Category Archives: Words and Photos

Words and Photos: The Bake Shop

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When I finished my master’s degree in Library Science, I took myself on a congratulatory trip to Quebec City, where I spent a long weekend exploring the historic walled city and snapping photos.  While wandering down a cobbled street, this wooden rabbit caught my eye and inspired a romantic and winsome photo essay.

Photo by L.A. LeVasseur, 1998

Photo by L.A. LeVasseur, 1998

At exactly 5:00, the bells in the church tower rang and the young man rounded the corner onto the Rue Saint-Paul.  He had left his office earlier than usual despite his secretary’s questions about that evening’s conference call.  Above him on the cliff overlooking the Saint Lawrence River, the roof of the Chateau Frontenac shone in the late afternoon sun.  Momentarily distracted by the iconic view of the famous hotel, he halted, but then set out again, quickening his pace.  He had to reach the bake shop before she closed for the day.

Moments later, he reached his destination and stood beneath  her open window.  Dainty lace curtains fluttered in the summer breeze.  He stooped, hands on his knees, trying to compose himself as he breathed in the warm scent of cinnamon.  The wooden rabbit she kept on the sill stood guard over a wicker basket that was probably filled with hot, fresh doughnuts or perhaps chocolate cookies.  He took off his aviator sunglasses and smiled at the toy sentry, which seemed to beckon him inside.

As he straightened and adjusted his suit coat and tie, she appeared in the mauve-framed window.  Her honey-colored curls were pulled back from her freckled face and her nose was smudged with flour.  She wore a cheerful yellow apron over a sleeveless floral dress.  Her arms were tanned and toned.  Reaching for the basket, she glanced down into the street and her bright blue eyes met his.

Mesmerized, she gazed into his hopeful grey eyes and slowly smiled.  There he was again!  Carefully, she stepped back and closed the window, still watching him.  She placed the basket on one of the round, cafe tables scattered across the hardwood floor and turned to the door.  Today, he would finally step inside and into her life.

Words and Photos: The Tearoom

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On my first visit to St. Andrews in Scotland, my friend, Susan, and I stumbled upon a charming tearoom located on the edge of the sea.  The name of the establishment made me laugh: Crumbs Pavilion Tearoom.  When I returned home, I wrote this photo essay sparked by the photo I took that afternoon in St. Andrews.

Photo by L. LeVasseur, 1995

Photo by L. LeVasseur, 1995

As soon as she spies the tearoom from the crest of the hill, Sage can’t help smiling.  The compact building sits squarely on the edge of the cliff above the calm, clear ocean.  The summer sun shines down from the azure sky bathing its coral-colored walls in curtains of golden light.  The murmur of voices and the clatter of china and silverware blend with the steady hum of the surf on the beach below.

For her, Crumbs Pavilion Tearoom is a favorite old haunt from her childhood.  She and her pen pal, Linda, who lived on the Isle of Skye, met face-to-face for the very first time at the tearoom.  Shy with each other after their initial greeting, the girls exchanged curious glances as they stood silently at the counter waiting to order Wall’s ice cream bars. Sage asked for a Magnum White and Linda chose almond.  Finally, as they sat side by side on the sea wall, swinging their legs and biting into the thick chocolate that coated the rich vanilla ice cream, they began to talk.  For years, Sage continued to meet Linda at Crumbs each summer.  As they moved from college to first careers and then to marriage, they somehow had let the tradition go.  Until now.  

Linda waits for her at the doorway of the tearoom.  She holds the hand of a young girl, who has straw-colored braids and sports a pair of glamorous white sunglasses.  Catching her breath, Sage feels like she has stepped back in time.  The child is the spitting image of Linda at the same age.  Swept away on a wave of fond memories, Sage laughs like a carefree girl and runs down the hill.