milling about

Québécois, the regional French spoken here, has some unique and to my ears quaint vocabulary.  (They also use a lot of hyphens as in Baie–St–Paul.)

What, I wondered, is a fleuve and how is it different from a riviere?

I had time for these important conversations today when I visited the lush public grounds of Moulin Seigneurial and went for a walk in the forest. 

This is the old mill house.

The force of the water and gravity were used to mill flour, and wood. 

Here's the chute, still spilling. The water flows into nearby Lac St Pierre, which is part of the St. Lawrence River.

I headed deep into the forest for a walk, passing fruit tress and maples.

Luscious ferns unfurling by the river side.

But not all the land belongs to the mill. And many signs warn that in this milieu natural, they are not responsible for accidents.

This is what happens if you disregard the signs.

Alas, the path winds westward, and I'm now back in Montreal, at my favorite guesthouse. Here to celebrate Montreal's birthday and help kick off the summer festivals. It was good to walk in the woods. There were no bears.