Rosanne Ouellete 

  A short tale written for the fall, 2007 newsletter of the Upper Ottawa Valley Genealogical Group.

It was 1848 and seventeen year old Miss Rosanne Ouelette of LaPasse was in love and wanted to get married. There was however, a problem. That problem was her parents to whom Rosanne was their pride and joy and perhaps more specifically the problem was her father who, if he could not prevent the marriage of his daughter, could at least place conditions upon it.

 Rosanne's love was young Richard Holden of Chichester, Quebec, a lumberjack by trade and owner of a small piece of property at Trout Lake, back of Sheenboro where he planned to take his new bride. Trout Lake, a place 35 miles away from LaPasse, a considerable distance in those days when travel was by horse, through untamed wilderness on roads that were only that in name. This was not what the Ouelette's of LaPasse had envisioned for their daughter and so a compromise was reached. Rosanne and Richard could marry but only if Richard promised not to take his bride away from her family for three years, when she reached the age of twenty-one and, perhaps had time to reflect on her decision.

But finally in the spring of 1851, still in love, the couple at last left for their new home. It was a sad and tearful parting for both parents and child. Rosanne had never been apart from her family and they, in their love, had shielded her from the troubles of life. Now she was off to the wilderness and to a new life, one she could hardly envision. 

Arriving at her new home she was, to say the least, shocked. There was not another house for three miles or more in any direction and her new home was a log dwelling, 20 feet square with a flat roof covered in sod and a cellar to store provisions in. A far cry from the comfortable home of her parents. That first night in her new home she lay with her husband as a dozen wolves howled outside the low walls of the shanty and tried to get in by scratching through the roof. 

Her husband, experienced in the ways of the bush and knowing he would be gone working for long periods of time had made the roof out of two layers of criss-crossed red pine planks, each two inches thick. The door too was reinforced, three inches thick, well cleated, hung on solid wrought iron hooks and when closed was barred, both upper and lower, with three inch oak bars. The two small windows were similarly protected from the dangers without with ventilation provided by openings in the logs near the roof.

That summer they farmed the land and tended to their livestock which consisted of two cows, some pigs and poultry but for much of the time she was alone and afraid to wander far from the shanty lest some stranger should pass by. On hearing the approach of someone she would hurry to the house and bar herself in, remaining quiet until they left. On those occasions when she was caught unawares and not able to reach the safety of the house she would hide in the bush until the visitors left which at times took quite a while. It was not uncommon for a man to enter the house and wait until someone returned to offered him food. Once two men discussed if there was anyone there with one fellow saying there must be, saying "there is a fire on in the hearth."

Winters were particularly hard as great blizzards blew down out of the hills making it almost imposable to open the door with the drifts piled in front of it but open it she must as the cattle had to be milked and the poultry fed. Neighbours occasionally came to visit but unless there was a woman in the party she was not at home. During this time Richard made it home every other weekend after a long nights walk from the lumber camp where he worked and at least those visits kept her sane and hopeful but when he was gone for extended periods during the spring drives to Quebec City she found the time the the loneliest. 

After three years of this she had had enough and told her husband that if he didn't get her out of that lonesome place she would go stark raving mad. And so they left, away from the bush and the lonely days and nights and in the telling of this at the age of 102 she could now laugh in wonder at those years.