Our Country – Our places. Our voices.

ILLUSTRATION: KERRY HODGSON

Vinessa Antoine

The star of CBC’s Diggstown discovers a chapter of Canada’s black history in North Preston, N.S.

I recently shot the first season of Diggstown in Nova Scotia, which is a place I had never visited before. When I started to do research for my character, Marcie Diggs, I learned that Nova Scotia has Canada’s oldest and largest black community, North Preston in Halifax. It was great to visit that community and see the rolling green landscape, the nearby white sand beaches, the neighbourhoods, the homes, the churches. It was all so beautiful and raw.

The black community in Nova Scotia has some really sad connections as to why and how it came to be in Canada, and that brings up all sorts of feelings for me. First, I was really angry and confused that I had not learned about black Canadian history and its strong ties to the Maritimes in school. I grew up in Scarborough, Ont., but my roots are in the Caribbean; my parents are both from Trinidad and Tobago, and my community felt very Caribbean. For many years, I had this incorrect knowledge that most black Canadians were Afro-Caribbean. I wish I would have learned earlier about African Canadians and places like North Preston. There were so many black people who were an integral part of life throughout Nova Scotia. They owned land and businesses, and were involved in a lot of firsts. Take Rose Fortune, for instance, who was the first female police officer in Canada and lived in Annapolis Royal. Knowing these things earlier would have given me more of a sense of identity as a black Canadian.

—As told to Michela Rosano

North Preston is located in Mi’kma’ki, the traditional territory of the Mi’kmaq.

ILLUSTRATION: LEMAY

Margaret Atwood

The iconic author shares her vivid memories of Canada’s Arctic, from its impressive wildlife to its otherworldly landscapes

Visiting Canada’s Arctic is the kind of thing that people say changes your life. You have no idea what the planet is really like until you’ve been to the Arctic.

People often think it’s a colourless place, covered in ice, but it’s actually vivid with colour. Depending on which part of the Arctic you’re in, there aren’t many trees, but there’s a lot of growth that turns different hues.

The wildlife in the Canadian Arctic is also impressive: bears, walruses, whales, seals — not to mention astonishing bird life in many places. During one trip with Adventure Canada, we were in a boat approaching a large rock that looked to be volcanic, because there were huge clouds of steam rising from it. But indeed there is no volcanic activity in that part of the world. As we approached, we saw that the steam was rising from hundreds of walruses that had hauled out upon this rock on a sunny day. The older ones were lolling about on the rock, and the younger ones were charging around in the water like a football team, snorting.

Another time I went to see a large field of stromatolites that had been discovered just the year before. Stromatolites are the fossilized mounds of blue-green algae that created oxygen in our atmosphere billions of years ago. Our planet didn’t come ready-made with oxygen; it was created as these organisms split oxygen off water. Every time you breathe, you are breathing an inheritance from those very fossils. In my short story, “Stone Mattress,” the murder weapon is one of these stromatolites. The word translates literally as “stone mattress,” and they’re very sharp and pointy when they fragment.

The Canadian Arctic is a fascinating place. Culturally, historically, geographically, it’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced anywhere else.

—As told to Heather Yundt

The Canadian Arctic encompasses Inuit Nunangat, the homeland of Inuit in Canada, the Sahtu Dene and Métis, and the diverse First Nations of northern Yukon.

ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT CARTER

Dan Aykroyd

The actor and comedian on his classic Canadian hideaway near Kingston, Ont.

My favourite place in Canada is the island that I own. On Canada Day, 1987, I was driving my boat on Loughborough Lake, north of Kingston, when I saw this island for sale. Islands almost never come up for sale, so I spun around, raced into the local real estate office and asked them about it. The agent told me its name was Loon Island. This was the day after the new $1 coin with the loon on it came out. I took it as a sign and bought the island, and it was the best money I ever spent.

Loon Island is basically a granite hump, about three hectares, right in the middle of Loughborough Lake. I have a very spartan camp there with an Airstream trailer that will never roll again, a cooking tent and a firepit, and I don’t think I’m going to improve it much. Over the years people have encouraged me to build a house or cottage, but I like the campground feel of it. It has that classic Group of Seven look with the windswept pines and cedars. The sunrises and sunsets are beautiful. Food always tastes better on the island.

Some friends and I floated the trailer over on a barge. The very first night I spent there, we were inside avoiding the mosquitoes when all of a sudden loons started calling all around the island — first one, then two and three and four, with this welcoming cacophony of their cry. It was as if they were acknowledging me as the new resident of the island.

I like to go there to write; I’ve written a couple of screenplays there, and other pieces. But mostly I go just to be there. There’s nothing like getting up in the morning and going down and slipping into the water for a swim and coming eye to eye with an otter or a fisher. That’s how I connect with nature.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

Loughborough Lake is situated on the traditional territories of the Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee. They have an enduring presence on this land, as well as the Métis, Inuit and other First Nations from across Turtle Island.

ILLUSTRATION: STEPHANIE SINGLETON

Elladj Baldé

The figure skater finds freedom on the wild ice of Lake Minnewanka, Alta.

I’ve always been connected to nature, but until a few winters ago I’d never had the opportunity to be on ice formed by Mother Nature. I reached out to a friend of mine, Paul Zizka, who’s a mountain man in Banff. He said there was an opportunity to skate on Lake Minnewanka the next morning. So, I met him there.

When I finally got to step on that ice, the feeling was magical. I’ve been skating my whole life; I’ve skated indoor rinks that have the best technology in the world to make the ice as smooth as possible. But nothing comes close to the smoothness I felt on that ice that was just formed the day before by Mother Nature. It felt like I could push, then glide on that one push forever. As a figure skater, that feeling is infectious.

