rent it from the seigneur, on the grounds that we pay our cens et rentes, some crops, livestock and money every year, use his mill, and my husband and sons help defend our community. After tidying up the breakfast, I cleaned some of the clothes, all of which my daughters and I handmade. We’re no tailors and we only have the heavy, itchy the flax we grow, wool and leathers from our livestock, plus hemp ropes to fasten them to our bodies. The rest of the day was occupied with cultivation, and it will be for the rest of my life. After our dinner of pea soup on the same heavy bread I eat every day, we turned in to the bedroom, the family crammed together, providing some warmth and slept until we would get up again and relive the yesterdays.

Sincerely, Eliane Olivier

Dear Diary

Today, I woke up and made my way over the sea of my kin to the kettle in the next room. I put on my shoes and hooded cloak, and then strode into the bitter cold outdoors. I walked past the brick oven towards the chicken coop and barn. My husband and a few of my children joined me in the nippy remaining darkness before dawn and we fed the animals. We wasted no time heading back inside and having a quick breakfast of dark bread and butter. It was Sunday, the only day a week where instead of working all day, we go to our church for mass. It was the only time we could relax and talk with our community. Here our children learned prayers and catechism, the closest thing they had to school and a break. This Sunday was different from the usual routine,for today, the fille de rois had come to the church and my oldest son, Alexandre was to pick out someone for him to marry and raise children with. After browsing through the dozens of women, he was intrigued by a lady in a royal blue dress named Therese Clary. We spoke with Jean Pierre, the priest; we paid the first part of the dowry, and the marriage was held in what seemed like minutes .We then returned home, with tears of joy, a new member for the family and a son practically beaming the visions of his future.

Sincerely, Eliane Olivier  

Jamison, Marshall. //Beginnings: From the First Nations to the Great Migrations//. Edmonton: Reidmoore, 1996. Print. Moore, Christopher. //Mathurin Brochu of New France//. Toronto: Grolier Limited, 1988. Print. Neering, Rosemary. //Life in New France//. Toronto: Fitzhenry & Whiteside Limited, 1976. Print.