Voici le texte écrit par Freya, la fille d’Aben Mackenzie. Aben est décédée le 18 septembre dernier. Nous étions plusieurs amis de la TDL à écouter Freya nous raconter la vie de son père et nous rappeler cet homme qui nous a tous touché et marqué à sa manière. Il a longtemps skié la Traversée des Laurentides et fut sur le comité organisateur de celle-ci. Il en fut le porte-parole quelques années et sa douce voix emplie d’images a laissé dans nos têtes et nos coeurs une singulière poésie. Partagez ce texte avec les amis des amis d’Aben!
On s’excuse à l’avance pour la mise en page
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Thank you all so much for coming. I will try to tell you a little about my father from my
perspective as well as what I know from the memoires he wrote about 10 years ago.
Overall, John, as he was named, had a lucky childhood. The back lane of his family
home on Elm Avenue in Westmount, was a great source of fun and freedom. He would
often tell me about the wonderful alley where there were at least 30 kids constantly at
play any time outside school hours. Everyone kept an eye on each other and all the
houses had basement entrances where kids could swarm uninvited.
As a boy, he was involved with Scouts which taught him many things and nurtured his
natural affinities. He spoke fondly of his Scout leaders, who offered him positive role
models and a sense of purpose, practising camping and survival skills at an early age.
John was especially close to his grandmother Margy. He found her to be a warm,
wonderful person in who’s kitchen he often found refuge during his school years. There
he would be offered a steady stream of fresh baked goods from which his life long
passion for sweets probably arose, associating them with so much love and affection.
He also treasured the summer holidays at her seaside cottage in Shediac, NewBrunswick.
He said going down there each summer was the greatest thing a kid could
ever hope for. After a couple of trips there by car, John and his brother Chip started
flying to Moncton on their own which made the whole adventure even better. Margy’s
house was simple but comfortable, just behind the sand dunes, through which wound a
grassy path to the beach. The retreating tides would leave behind shallow pools which
the boys could splash and explore for hours before being towelled off and marched
back for some delicious meal. In Shediac he felt both cherished and set free of ordinary
childhood constraints; he was exhilarated by the salt air, the bird cries, and the vivid
beauty of the sea. He told me about the very tame skunks that lived under the screen
porch and many other details of this magical time.
The other place my father loved was his other grandparents property in Val Morin. He
went there a lot as a child for weekends and holidays, where nature was always at the
doorstep and with his many cousins, he could enjoy canoeing, hiking, swimming, skiing
or skating on the lake.
It was in Val Morin that he took to rising very early in the morning to accompany his
father trout fishing or duck hunting, all of which seemed to be best conducted before
breakfast. He remained an early riser for the rest of his life, often saying that dawn was
his favourite time of day and morning the best time to get anything done.
In Val Morin he was introduced to Jackrabbit Johansson, the Norwegian gentleman
who pioneered skiing in the Laurentians and who was to become an influence in my
father’s life, especially cross-country ski racing during his high school years.
It was during high school, by the way, he decided that there were far too many John’s
around. He wanted something more original to call himself and mulled it over for a long
time. He finally settled on the name Aben because he liked the sound.
Years later, Val Morin was to figure again in his life when he built a small ski chalet
there with his partner, Beverley. With the help of his friends Matt and Andre, he cleared
a spot in the forest and constructed a charming log house, with his very clever border
collie Robbie never far from his side.
This was a time when my father had returned from many travels abroad and
rediscovered cross country skiing as well as the pleasures of hosting friends, which he
started doing long before the little house was finished. He loved being in a group of
fellow outdoor enthusiasts and camping out in rustic surroundings.
Throughout his life my father valued his friends greatly. He was happiest with friends
and/or discovering new places and climates. His travels eventually included Polynesia,
India, Europe and North Africa, but he started by exploring Canada.
In 1967 when the rest of Montreal was caught up in the excitement of Expo, young Aben
was getting into a bush plane and heading for the Arctic. He found a job on a zoological
research project studying wolves, and spent all summer in a wilderness camp of
wooden shacks about 100 km inland on the East coast of Baffin Island. It was an
amazing time for him, and included a harrowing encounter with a polar bear! Most of all
the immensity of the sky and the horizons all around left a deep impression on him,
something he would find again later with sailing.
After going to the Arctic, he finished his last year at Westmount High where many of
his peers would remain loyal friends for the rest of his life. The following spring, Aben
made the first of many cross-country road trips, this time with his friend Michael in a
borrowed Cadillac, thrilled by the freedom of the open road and delighted to find a place
which was not freezing cold in winter. His love for British Columbia was instant and he
returned many times planting some 300,000 trees up and down Vancouver Island. It
was a good job for him. The scenery was always stunning, bugs and bad weather never
bothered him and he found the comradeship of his fellow tree planters fantastic fun.
