I was born in Vrin, a small mountain village in
Switzerland, and grew up in a house filled with
books. It’s not surprising, then, that I spent a
lot of time reading and started writing very
early in my childhood.
I was a somewhat lonely child, having lost an
adored father when I was five. In our house
there was an attic room, where we stored
many old newspapers, school projects,
personal letters and so on. It was a treasure
trove for a child like me, and, to my mother’s
frustration, I often disappeared to that place,
deriving enormous pleasure from finding and
reading interesting material. It was also the
place where I penned and stored my first
I continued to write all my life, just for my own
pleasure, during school years and later, while
working as a clerk in Zurich. I liked to travel in
my holidays, but always returned home to that
little village in the mountains as often as I could
to visit my family and to spend time in my
favourite places in the area.
I spent a year in the United States and, while
there, I visited Winnipeg with a friend. That we
visited Winnipeg in the dead of winter shows
the measure of our ignorance of Canada. The
climate was a shock, needless to say.
However, that visit was to shape the rest of my
life, as I met a farmer from Manitoba, whom I
married a year later. We settled on a farm in
the Interlake, where our three children were
The farm was too small to support a family and
we both started working at the Canadian
Forces Station in the area. When the station
closed down, we were transferred to CFB Shilo,
where we worked till retirement.
My husband, Tom, died in 2005, and I moved
to Brandon, where I now live with my cat, Ellie,
in another house filled with books.