In the very early 1990′s, when my friends and I were but young ladies of 11 and 12, there was one book (and its sequel) that took our world by storm. We all knew the story by heart, and keened forlornly for the kind of love that brings with it the passion, and the pain that Émilie and Ovila felt for each other.
It tells the story of a Émilie Bordeleaux, a school teacher in the early 1900′s in a small village in Québec. Life was hard, the work toiling and unending, and yet somehow, women and men carried on, giving birth, raising children, dealing with adversity, and too often burying their dead. The landscape painted by the author, Arlette Cousture, was so rich and vibrant, each and every teenage girl who read the book instantly fell into a world entirely unlike the one they knew.
Both books were each made into a TV series, and while I didn’t watch them when they first aired, I read the books intently, multiple times. During a trip through Québec, I even visited the site where the first TV series was filmed. It was seeing those sets, the props, and the costumes up close and personal that got me hooked on the show. When I got home from that trip, I borrowed each and every episode (on VHS) from the library, and watched the series straight through (all 16 hours).
Even once it was all over, the images of the show haunted me. It was the first time I’d seen that kind of stuff on TV (there are some moderately racy bits in the show, like boobies and male parts, and LOTS of innuendo – all to play up the sexual tension that exists between the two love interests) and for years – well into my twenties – I kept the images of that TV show in my mind. I looked for the series on DVD, but came up empty handed time and time again.
That is, until my 28th birthday, when I finally found a copy online, and begged for it as my birthday present. I couldn’t believe how excited I was to finally have it in my hands!!
This series is LONG, because there’s a LOT of shit that goes down. Like I said, it’s all about love, hate, death, friendship, marriage, duty, sickness, and winter. Winter plays a big role in the story. (to quote Gilles Vigneault: Mon pays, ce n’est pas un pays, c’est l’hiver!)
I don’t know why this particular story resonated so much with us French-speaking Canadian girls. Maybe it was because it told the story of a strong female heroine. Maybe it was because she lived in the place where we now live. She felt the same bitter cold winter winds, she knew the same rejuvenation that comes with spring, she ate maple syrup in March and corn on the cob in August. Maybe it was because the love story was so classic and timeless – two lovers ruled by their hearts and not their heads. Two passionate lovers who tried but couldn’t make it work on love alone. It’s tragic and beautiful and even through the pain of it all, you know that they wouldn’t have changed a thing, because the good times (however few) were worth it.
Maybe it’s because we were all waiting desperately for the day that someone would whisper on our ears: “je t’aime, ma belle brume.”

















