My first mistake in attending the Quebec City ringing weekend was choosing to fly out of the Newark airport, where amidst ongoing technical issues and a shortage of air traffic controllers only a single runway was operational and my flight was delayed by an hour. My second mistake was informing the Canadian border police I was attempting to enter their country to attend a “bell ringing conference,” a nebulous description they regarded with suspicion (an apprehension which I must assume was exacerbated by the current US president’s stated desire to annex Canada), and led to a prolonged questioning session as I attempted to explain change ringing and they deliberated whether bells could be a genuine reason for crossing an international border. But even now after the weekend has ended, this interaction still begs the question: What exactly was the Quebec City ringing weekend?

By one definition it was a gathering of about 30 people from all across North America for the purpose of bell-ringing. And many bells were rung indeed! Visiting ringers and locals rang multiple quarter peals in tower bells and handbells across St. Matthew’s and the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity interspersed with training sessions for less experienced ringers such as myself. I particularly loved the impromptu exercise Myles led of ringing treble bob hunt on handbells at dinner while making changes by physically swapping positions standing in a line. For me it was a struggle adjusting to the longer draft of the Quebecois bells, but despite my inauspicious ringing performance I and the other learners gained much valuable experience.

However, defining the Quebec City ringing weekend strictly by the act of ringing leaves out the more intangible aspects of the exercise which do not directly pertain to the chiming of bells. The true draw of ringing is the pub conversation after practice, where you discover the commonalities and strange coincidences connecting you and the other ringers which in their aggregate create a sense of community. Before I traveled to Quebec, I was not sure whether the uncanny sense of common understanding I felt speaking with fellow ringers was a result of the New York tower consisting of particularly pleasant people or perhaps there was something inherent in the act of change ringing itself which attracted amicable curious individuals regardless of their geographic location. Local tower captain Donna McEwen must be commended for orchestrating an event which convinced me that bell-ringers are a universally delightful group of people transcending international borders.

Unlike New York’s bells anachronistically nestled among the skyscrapers on Wall Street, the bells in the heart of North America’s only walled city have a much stronger sense of place: bells were meant to be chiming in these historic streets. My weekend began as a celebration of this, when Donna's husband and local historian David Mendel, who later that day gave a fascinating lecture on the history of the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, picked me up from the airport and brought me to a delightful lunch at his and Donna’s stunning apartment in the old city. I am amazed I would be shown such hospitality, even given a place to stay, with no qualifications other than being a random American interested in ringing. On Sunday evening as we gathered on the balcony of a local ringer’s home in the mountains gazing at the sunset poking through the trees, a definition of the Quebec City ringing weekend came to mind: was it home?