Not long after this first trip out West, he took part in an epic canoe adventure involving
himself and three young friends, all of whom had nicknames for the occasion. My
father’s name was “Radar” as his piercing blue eyes were ever alert for danger on the
waters of the Harricana River in Northern Quebec, a good length of which the four
comrades endeavoured to paddle in the summer of 1971. Lucky to have survived the
ordeal, having capsized their boats and lost many supplies, the skinnier, wiser lads
returned to civilization weather-hardened and bonded for life.
Aben had grown into an athletic young man with a rugged physical nature. He liked to
rough it and was unphased by discomfort. For this he credited his father Jack, whose
influence and love of outdoor life was deep.
Sadly, Jack remained a rather distant father, but fortunately, Aben had Annette, his
mum to count on, and she was undoubtedly the most powerful ally in my father’s life. A
gracious and steadfast person, Annette’s generosity of spirit and practical, down to
earth outlook was invaluable to him over the years. She was a source of stability,
continuity and support as he spread his wings and jumped as far as he possibly could
from the nest. Not that they always saw eye to eye. When my father started going
barefoot and wearing his hair long, it was a lot for her to swallow.
Aben’s values arose from a quest for peace, freedom and a spirituality connected to
nature. In pursuit of a more natural existence, he left the trodden path and found himself
part of the ‘back to the land’ movement. After leaving Bishops University which he
attended only under pressure, he repaired to the quiet hills around St. Rémi d’Amherst
where he rented a small farm and lived, first alone which he didn't mind, always loving
the quiet of the country, then with my mother Viviane, with whom he shared a goal of
trying to live simply. There they kept chickens and goats and had a number of other
animals including a wonderful dog named Pahoo.
Without a car at the time, he would either bike or ski the 6km to the local village for
supplies. Far from a hardship, this sort of “doings things the hard way” was becoming
one of his character traits that both confounded and endeared him to his loved ones. In
St Remi, Aben made friends with some of the old-timers in the area and found them to
be a wealth of practical knowledge and natural wisdom - just what he was looking for.
From them he learned many things, including ploughing with horses and making maple
syrup, the old fashioned way of course, an activity he loved everything about.
It was during this time he began to be interested in boats and first heard about the
wonders of New Zealand. Two different friends of his, Blad and Tim had each started
building their own multihulls, which inspired my father to eventually do the same later
on. For now he helped them and learned as much as he could, dreaming of blue ocean
waves and warmer climes. From the frozen fields of rural Quebec, a vision for his life
was taking shape which would guide him for the rest of his days.
He and Viviane had heard of Karuna Falls where a group of friends had established an
intentional community in a land where farming was possible year round and endless
beaches and beautiful forests surrounded them on every side. Sounded pretty good! It
took quite a few attempts to make it there but they finally managed in 1977, when I was
only a few weeks old.
In New Zealand, Aben found his second home. The remote and undeveloped tip of the
Coromandel Peninsula suited him in every way, and the optimism of the times carried
my parents through all the inconveniences of living in a tent with an infant.
So much contentment did Aben enjoy there, fully embracing the relaxed lifestyle and
beautiful natural surroundings, that he and Viviane made a serious effort to immigrate.
Determined to be among the friends they made of like-minded people, who in those
days were building their own homes, or boats, planting fruit trees and growing crops
together, they were to return many times in an effort to solidify their bid for citizenship.
In New Zealand, Aben worked at various jobs including as a commercial fisherman, a
baker, and builder, both of houses and boats, having met and befriended many sailors
and boat designers. He worked especially hard on a 38’ catamaran we later lived
aboard, and I remember many meals and adventures on this boat as it was slowly
completed, including rowing to shore every morning to catch my school bus.
Even though life had other plans for Aben and he ultimately settled in Canada for his
adult life, he was to dedicate great energy towards spending as much time as possible
in New Zealand over the decades. Whether it was with friends in Coromandel,
boatbuilding and sailing on Waiheke Island, or later cycling over the entire country and
hiking in many areas of the South Island, New Zealand gave him a place to feel truly
himself. He marvelled equally in its natural beauty and laid-back way of life. We lost
track of how many times he went. It really was his other home and his love for it
enriched all the lives of the people close to him.
As a father I have to say, Aben was incredibly loving and gentle. He was able to
provide me with great closeness, affection and warmth. He was exceedingly calm and
easy to talk to, offering sound advice whenever needed and a great example of
following one’s own unique path in life. He afforded me the freedom he himself craved
growing up, and my own childhood is full of rich memories of adventure, thanks to him.
He often pushed me further than I would have had the courage to go myself. I
remember once snorkelling in Fiji on one of our layovers to New Zealand. It stands out
because the place he proposed to swim out to together struck me as so much farther
from the beach than I thought would be safe. But we did it. Slowly but surely, we just
kept going and then there we were, swimming right out over the edge of the reef into the
deep water below where small sharks and rays hunted up and down the underwater
cliffs. I’ll never forget that day, and the desire he had to step into the wild and come face
to face with nature’s majesty. I was lucky to have him as my dad.
Although it wasn't always easy to be the child of such an unconventional person, time
and maturity have made me appreciate him for who and what he was. His love and
respect for nature was a foundational influence in my life, especially great trees, such
as the stands of surviving Sequoia Out West and remaining groves of ancient Kauri in
New Zealand. Being in those places was like going to church for him, but even smaller
trees would elicit his reverence.
