When we were in Montreal last August, we were driving down one of the city’s streets on our way to Notre Dame Cathedral. It was our first time visiting the cathedral – it had been closed the year before when we tried. I was looking out the window – I’m always on the lookout for an unusual picture, and I saw a giant bird. Was that a bird? I asked my family. I think that was a dodo bird. I don’t know how I knew it was a dodo bird, but they thought I was seeing things. One google search showed that I wasn’t. It was really there. When we went last week, I made sure to put the dodo bird on my list of things to take a picture of.

It did not disappoint.

Most of the trip was to do research for the book I’m writing about St. Kateri Tekakwitha, and while I wasn’t able to look at documents, I did speak to some people, attended two masses, and received a wealth of information – all of it inspiring. The second mass was a surprise, and the priests were two traveling priests who said mass for the four of us in the church at the time. The homily was about Mary at the crucifixion, and I was moved to tears by not only this man’s words, his sermon, his preaching, but his excitement. He was just thrilled to be talking to us about our mother, Mary. It was a beautiful thing.

On our last day, we went to see the original burial place of St. Kateri, which is marked by an empty tomb (cenotaph) in Sainte-Catherine. I had been there before; this was the first Kateri place in Canada that I had been to initially, but I wanted some photos closer to the water that flowed behind the shrine. Water is important in the story of Kateri’s people and where they located their villages. I got there, and I stood for a moment, just looking around. I was overcome with the scent of flowers. It was so strong, like lilies or hyacinth. Hyacinth has that very strong, powerful, flowery aroma.

I looked around to find where the strong smell was coming from, but there was nothing. There were flowers, pines, grass, and a shrub or two. I even put my face into some of the colorful flowers that were budding there, but none of them gave off that smell. Nothing there could explain the scent. As one of my writing colleagues said the other night maybe St. Kateri was communicating something to me. She was called the Lily of the Mohawk, so maybe they were right. Whatever caused that remarkable moment I may never know, but it remains inspiring and wonderful all the same.

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