Maple Syrup is a big deal

I always knew that Vermont was a big maple syrup producer so it stands to reason that nearby Quebec would be too.  One day last winter we were traveling out to the country to visit a family who lives, literally, in the middle of nowhere.  It was very cold and the trees had no leaves, so it was easy to spot the long plastic pipes strung from tree to tree.  We didn't know what they were, so we asked the family we were visiting.  They are used to collect the maple syrup from the trees.  The pipes connect to each other and run to a huge collection station, somewhere miles away.  The old movies depicting someone going from tree to tree, tapping into the trunks to get the syrup represent a bygone era.  Now we have these high-tech blue pvc pipes to do the job (sarcasm, if you are a little slow).  There is no question, however, that no matter how they collect it, the syrup truly is divine.  I plan to bring a case of it back with us.
Here is a picture we took today- not really clear, but hopefully it gives one the idea, and a glimpse of the beautiful fall colors we have been enjoying:

Silence is golden?

    Last Saturday we volunteered to take a young mother and her 18-month-old to the Montreal airport, about 2 hours away.  I tried not to be grumpy about it because it was during the second session of General Conference, and to a missionary, young or old, General Conference time is an event to be savored in an undisturbed environment.  Nevertheless, I put aside my initial resentment to do a good deed.  We picked up the young woman and her child and realized, too late, that because they do not have a car, they do not have a car seat.  There was no time to do anything except buckle her into an adult seat belt and hope it all worked out (which it did).  This woman was going to Cuba to presumably pick up another one of her children, a twelve-year-old daughter.  She has been in Quebec for five or six years, but she speaks very little French, and of course no English.  Since I can count to ten in Spanish, and say "hola and adios", and Paul can say "vamonos muchachos" (which I think means "get out of here you boys"- learned from watching spaghetti westerns as a kid) our ride was a very quiet one. Once at the airport, Paul went inside with her and tried to find a Spanish-speaker at her airline counter, Cuban Air.  Wouldn't one imagine that someone at Cuban Air would speak Spanish?  Not so.  Finally an employee said to Paul, in French "How about if I tell you in English and you tell your friend?  Because my Spanish is about as good as your French, but I do speak English." (What a blow to his ego!)  He then told her that would be fine except his friend didn't speak French or English.  Finally, through a series of  hand signals, he helped her realize she must pay for her extra bag, which she did, and then he directed her to the security entrance. We hoped she got on the plane. She had no cell phone.
   This last Saturday night, we drove back to the airport to pick her up.  Her boyfriend wanted to come with us, so again we drove mostly in silence except for the Tabernacle Choir CD I played for part of the trip.  Paul and the guy went into the airport and I went to the cellphone waiting area.  She arrived without incident, but with no 12-year-old daughter.  I do not know what happened, except that she told Paul, in halting French (which I can relate to!) that it was very hot in Cuba and she never wants to return.  We have no idea where she got the money to fly to Cuba and back for she does not work, nor does her boyfriend. She apparently has three children with different fathers, and the other two, other than the baby, are still in Cuba. Why she was planning to just bring the 12-year-old back I do not know.   I wonder where the Elders find these people....   Another adventure in our missionary life.