One of my favourite memories of him was in a citrus orchard in New Zealand across
the road from where we were staying. Fences and gates were for animals, not people,
he thought, and he let us in without hesitation. As I traipsed about sampling this and that
tangerine, clementine, and oranges of every size, he lay back comfortably under one of
the trees and just gazed skyward through the low canopy, enjoying the scents of the
fruit and vegetation and allowing himself to be transported by the sounds of the plentiful
native birds all around us.
Another special memory I have is of when, in 1986 he made sure I got up at 3am to see
Haley’s Comet. It was utterly unremarkable, as I recall, but I do remember dad being so
very excited, and I get it now. I have since woken up my own kids to see or hear
nighttime phenomena, meteor showers, the northern lights, coyotes or just an owl
calling. I always think of him. Starlight and moonlight enchanted him, and was often up
before dawn stargazing; he knew most of the constellations in both hemispheres.
Another of my favourite memories was on his 24’ trimaran in New Zealand, on which we
were living. He and I set out in rather stormy conditions, determined to sail the 40 or 50
km across the Hauraki Gulf, a large body of water separating the Coromandel Peninsula
and Waiheke Island, our departure point. He entrusted me to the tiller and took care of
everything else, teaching me, guiding me as we went. I was 9 years old and it was
pretty serious sailing! But if he was nervous he never let on. To be sure, a certain
excitement and keen expression was about him, as cannot escape anyone rushing
through a lively sea, but he had confidence in me and that was a great gift, as a child.
We made it safely and it should be mentioned that he never had a motor on that boat.
On wind power alone, we managed to navigate through a narrow gap in the sprawling
oyster farms on both sides of the harbour.
Another day, on the same boat, we expertly sailed right up to the dock in bustling Port of
Auckland harbour, full of marine traffic and against the wind and a fast running tide. We
tacked furiously back and forth to gain a few meters each time, dodging ferries and
tankers. It was slow, hard work for little gain yet, we did it! A motor would have been
handy for sure, but as I mentioned, sometimes, he liked to do things the hard way.
Maybe, for him, it was the better way.
He built his 31’ catamaran, from scratch. He build his log house from the ground up. As
a rule, he would rather walk, or bike, or ski than drive. He cleared his own snow,
chopped his own wood, and grew his own food, as well and lots of cannabis!
Aben nurtured deep attachments and always tried to keep in touch. He would often call
or visit out of the blue, and I eventually realized people expected it of him and even kind
enjoyed being startled out of their routines by his unannounced appearances. He was
also a great one for last minute invitations, especially if the wind was just right for a sail
or the snow perfect for a good long ski. He liked to seize the day.
Always one to pause and listen to a bird or catch a glimpse of one, take a moment to
read the weather, gaze at the sunrise or sunset, or just sit and feel the sun on his skin,
he savoured each moment of the day. He let the beauty of the natural world touch him,
and took time to commune with it in every way he could.
He especially loved getting people together and hosting his treasured friends. His
charming and rustic home in Hemmingford with Lise was a place where folks from the
different circles of his life could meet and relax in a lovely setting. This was a poignant
and difficult era, yet he showed an uncommon determination to continue to live life to
the fullest despite his increasing disabilities. He did everything he could to stay true to
his ideals, often in defiance of anxious onlookers. He continued to walk barefoot as
often as possible, even in winter. He would cut, stack and heat his house with his own
firewood. He still had several building projects on the go: a wood shed, a greenhouse, a
cedar sauna. He never gave up. He bought an electric bike and used it to cover
enormous distances for which he became well known in the area. Of course, he never
wore a helmet. He kept making maple syrup at great personal expense, often
exhausting and injuring himself in the process - but he so loved the stuff. He would
drink it by the gallon. Of course many, many friends came to help, and I am grateful to
everyone who brought cheer and practical assistance to his days which were
undoubtedly incredibly tough.
He never, ever complained. Over the 20 years or so of his slow decline, he never gave
way to depression although his circumstances were easily enough to conquer a lesser
soul. He always maintained an inner peace, thereby attracting a remarkable string of
angel helpers into his life to accompany him on his journey.
His illness was a heartbreaking reminder of the impermanence of life, and the
inspirations levels of perseverance and tenacity with which he faced it leaves us all with
an example from which to learn. He never gave up hope of seeing another day, going
on another trip, having another party.
My father always insisted on having his passport up to date and his back pack at the
ready. Despite the enormous obstacles in mobility and autonomy he faced in his twilight
years, in his mind and heart and spirit, he was free, and he’d be ready to up and go in 5
minutes. He knew how to travel light, and I really hope that now that he is on his
Ultimate Journey, he is traveling into the Light with the confidence of a life well-lived.
I will leave you now with a Maori lament for the dead and dying. We played it on repeat
in his final days and hours, and we feel it helped him make his final transition, calling
him home to the sunny shores of beautiful New Zealand.
Thank you.