The book for discussion today is from the PEI collection at the Confederation Center library. It is The Complete Journals of L.M. Montgomery The PEI years, 1901-1911. Ed. M.H. Rubio and E.H. Waterston
But first I begin with a journal entry, LMM style, from my day today.
Thursday evening,
May 9th, 2019
Today was another busy day in the MacCormack household. A mid morning call from my dear sister Julie wondering, if we were going in town today, might we be able to drop a packet of sunflower seeds off at her classroom which she forgot upon leaving? A slight re-arrangement of things and we were able to help out sweet Jules, who is always such a great support to our family.
We headed out around noontime and picked up her seed packet plus an extra one in town. She is having her gr 4 class make little pots for Mother’s Day. Lucas, a learning driver, did the driving for the first half of our outing, but his sister Clara wanted the coveted front seat and control of the music for the second half so Lucas and I switched places and I drove away to our next errand.
I was barely on the busy, main road off the side street by the school when I noticed what looked like a leaf blowing across the road in front of me. I looked in my mirror, and back to the road suddenly realized in panic that it was not a leaf but a little songbird directly in my car’s path. I wasn’t going fast, but there was a lot of traffic all around me and no way to avoid hitting the poor bird.
I steered the car as best I could hoping that if it kept calm I might drive over it and not hit it. Everything happened so fast that I didn’t know if I hit it or not. We looked back but could see no sign of it and so we pulled over as soon as we safely could.
Simply the thought that I might have hit the bird was enough to swell me up with such overwhelming feelings of remorse that I thought that I might cry. We all sat quietly for several minutes taking in the possibility of what may have occurred. We checked around and under the car and there was no sign of anything. We then drove back to the place we last saw the bird and no sign there either. I can only hope that the lovely little creature, which Lucas thought was a White- crowned Sparrow, was okay.
Strange thing is, I noticed a piece of paper beneath the driver’s seat as I took my place at the wheel just moments before I had the possible/near hit. The paper contained directions to a field where we bought organic strawberries from a farmer last summer. How on earth that piece of paper lasted in the car since last July is beyond me. There have been so many clean outs since then, including one last week before we had the car inspection done.
Weirdly, the last time I hit a bird was on the way to find the strawberry farmer’s house whose directions oddly showed up in my car earlier today. The remainder of our errands today were done in a more somber mood. When you are a deep feeler and nature lover, striking wildlife down is no easy thing to navigate. Sincerely, Jill
My mother read all of LM Montgomery’s journals a number of years ago and was quite surprised by what she discovered when reading them. I personally felt a little guilty borrowing them from the library, thinking how if I were her the very last thing I would ever want anyone to read would be my journal entries, whether I was dead or not. Yet LMM herself wrote about feeling sorry that she had burned a bunch of her early “diry’s” because they might have been of interest to some future readers so I guess I can relax.
May 12th, 1902,
Echo Office, Halifax
Today I’ve laughed more than I’ve done for a month together. I’ve been re-reading “A Bad Boy’s Diry.”
That book is responsible for you, my journal. ‘Twas from it I first got the idea of keeping a “diry”. When I was about nine year’s old Mr. Fraser, the Cavendish school teacher, who boarded at our place, had the book. I think I regarded it aas a classic then. I read it and re-read it and promptly began a “diry”. I folded and cut and sewed four sheets of foolscap into a book and covered it with red paper. On the cover I wrote “Maud Montgomery’s Diry.”
Years ago I burned it in one of my iconoclastic fits. It was a pity, for it really should have been preserved as one of the curiosities of literature…"
I probably should get over it, but I feel so badly for Lucy Maud and what has become of her legacy. I feel for her because I wonder what she would think of Cavendish today. What would she think of the trinkets made of Anne of Green Gables, and the statue in her honour being erected this summer?
I know that people are trying to be respectful and honour LM the person, but not much that has happened in Cavendish over the past thirty plus years has seemed like anything LMM would want anything to do with. With the possible exception of the GG homestead itself, and the LM Montgomery Land Trust which seems a real honour and one that I imagine LMM’s sensitive heart would agree to.
(Imagine if all the visitors to Green Gables homestead had to donate to the land trust. Imagine keeping the land in trust in perpetuity for future generations to see sweeping vistas of farmland overlooking the sea?)
But I digress.
One of the most beautiful evening time memories I have from my early twenties was attending a fundraiser for the LMM Land Trust with my dear sister Janice who worked in Cavendish at the time.
After our busy day’s at work, we put on sundresses and drove out to a barn by the Lake of Shining Waters. The evening was filled with music and stories, but the greatest magic happened as we took leave. It was around ten pm and the July night was clear and warm. The sun had given way to a soft and welcoming darkness. Spellbound by the evening and the quiet of the little country road we were setting out on our long drive home with a warm feeling in our hearts. And then, on a roadside pole, just ahead of us, silhouetted against the ever deepening blue was a sizable bird with two ears erect. We pulled over to get out and see what we might see and to our great delight it was a Great-horned Owl! Our hearts were full to bursting! The sense of community, the lightness of the night air, and then the quiet centering of one of nature’s great, majestic beauties gave us such a deep feeling of connectedness with all that had gone before us. So much of our young lives at that point in time were filled with busyness, getting somewhere, doing something, But this was presence at its best.
But now back to the journals of LMM.
I borrowed them late last winter, and just kept renewing them because I found myself taking spells with reading them and then setting them aside. Her descriptions of three day blizzards were just too hard to manage when we were still in winter’s icy grip.
But please don’t get me wrong. The entries are a worthy read for sure, but truly are the saddest thing to read. I see so much of myself in her words that it is almost eerie.
Aside from a short stint working for a newspaper in Hlfx, most of the entries in this particular collection were written when she was living at her grandmother’s and caring for her. She was so incredibly constricted by her sense of duty to keep things as her aged grandmother required that she sounded as though she was losing her mind. When in reality, when I think of it now, what she was losing was herself- her very sense of self. She lived in abject internal misery much of the time, although fortunately not in poverty as many others in the era did.
Perhaps I am overly sensitive to it all, but her seeming seasonal affectiveness was such a suffering for her, and sadly, tragically, it would seem she would not share it with anyone but her journals. She was queen of keeping up appearances for fear that people would talk. Yet, how she managed it all I am not sure? For certain, though, the natural world and its offerings were a constant solace to her.
Saturday Morning
May 8, 1909
Cavendish, PEI
If I wanted to make this journal a cheerful record I should always and only write it in the mornings. As a rule, I feel ‘like myself” in the mornings, and even at the worst of times much better than I usually feel in the evenings. But then I do not want to “make” this journal any particular sort or kind. I look upon it as a faithful old confidant to whom I can go in my dark moods for relief-and seldom fail to find it.
But this morning is lovely and I have just come in from a walk over the hills. It is the first day this spring that it has been warm and dry enough to resume my old habit. And oh, it was delightful! All cares and worries seemed left behind and I walked with the loveliest and sweetest of winged thoughts.
That entry could have been written by me. Just the day before yesterday Lucas and Maria and I resumed our “old habit” returning after too long an absence to a favourite walking trail. We rejoiced in the quality of air as we walked, remarking about what had changed and what remained the same. We were graced by a Great Blue Heron taking flight and took pause several times just to smell the cinnamony, woodland fragrance. Ahhh...
LM Montgomery’s heart of hearts was a dear and sensitive one. I adore her for what she brought to the world of literature, but my own sensitive heart aches for her private sorrows which she shares aplenty in her journal entries.
Thanks for reading,
Jill