It was so quiet I could hear my blades, and I could also hear the ice. Wild ice sounds like no other ice. It almost feels like you’re in the middle of a science fiction space war, because it makes these “pew, pew, pew, pew” sounds like I’d never heard before. It was completely mesmerizing. I actually lay down and just allowed myself to hear the ice. It feels alive. It feels like it’s talking to you.

That first experience of being on wild ice completely shifted my perception of skating. It allows for more freedom because nature is so free in itself. It forces you, or inspires you, to find that kind of freedom within yourself. From that point on, all I wanted to do was skate on wild ice. Now it’s part of my life, and it will always be part of my life.

—as told to Abi Hayward

Lake Minnewanka is on the traditional territory of the Niitsitapi from the Blackfoot Confederacy, including the Siksika, Kainai and Piikani First Nations, the Îyârhe Nakoda of the Chiniki, Bearspaw and Goodstoney First Nations, the Tsuut’ina First Nation and the Métis Nation of Alberta.

ILLUSTRATION: PAUL ROBERT

Robert Bateman

The renowned wildlife painter on how he’s inspired by the natural beauty of Saltspring Island, B.C.

Saltspring Island feeds my soul. My home sits on 80 acres, next to a small lake surrounded by pastures and Douglas fir forest. MountMaxwell hangs in the distance, seeming to rise out of the sea.

Just outside my studio window is a tiny heritage orchard of four or five apple trees, and I often sit and watch the birds at the feeders. A 1930s farmhouse, where my granddaughter was born on the floor, lies beyond, and every time I look at it I’m reminded of family.

A sloping meadow leads to a swamp bordered by tall, dead cedars and teeming with birds. Often in the mornings, my wife and I sit in bed and watch the bald eagles, hawks and Steller’s jays from the window. The birds here are a source of inspiration for my work.

Every day after lunch, we hike one of my favourite paths in the world, a grassy old farm road that cuts through the forest. There is a stream that trickles through the woods and pools near this path, and it’s full of little fish. Gigantic swamp lanterns, with their big foliage and bright yellow flowers, line the pond and make beautiful reflections in the water.

I have made many trails through these woods, as I’ve done everywhere I’ve lived, and each has carefully chosen spots where I can stop to enjoy the view. But there are many parts of this forest I’ve never set foot on and maybe will never see.

—As told to Michela Rosano

Salt Spring Island is the traditional, ancestral and unceded territory of the Coast Salish peoples. These include the Penelakut, Cowichan, Lyackson, Chemainus, Snuneymuxw, Tsawout, Tsartlip, Pauquachin, Tseycum, Malahat, and Halalt, who live in the Salish Sea, and have had an ongoing relationship with Salt Spring and surrounding islands since time immemorial.

ILLUSTRATION: MICAELA BLONDIN

Yannick Bisson

The star of Murdoch Mysteries reflects on his magical spot in Ontario’s Kawartha Lakes

I’ve been asked about my favourite place in Canada a bunch of times over the years, and for a long time I told people I loved going to British Columbia — it’s one of the most beautiful places on Earth, never mind in Canada. But something happened in the summer of 2017 that was completely unexpected. We went to visit some friends at their cottage on Chandos Lake, in Ontario’s Kawartha area, and discovered they were selling the lot next to theirs. We had the most magical weekend, and at the end of it we said, “How much do you want for the lot?”

Last summer was our first summer in our cottage, and we’ve completely fallen in love with the place. It has totally changed me. There was a shift in my work schedule, so I had two or three 10-day breaks, and I was up there quite a bit, chopping wood, fixing things up. I just felt this huge weight lift off my shoulders when I was there. I’d wake up and take my dog down to the water, and we’d go fishing before dawn. I watched the sun set every night. I cooked outside. I even bought a boat. It was funny: my dog had started abandoning me, jumping onto my friend Mark’s boat and hanging out with them all day long, so I had to get a boat or else I wouldn’t have a dog! Now we’re all having fun wakeboarding, exploring different corners of the lake.

Even the drive in, on Highway 504, is special. We take bets on what wildlife we’re going to see, because there are families of wild turkeys, deer, moose and bears. We see beavers crossing the road sometimes with big branches in their mouths. It doesn’t get any more Canadian than that.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

The Kawartha Lakes are on Anishinaabe traditional territory. These lands are covered by the Williams Treaties.

ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY

Michael Bonacini

The celebrity chef and MasterChef Canada judge reminisces about escaping to rural living in Caledon, Ont.

I have a country home in the bucolic hills of Caledon, Ont., about 60 kilometres northwest of Toronto. I really connect with the beauty here and what it has to offer, like the quirky and wonderful people I’ve made friends with. It really is a great part of the world. I love coming up, as do my wife and son. Going there is really about getting back into the countryside, where things move at a slightly slower pace and the air seems fresher, the trees greener, the wildlife more plentiful.

I’ve never been the kind of guy to sit for too long on the back deck with a beer or a book. I always have a job going. And here it’s the kind of jobs I can’t do in the city. Cutting the grass, planting trees, building a stone wall, tidying up the barn. Just these outdoor jobs that I love to do. Splitting firewood, stacking firewood and making a fire when it starts to get chilly … there is nothing more satisfying and gratifying. They’re all sort of rituals that I don’t find chores. I actually look forward to them.

I also have wonderful neighbours. A neighbour farmer friend taught me how to plow. I have a local beekeeper who comes to see me. I hike with a group of guys weekly. I feel very much a part of this community and I feel welcome here. The group of friends we hang out with in Caledon have a favourite little cidery down the road and a coffee shop in the village, a bakery we stop at when we’re on our cycling tours, a friendly neighbourhood pub. It’s unique little destinations like these that make it extra special. I never tire of coming here.

—As told to Aaron Kylie

Caledon is located on the treaty lands and territory of the Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation, and is part of the traditional territory of the Huron-Wendat, Haudenosaunee Peoples, and the Anishnabek of the Williams Treaties.

ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT CARTER

Roberta Bondar

The first Canadian woman in space on the wonder of seeing Canada from the seat of a helicopter

Right now, my favourite place to be is in a helicopter with my camera, gliding over Canada — from tundra to prairies to temperate rainforests. They’re places I thought I knew or that I hadn’t been able to get to. Recently, I flew over Southampton Island, one of the most southern islands of the Arctic Archipelago, following endangered and near-threatened birds, such as the red knot, that nest on the island. To soar over this magnificent terrain, observing its striking sculpted edges that spill out into Hudson Bay, and understanding that this is part of the country very few people get to see, was indescribable.

The idea that there is a different perspective to life is an important one. It’s about trying to grasp what a person’s history is on the planet at a particular time, while understanding that the natural environment is something that’s been here long before us. When I was in space and saw the edge of the Earth contrast with the black universe, it had a huge impact on me. That’s why, since my space flight, I look for clear horizons on the surface of this planet, like the prairies or the Arctic. When we look at our country from above, everything suddenly feels so important, because we are seeing the interface between the universe above and the planet below.

For me, what’s most special about this country is appreciating that life on the surface of this planet has been there for hundreds of thousands of years. It’s that kind of permanence that humbles me.

—as told to Samantha Pope

Southampton Island, known as Salliq (ᓴᓪᓕᖅ) in Inuktitut, is in the Kivalliq region of Nunavut in Inuit Nunangat.

ILLUSTRATION: FELICIA CIRSTEA

Paul Brandt

The country musician reminisces about family connections and nature on Alberta’s Bow River

Living in Nashville for 10 years, my wife and I always had a vision to eventually move back to Alberta to be closer to our families. We have been all over the world, but there is something about a particular spot in Alberta, the Bow River that flows through Calgary, that just kept drawing us back there. It’s really one of my favourite places on the planet.

I think back to stories my dad used to tell me about how the river was wilder when he was young, flowing faster and deeper before all the dams were built. That image has always been inspiring to me. The river is where Calgary was born, where Indigenous populations decided to put their first camps. The river embodies the spirit of Alberta.

The Bow River is unlike any waters I have ever seen. You can float on a boat past the Calgary Tower and drift underneath the Peace Bridge, absorbing the sights and sounds of the city. An hour or two later, you could be floating alongside bluffs with huge peaks that overlook giant valleys, wheat fields and wild grasslands. If you look west, you can spot the snowcapped Rocky Mountains in the distance.

I often think about how my dad grew up there, how I now fish there and how my children are now going to have the opportunity to grow up and do the same. I think back to my son’s first fishing trip at the Bow River when we caught a large brown trout and then released it back into the water. It was so special to be able to share that moment with him, and it felt like I was passing this tradition along.

—As told to Samantha Pope

Calgary is located on the traditional territories of the peoples of Treaty 7, which include the Blackfoot Confederacy (comprised of the Siksika, Piikani, and Kainai First Nations), the Tsuut’ina First Nation, and the Stoney Nakoda (including Chiniki, Bearspaw, and Goodstoney First Nations). Calgary is also home to the Métis Nation of Alberta (Districts 5 and 6).

ILLUSTRATION: CAM WILSON

Dean Brody

The country singer-songwriter recalls his childhood growing up in British Columbia’s East Kootenay region

As a kid, I grew up in Bull River and then moved to Jaffray, B.C. The thing about East Kootenay is that it seems like its own corner of the world. It’s kind of isolated, and the pace of life isn’t like what I experience nowadays. That, plus the wildlife and the scenery, are still things that I long for. Whenever I get to hang out there, it always evokes great memories and nostalgia.

I remember a lot of pond hockey. A lot of my hockey-playing friends from the city grew up in arenas, but I grew up on the ponds. If you had skates, a shovel and a pond, you were good to go.

I started playing pond hockey around third or fourth grade. I remember making goalie pads from foam taken out of a couch someone threw away. They didn’t help much with stopping a puck. We didn’t have boards, so the puck would get lost in snowdrifts. If we couldn’t find it, we knew we’d find frozen horse turds if we dug deep enough into the snow.

Probably one of my most enduring memories is of my house off in the distance — steam on the windows, mom making dinner — and us off on the pond, snow falling through the light, the sound of hockey sticks clacking and skates carving on ice.

There’s something about that lifestyle, with the thousands of acres of silence and solitude, that I appreciated when I was younger. When I get to go back to that world, I gain perspective and peace. I just love being in those places.

—As told to Siobhan McClelland

The Kootenay region is located on the traditional and unceded territory of the Ktunaxa, Sinixt, the Syilx and the Secwepemc peoples. It is also home to many other Indigenous peoples, including the Inuit and Metis.

ILLUSTRATION: TARA HARDY

Measha Brueggergosman

The opera singer and New Brunswicker relishes the sensory delights of Halls Harbour, N.S.

Halls Harbour is just 15 minutes from my parents’ place; we usually go there after church on Sundays. It’s this wonderfully transformative but consistently dramatic place in the Annapolis Valley region on the Bay of Fundy, which has the
highest tides in the world.

I remember when my parents first moved to Nova Scotia — I thought it would be a whole new world, that it would seem so far from the ocean. But the reality is that the valley is right near the coast. And it has its own type of beauty: you can see its expanse, the red mud, the red sand and strange clay-scapes. It’s a unique landscape.

You get a lot of wind in Halls Harbour. It’s part of the drama. I can feel the wind; I can smell the seaweed and the salt. For me, that’s the call of the Maritimes. When you get off a plane coming from larger centres, it hits you. It’s that clean ocean air.

