Dominique Bomans
To Marie-France, whom I met only recently, but who has known me for some time. To all the Marie-Frances I do not know, but whom I meet every time they read my work.
We sometimes forget, when we write, that there is someone on the other end — someone who reacts, who appreciates or does not appreciate, because that happens often enough. Whether indifferent, deeply annoyed, or welcoming, our words are like the confidences of a friend and the reader gives meaning to what is written.
This year, my modest contribution to this publication was delayed. Even though it occupies only a small part of my life, I felt its absence. Writing is what connects me to Pontiac. Beyond the birth of my children, it is what ties me to life — what allows me to take root here. It is in this way, through small pieces of writing, that I build my nest, that I settle and that I imagine Canada.
I have written about the Ottawa River overflowing in L’Isle-aux-Allumettes or in Mansfield, about flooded streets, about neighbours helping one another, one sandbag at a time. I have written about council chambers filling up — or not — on certain election nights, about community events that sometimes struggle to find funding but continue nonetheless, about service cuts that worry people and about logging. I have written about log driving, that story of the past, and what remains of it today.
From this Pontiac ground, I have, for years, witnessed the best and the worst of initiatives, the whims of nature and its moments of generosity, the good fortune of some and the misfortune of others, the fiercest struggles, political absurdities and local rivalries alongside the greatest acts of solidarity. It has taken my breath away, made me want to cry or jump for joy.
I have often felt indignation. I have rarely remained indifferent. I have wanted to bear witness, taking part, as events unfolded, in the lives of thousands of people here.
Because local news is you. The Pontiac Journal is still here, through its challenges and yours, through its difficulties and ours, continuing to stand out. As the region’s only bilingual newspaper, it reflects everything it contains — both division and unity.
I wanted to offer you, readers — and you, Marie-France — this small piece in your honour, my first text of the year in the paper, because without you, without all of you, this newspaper would not exist.
