In the wilds of Amqui, where the Matapédia River winds like a forgotten dream, a garden intervention emerged — not just a patch of greenery, but a reverent salute to the valley's past. The signage? A masterstroke of simplicity and meaning. Hay bales nudged the traveler toward the installation, a whisper of rural life. And the materials? A subtle dance with nature itself, harvested from the land, shaped, but not tamed. All of it — the whole thing — in dazzling white. The color of history, of the first Kempt Road, of the milk run snaking through the valley, of chalk scrawled on blackboards by those no-nonsense Ursuline nuns. The past and present tangled in a brilliant, immaculate knot.