To see it through my son’s eyes is so fascinating. He’s not quite two, and he goes along the planks of the dock, laughing at the seagulls and wanting to pick up rocks on the beach. When the wind comes in and gets in his eyes, he finds it hilarious. It’s great. It teaches me how much is there. When I see my son and what catches his attention, it hones my own attention and helps me recapture the whole area.

—As told to Siobhan McClelland

Nova Scotia is within Mi’kma’ki, the territory of the Mi’kmaq that encompasses present-day Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and parts of Quebec, Newfoundland, New Brunswick and Maine.

ILLUSTRATION: RAY FAWKES

Johnny Canuck

The comic-book aviator hero recalls his first encounter with the northern lights in Eagle Plains, Yukon

I’ve seen a lot of sights in my time. My adventures have taken me across Canada and all around the world. I don’t think there’s a country on the map that I haven’t stuck a “visited” pin in. But when I have a scant moment of peace and think of what home really is, what I see are the northern lights over Eagle Plains in the Yukon.

The first time I saw them there was during a reconnaissance flight with my old pal Leo Bachle, late in the summer of ’43. I was on leave from battling those nefarious Nazis over in Europe, and Leo and I had decided to fly up to the Yukon for some peace and quiet and to do a bit of fishing. Well, when I saw those lights roll out over the crimson forest and dance across that wide sky, I was filled with awe and a calm pride. I’d never really believed the lights actually existed when I was a kid; I thought they were just something you’d read about in storybooks. But once I saw them, I knew I’d never forget it because there was nothing that could ever match that sight.

I don’t fly as much nowadays, so when autumn is on its way around, I’ll drive halfway up the Dempster Highway and find a place to hike out, breathing in the cool, clean air and waiting for the sky to darken and unfold. I’ve never seen the lights the same way twice — they change from moment to moment and from night to night. Maybe that’s what keeps me coming back.

—As told to Ray Fawkes

Eagle Plains is located on the territory of the Tetlit Gwich'in, Na-Cho Nyak Dun and Vuntut Gwitchin First Nations.

ILLUSTRATION: NATASHA DONOVAN

Tantoo Cardinal

The Cree and Métis actress on coming to terms with the transformation of her hometown

I was born in Fort McMurray, Alta., and grew up in the nearby community of Anzac. Whenever you saw anybody on the road, you always said hello. We shared moose meat, grew gardens and fished. We’d laugh and tell stories and cherish our musicians, dancers and jiggers. A railroad through the community was our line to the outside world.

It was also a time when companies came to Fort McMurray for oil and gas exploration. Today, the city is known as the heart of the tar sands, but I remember it quite differently. I left when I was 15 to attend high school. When I returned 15 years later with my son, on the same train I left on, the world I once knew no longer existed.

There were now roads and lines and wells everywhere. Houses had disappeared, replaced with muddy parking lots. The animals we used to live off of tasted different. Everything was nearly unrecognizable, save for a few trees that still had carvings I’d etched into them years before. I felt a sense of displacement.

I still long for the beauty that once was, but I have developed a new relationship with the Earth. Wherever I go is a place I belong — whether it’s the badlands, mountains or boreal forest, I accept it’s part of the world and the creation we’re in. Mining is depleting this living organism we’re part of, and it’s impacting us all, from the air we breathe to the water that surrounds us. Everything is connected; the oceans are the womb of Mother Earth. Everywhere we are is part of everywhere else.

—as told to Samantha Pope

Fort McMurray is on Treaty 8 territory, the traditional lands of the Cree and Dene Peoples and part of the Métis homelands.

ILLUSTRATION: JOHN HARTMAN, GEORGE ELLIOTT CLARKE ABOVE THREE MILE PLAINS, 2018, OIL ON LINEN, 60 X 66 INCHES. COURTESY OF NICHOLAS METIVIER GALLERY. PHOTO: JOSEPH HARTMAN

George Elliott Clarke

The former Canadian parliamentary poet laureate feels most grounded at Three Mile Plains, N.S.

When I was becoming a poet at 15 or 16, I had all the stimulation of Halifax, but I knew I needed to be at Three Mile Plains. Three Mile Plains is 70 kilometres northwest of Halifax on the way into Windsor town, where I was born. Black Nova Scotians have lived here since planters brought dozens of enslaved people around 1760. My own maternal family arrived on the South Shore in 1813 and migrated to Three Mile Plains a few years later.

The colonial government gave the impoverished Black people poor lots of land. It was not arable; it was swampy, rocky. But the people formed communities. No matter how much discrimination we faced, there was a sense of identity and literal groundedness on our piece of rotten terra firma. Because in slavery, you couldn’t own your children — they could be taken at any time and sold away, as could your parents. For former slaves now able to say, “that’s my piece of land, my horrible, non-productive, non-arable piece of land, but it’s mine; that’s my house, these are my children, that’s my husband and that’s my wife.” To have all these kinds of connections rooted in a place is powerful.

For me, my connection to Three Mile Plains was folklore, and the people’s experiences were the foundation for any writing I was going to do. When I walk on my own land in Three Mile Plains, I look up and all I see are tree branches until I get to Heaven. My crabapple trees, my spruce trees, my pine trees, my grass, my anthills, my beaver skeletons. All gloriously mine. And maybe one day still, I might build something there.

—As told to Jack Zimakas

Three Mile Plains, NS is located within Mi’kma’ki — the traditional territory of the Mi’kmaq. Mi’kma’ki comprises seven districts across what is now known as Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, Newfoundland and Labrador, and the Gaspé region of Quebec.

ILLUSTRATION: KERRY HODGSON

Kim Coates

The actor explains his newfound appreciation for Wanuskewin Heritage Park in Saskatoon, Sask.

One of my favourite places in the world is Saskatoon. It’s where I’m from and I’m very proud of that, so for me to never have heard of Wanuskewin Heritage Park — a site that has been around longer than some Egyptian pyramids — was embarrassing!

