Charles-André Rougeau-Roy
I was once told, “there are no coincidences” which I believe, is true.
I was born in Occitanie, in the South-West of France, a land of strong medieval history and traditions, where the soil was nourished by the blood of the rebellious Cathares knights, where the Autan wind forever carries the tears and lamentations of their beloved. Dark times that saw the birth of Fin’amor, sang by Troubadours, poets who celebrated romantic love. Occitanie always was a tragic crossroad of romance, where art and violence make love and dance.
I grew up in our golden hills of wheat, among the majesty of thousand years old sanctuaries: forts, castles, churches and to my delight, gardens. Ruined, rebuilt, protected, maintained. I always thought these old bricks and trees were a link, a way through times for our great ancestors to teach and inspire the youth. A legacy of beauty, that must be cherished, and built upon.
In my early twenties, we learned that the State had considered to wipe off our grain farm, for my past and my future to be replaced by a highway (A69). To build on better grounds, and despite my love for France, I was sent to study here, in Canada, the country of my Mother, while my Father had to fight in order to save our business, our land, and later our oasis of “unsignificant flowers”. His bravery and determination to defend our “way of life” as he likes to call it, fueled my ambitions and my rage to win.
After my studies, I was offered by Tante Valérie and Oncle Jules to live on their land of “Bay Lodge” in Ontario, a vast, dreamful Eden. I was quick to succumb to its wild charms, and love became passion when I realized that the crown of Bay Lodge lacked a gem. My quest was to find and carve it, to create beauty for others to admire, cherish and build upon.
As any gem, it appeared where I was not looking. My Mother was the 1st to come across it, Grand-papa Nap Roy had told her in a dream : “Il faut planter des pivoines!” he said, with his French-Canadian accent… My Father was the 2nd, nine years ago, as he was attending a supper, an old man told him all about it : “Et beh je fais des pivoines cong!” – “Peonies buddy, I grow peonies!”.
We listened.
And this is how, for the last decade, starting with my Father in France, and then with Tante Valérie in Canada, on both sides of the ocean, as a family we perfected the art of cultivating beauty, our passion, our jewel, the queen of the flowers : La Pivoine – The Peony.
I was once told, “there are no coincidences”.
Fleur de Roy was always meant to be.