When I recently visited the park for the fi rst time, I met Ernie Walker, the man who has made it his life’s passion to not only keep the park alive, but to share its wonders with the world by advocating for it to be included on Canada’s Tentative List of UNESCO World Heritage Sites. A protected site like this, with its rich history as a bison-hunting ground and a gathering place for Indigenous Peoples for thousands of years, is exactly what we need in the world today. We’re all on our devices and the world is moving so fast right now, so to put our phones away and experience nature again is breathtaking. I was shown around the site and although it was raining, the smell of the dirt and the fl owers was intoxicating. We forget what the beauty and power of Mother Nature can do to our souls. When I walked the trails, I felt an attachment to the ground, to Saskatchewan and to what the Northern Plains Indigenous Peoples experienced 6,000 years ago. It’s kind of humbling, and it’s incredible.

In an archeological dig I took part in, I found a stone that had super sharp edges and engraved markings on it. Ernie told me that I was the first person to touch this rock in 700 years. It blew my mind.

—As told to Kiley Bell

Wanuskewin Heritage Park is located within Treaty 6 territory. The surrounding land has been used for nearly 6,000 years by diverse groups of Northern Plains Indigenous Peoples, including the Blackfoot, Cree, Ojibwa, Assiniboine, Nakota and Dakota.

ILLUSTRATION: MARY SANCHE

Sheila Copps

The former politician thinks back to childhood days spent exploring Cootes Paradise Marsh in Hamilton, Ont.

Cootes Paradise Marsh, on the western flank of Hamilton Harbour, is a hidden jewel. When people pass the Skyway Bridge, they see the city and the steel mills and Hamilton’s industrial heritage, but Cootes Paradise, a protected wetland, feels like a snapshot from the past because it hasn’t been touched. French explorer René-Robert Cavelier de La Salle made contact with Indigenous people in this area in 1669, and I can just imagine that it looks the same now as it did then.

Cootes Paradise is a huge swath of land with many nooks and crannies and an abundance of wildlife — it’s actually part of a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve. Its physical beauty, where the calm water of the bay meets the Niagara Escarpment, is what moves me the most. When I was in elementary school, I used to go on hikes there with my friends. We were free-range kids in those days, so we took the bus from our east-end homes as far as it would go and then walked the rest of the way. We had a ball playing around the marsh, the adjacent Royal Botanical Gardens and the trails.

Hamilton has a lot of birch trees, and they seem to really thrive at Cootes Paradise. I remember spending hours just looking up at those gigantic birches while making whistles with the broadleaf grass that grows in the marsh, and I used to love swinging from the long rope vines that grow on some of the trees. One day, we completely lost track of time; all of a sudden, we looked up and it was dark. It was a magical day, like something out of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

—As told to Michela Rosano

Cootes Paradise is located on the shared lands of the the Haudenosaunee Confederacy and Anishinaabe nations, acknowledged in the Dish With One Spoon Wampum. This land is also covered by Treaty between the Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation and the Crown.

ILLUSTRATION: KYLE SCOTT

Alex Cuba

The singer-songwriter explains why moving to Smithers, B.C., was the best decision of his life

I’m originally from Cuba and was barely 24 when I came to Canada. From the very first time I visited, this country took my breath away.

After living in Victoria for four years, my wife and I made the decision to move to Smithers, B.C., to be closer to her family. We have a summer cabin outside of town at Lake Kathlyn. It’s my favourite place to go — I just hop on my scooter and ride out there with my guitar slung on my back. The cabin sits on the lake’s edge, right at the foot of Hudson Bay Mountain. It’s a very small cabin, with just one bedroom, a bathroom and kitchen, but it’s in a beautiful environment. I feel very lucky to have nature so accessible. The loon, a magical bird, comes around quite a bit. A few years ago, I started imitating the sound they make, and sometimes I’ll get a reply back.

I go to Lake Kathlyn any chance I get, especially when I’ve been touring for a long time. On hot days we swim, hike, fish and make fires to roast food. Sometimes I’ll relax with a Cuban cigar and an IPA beer and just jam out with my guitar. It’s a peaceful place, and I’ve written a number of songs there, including “Vale Todo,” the opening track of my fifth album, Healer.

Moving to Smithers was one of the best decisions of my life. Many industry people think it doesn’t make any sense to move to a remote area as a musician because you’re supposed to stay in the city if you want to continue finding success. But I didn’t buy into that fear. Instead, I said it was time to put my family first. And Smithers has made me very creative with my music. I have the time to do it, and now I have the concentration.

—As told to Kiley Bell

Smithers is located on the unceded traditional territory of the Gidimt’en Clan and the Witsuwit’en people. The Bulkley Valley is the traditional territory of the Witsuwit’en, who have lived here for countless generations.

Jim Cuddy

The Blue Rodeo frontman on his connection to Alberta’s Lake Louise townsite

I have been to so many incredible places in Canada: from the mouth of the Mackenzie River to the north end of Newfoundland and countless places in between. But the most impactful place for me is Lake Louise.

I found myself living in the Rocky Mountains right out of high school, escaping a relationship that didn’t work out, and falling in love with the West’s wild beauty. I lived in Banff for a year working as a ski room attendant and spent the following summer in Lake Louise painting houses. It was during this time I was starting to delve into music and play in front of people. Almost every night after finishing work, my friends and I would play our guitars and drink and laugh. I have a vivid memory of my friend Mike and I walking up a road from a campground, and though it was an arduous uphill trek, we were singing “Late for the Sky” by Jackson Browne at the top of our lungs.

The Rockies are invigorating. They’re enlivening. The last time I was at Lake Louise, my wife and I were celebrating our 40th wedding anniversary. We fell asleep to the sound of the rushing river. The mornings brought a crispness to the air I could smell, and a cold that didn’t bother us at all. We swam everywhere we could — from Moraine Lake to the Bow River — despite glacial temperatures. We spent time mountain biking, too, coming across signs warning us of bears in the area. The mountains have a way of waking up your senses and making you conscious of every moment.

—as told to Samantha Pope

Banff National Park is located within the territories of Treaty 6, 7 and 8 and the Métis homeland.

ILLUSTRATION: KERRY HODGSON

Wade Davis

The anthropologist and Royal Canadian Geographical Society Honorary Vice-President on why Ealue Lake, B.C., is special

I was first introduced to northern British Columbia when I worked as a park ranger in Spatsizi in the mid-1970s. I fell in love with that part of the country and its vast, expansive wilderness. As a park ranger, I’d often supply out of Tatogga Lake and fly over Ealue Lake. I remember spotting this funky-looking fishing lodge. As a young man in my 20s, I remember thinking how incredible it would be if I could purchase a lodge like that. My wife Gail and I ended up purchasing the lodge in 1987. We have raised our children there. Without a doubt, it is the most special place in Canada for me.

Ealue Lake is home to the Tāhłtān Nation. When we lost the battle for Todagin Mountain, which is now the site of an open-pit copper and gold mine adjacent to our lodge, it was devastating. I remember my daughter taking off in one of our old chestnut canoes. I found her in the darkness sobbing. She was very attached to the lake and was deeply bothered by the mining project.

I promised her that no matter what unfolded with the mine, we’d wait it out. I told her when the mine is finally exhausted, I might not be alive to experience the return of the world or the return of silence to the lake, but she would be. And her children would be, too. That’s the sense of continuity and loyalty that I’ve learned from the Tāhłtān, among many other things. The lake has been such a rich, important anchor in my life. As Canadians, we are predominantly urban people, but we all yearn to live on the edge of the wild.

—As told to Samantha Pope

The Spatsizi Plateau is the traditional and unceded territory of the Tāhłtān Nation.

ILLUSTRATION: MICAELA DAWN

Robyn Doolittle

The reporter and author on her nostalgia for the independent theatre in her hometown of Forest, Ont.

II grew up in Forest, Ont. It’s a tiny town with two stoplights. You wouldn’t think much of it passing by, but there is something really special in Forest that gives me a rush of feel-good nostalgia — the Kineto Theatre.

Established in 1917, the theatre is among the oldest continuously operating movie theatres in the world. There was a little concession where you could get buttery popcorn. And old, slumpy red seats I’d plop down onto and then wait eagerly for the lights to dim and the film to start rolling. It’s a beautiful little building that was a big part of my childhood and youth. It’s not that common for very small towns to have movie theatres, so I always felt lucky we had one. It was so nice to meet up with a bunch of friends, get some ice cream and then go watch the big blockbuster that had just come out. Working at the concession stand was a coveted job in high school.

My parents took me to see my first movie at the Kineto: Snow White. I don’t think I made it past the first 10 minutes because I was terrified by one of the opening scenes where she was running through the woods. But it’s memories like these that have such a nostalgic impact.

I have young kids of my own now and I’m excited to take them to Forest and the theatre when they’re older. It’s such an exciting feeling the first time your parents drop you off at the Kineto to watch a movie, and you get to go out on your own. You really get that special taste of independence.

—As told to Samantha Pope

Forest is located on the ancestral land of the Chippewa, Odawa, and Potawatomi peoples, referred to collectively as the Anishinaabeg.

ILLUSTRATION: ANDREW HAVILAND

Alan Doyle

The musician explains why he loves walking the North Head Trail near Signal Hill in St. John’s

The first place I take people when they visit me in St. John’s is the North Head Trail at Signal Hill National Historic Site. It’s one of the most beautiful walks in any city in the world, rivalling the seawall route around Vancouver’s Stanley Park or any of the walks between the beaches in Sydney, Australia.

The first time I was on the trail would have been when I was about 19 or 20, shortly after I moved to St. John’s, but it’s the same now as it was 25 years ago. It’s got the same beauty and the same physical challenge — I now find myself doing it for exercise a few times a month in the summer. It’s also still pretty tricky because parts of it haven’t really been modernized: in some places, you still have to hold a chain for stability, but that’s part of what makes it so authentic.

If you go up to Cabot Tower at the top of Signal Hill, then you’ll get this amazing view of the ocean on one side and the city on the other. From there, you can take the trail right out to where you can see Cape Spear, the most easterly point in North America, and, if you’re there at the right time of year, icebergs or whales. It also leads you along the steep rock-faced hills above The Narrows, the entrance to St. John’s Harbour. When you’re on that part of the trail, you can turn, look back at the city and imagine you’re seeing what some of the first sailors here would have seen so long ago.

—As told to Carys Mills

The area around St. John’s is the ancestral homeland of the Beothuk. The island of Newfoundland is the ancestral homeland of the Mi’kmaq and Beothuk.

ILLUSTRATION: KERRY HODGSON

Jazmyn Canning and Crystal Drinkwalter

The YouTuber duo known as the Vanwives sing the praises of off-grid living in Nova Scotia

When we met, we wanted to travel and to spend the majority of our time in nature, and “van life” allowed us to do that. We were always chasing remoteness, and without even knowing that we wanted to live off grid, we kept finding these off-grid spots. Our cabin is very much the backyard we were searching for in our van. It encompasses all of the things that we love about nature and camping, but now it’s our own. Of all the places we’ve been in Canada, the cabin feels the most like home — and we’ve gone across Canada three times. There’s something about the Maritimes: the people are so incredibly warm, and it’s slower paced. We can live remotely but still only be an hour and a half away from stores.

Of course, we picked somewhere super remote and in nature; that’s something we’ve always been drawn to. It’s where we love to spend our time together and where we feel the most authentically ourselves. We have a small lake, and it’s very quiet and good for canoeing and kayaking. There’s a river that comes down through the property, and we see the trout swimming to the ocean. Before we installed electricity, there were some tough times, but going through these challenges made us more resilient. Living here can be isolating, so we make it a priority to have friends and family visit. Everyone talks about the quietness and says that they feel more present. People feel really rested when they’re here — it feels like a true getaway. Every morning, we have a coffee and walk down to the river. Waking up and being in nature never gets old.

—as told to Tori Fitzpatrick

Nova Scotia is within Mi’kma’ki, the territory of the Mi’kmaq that encompasses present-day Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and parts of Quebec, Newfoundland, New Brunswick and Maine.

ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY

Esi Edugyan

The two-time winner of the Scotiabank Giller Prize on her appreciation for peaceful Parksville, B.C.

If I am seeking to hit the pause button on life or the daily grind, Parksville, B.C., is my escape. My husband and his brother used to go camping near there when they were young, so there’s a nice nostalgia around it. We took my daughter there when she was two, and we’ve returned every August since to reconnect with my brother-in-law’s family.

Parksville is a small city where everything is built toward the water, with wide, expansive beaches that stretch for miles. The sand is soft, bright and scoured, and there’s that fresh smell of sea air that fills your nose. There are thousands of small, gelatinous blobs glistening on the surface of the beach. It’s all very magical. Everything feels like it has been rendered much slower and calmer there.

When I stand along the shoreline, I have a sense that there is no horizon, that I can just walk out toward the water and keep walking. It feels unspoiled, untrammelled, clean and remote. You can hear birds singing and children laughing. Peacefulness just washes over me.

One of my books, Washington Black, is about a man’s discovery of the natural world and falling in love with marine life. Writing it, I became interested in classifying different plants and animals, and learning which species are native to certain areas. I think Parksville embodies that passion.

When I am there, I feel grounded and we tend to have deeper, intimate and more philosophical conversations. There’s definitely something special about being in Parksville that allows us to connect on another level.

—As told to Samantha Pope

The City of Parksville is located on the traditional territory of the Coast Salish Nations, home to the Snaw-Naw-As First Nation and the Qualicum First Nation.

ILLUSTRATION: REMIE GEOFFROI

Chris Hadfield

The former commander of the International Space Station loves the unstructured simplicity of life on Stag Island, Ont.

If I could be anywhere, it would be at my summer cottage on Stag Island, near Sarnia, Ont. It’s still one of the few places on Earth that truly gives me the contentment of home. It’s a tiny, simple house that was built in 1896, and it’s a place I’ve been going since I was two years old. It’s a refuge, where I’m treated completely normally and where I’m very close to the simplicity of life and nature. I think a lot of Canada is just like that.

My favourite memory of the place isn’t really specific, but more of a feeling. Each day begins as an unplanned, unfettered, simple opportunity. There’s no structure, just a list of things that you might get done and a list of things that you don’t have to do; you could spend the whole day reading a book, or canoeing the back canals, or walking to see how the fledgling oak trees are doing in the south end. The place has a lifetime of gentleness at its core.

It’s not a holiday destination: it’s more of a way of life. I spend half the year there. At least I did before I became an astronaut 26 years ago. In fact, it’s where I saw Neil Armstrong walk on the moon. As I mention in my book, An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth, it was very late on the evening of July 20, 1969, when we traipsed across the clearing to our neighbours’ cottage and jammed ourselves into their living room, along with just about everybody else on the island. Later, walking back to our cottage and looking at the moon, I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

—As told to Sabrina Doyle

Stag Island is located in Lambton County, Ontario. It is part of the ancestral land of the Chippewa, Odawa, and Potawatomi peoples, referred to collectively as the Anishinaabeg. Lambton County was part of the Huron Tract Purchase, which was transferred under Treaty #29 in 1827, and also includes lands associated with the Sombra Township Purchase transferred under Treaty #7 in 1796, and Long Woods Purchase transferred under Treaty #21 in 1819.

ILLUSTRATION: PATRICK LAMONTAGNE

Rick Hansen

The Paralympian explains why Vancouver’s Stanley Park is his favourite place on The Great Trail

The first time I went to Stanley Park was probably in 1976, when I had just come down from Williams Lake, B.C., to go to the University of British Columbia. I’d decided to do some training, and one of my friends said, “Let’s go to Stanley Park,” and off we went. We wheeled around it, and it was like I had gone to the other side of the moon; it was quite a long journey for me at the time because I’d just come out of the rehabilitation centre and was starting to learn about my endurance and how far I could go. I thought, “Well, if I did that, I could go even farther.”

When I was an aspiring Paralympian in the late 1970s and 1980s, I lived in a little apartment in Kitsilano and was always trying to get down to the water, which I’ve always been drawn to. When parts of the seawall started to become accessible, Stanley Park became my training ground because I could go completely around it.

Even though the park is in a big city, when you get out on the seawall, you feel like you’re a part of the natural beauty of the ocean ecosystem. When you move around to Siwash Rock, you really get that sense of the West Coast, with the waves crashing in off the rocks. Sometimes at high tide and with strong winds, the water can blow up and over the wall and onto the trail, and you have to time it so you can pass before the next wave crashes across. If you’re lucky, you can see a seal or even a killer whale or a humpback whale.

The park is a place that made me realize that the world is accessible and inclusive, that I can have a life that’s full, that I don’t need to be cured in order to be whole, be included or be a part of something special. It’s truly inspiring.

—As told to Joanne Pearce

Stanley Park is located on the unceded traditional territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations

ILLUSTRATION: RACHEL IDZERDA

Lawrence Hill

The author of The Book of Negroes and Blood: The Stuff of Life reveals why he loves Woody Point, N.L.

I was invited to a literary festival in Woody Point, N.L. [surrounded by Gros Morne National Park], in 2010. I took my wife and children and we fell in love with the place. We kept going back. Finally, we were so smitten, we bought a house there.

When I want to really feel a place in my bones, in my psyche, I need to feel the geography. I like to move through it physically. Woody Point is ideal for hiking, biking or kayaking. The biking is particularly fantastic; you see bays and mountains, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and traffic is quiet.

Newfoundland, we’re discovering, has a special tone of activity, especially with artists, painters and sculptors. Every block seems to have a writer. I’m not so much inspired by the geography to write, but it gives me licence to write because it gives me time and space. There are not a lot of distractions, except during the week of the writers’ festival.

And that’s one of the things we love most about the village — this fabulous literary festival called Writers at Woody Point. People come from hours away to take part. It brings in fantastic writers and attracts passionate, devoted audiences. It’s quickly turning into one of the most attractive and sought-after literary festivals.

The place makes me feel quieter, calmer and much more focused on what’s really important: writing, taking time with my family, slowing down to read. It makes me feel like seizing the best parts of life.

—As told to Siobhan McClelland

The island of Newfoundland is the ancestral homeland of the Mi’kmaq and Beothuk.

ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT CARTER

James Hinchcliffe

The IndyCar driver reminisces about nature and family in Muskoka, Ont.

When I was growing up, my family had a cottage on Six Mile Lake in Ontario’s Muskoka region and we’d spend all of our summers there. I love being on the lake, out in the wilderness a bit. I got engaged in Muskoka, and got married there, too. It’s the most beautiful part of the country.

I think first and foremost of the lake. The water is smooth and clear and warm. It’s not too busy. There are cottages tucked into the woods and built up on rocks. There are some rapids at one end, and just sitting nearby and listening to the water is so peaceful. I feel so disconnected from the busyness of Toronto just an hour and a half away. It feels so removed and isolated. It’s the greatest place to go and get away from it all.

I love going up there with my family and people close to me. I’m not going to say you have to rough it up there, but you’re a little more in touch with nature. It brings people together. Sitting around a fire at night is a great time to catch up and talk about things you don’t normally talk about. It’s a great place to reconnect with people.

Muskoka inspires me because it’s where I want to end up — it’s where I want to retire. I think about my life after the hectic world of motorsports, and it’s really there that I want to be. On the road, I’m hyper focused on work. It’s a 24/7 job and I’m always worried about the next race or appearance. When I’m up there, the world just sort of stops. I get to take a minute and catch my breath and be myself, let the relaxed version of me come out. I find a lot of happiness there.

—As told to Angelica Haggert

Muskoka is located within the traditional territory of the Anishinaabeg, which includes the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi Nations, collectively known as the Three Fires Confederacy. These lands are covered by the Robinson-Huron Treaty of 1850 and the Williams Treaties of 1923.

ILLUSTRATION: KATRINN PELLETIER, COLAGENE.COM

Clara Hughes

The Olympic medallist and mental-health-awareness champion shares her memories of inspiration in northern Labrador’s Torngat Mountains

The word Torngait actually means “place of spirits” in Inuktitut, and you can really feel that when you’re in the Torngat Mountains. Every peak has a presence.

On a six-day backcountry trip last summer, I saw circles of stones that were ancient tent rings, and you could tell they were old because of the lichens on them. These were the places where Inuit ancestors would stop when travelling and hunting in the North. I also saw inuksuit, very old route markers. They’re all over the North, and they come in different forms depending on the landscape. I’d see them in the distance and say, “That’s not an animal.”

After that I visited the Torngat Mountains Base Camp and Research Station. They host a youth program for kids from the Nunatsiavut area of Labrador and the Nunavik region of northern Quebec. It’s about empowering the Inuit, fostering leadership and addressing mental health by connecting them with the outdoors. I was lucky enough to be part of that inspiring experience for the first time last year — seeing kids learning new things, taking what they learned and building on
those lessons. It felt like a window on the Inuit community.

On the last day of the camp, staff talked to the youth about their strengths and potential. Some of these kids come from really difficult places, and seeing the look in their eyes when they were being praised is something I’ll never forget. It reminded me of when I started in sports. I came from a difficult background myself, and I remember being told for the first time in my life that I was very damn good. Seeing and witnessing that happen was really special.

I came out of the Torngats feeling that the spirit of the place has been with all the generations who have travelled through that land.

—As told to Siobhan McClelland

Northern Labrador’s Torngat Mountains are the homeland of the Inuit of Nunatsiavut and Nunavik.

ILLUSTRATION: JOSHUA PLICK

Emmanuel Jal

The South Sudanese-Canadian artist, actor, DJ and political activist says it’s the people that make Toronto so special

Home is where you are loved. Anywhere you are loved becomes meaningful. When I immigrated to Canada in 2012, it wasn’t Toronto’s beautiful views or rich culture that made this city feel so special. Instead, it was the people who welcomed me into their city with open arms and have made me feel like I’m at home ever since.

Toronto is a place where I walk out of my house and I don’t see my colour. After a big snowstorm one winter, I came across my white elderly neighbours shovelling off snow from my house and walkway, helping to dig me out. One of them is 87 years old, and he still did it with a smile on his face. They have always looked after me since the day I moved in.

One of the people that invited me into Canada helped with administrative tasks and was my main point of contact — though she refused to be paid even after being offered money countless times. She says she got joy out of just seeing me smile. The people here are amazing, and if they don’t know, they need to know.

I feel safe in Canada, particularly in Toronto. I grew up surrounded by violence, death and trauma, and now I am running my own record label and have my own wellness business. I grew up in a warzone in South Sudan and became a child soldier, wielding an AK-47 at seven years old. But here in Canada, I don’t feel like I have to purchase a gun to feel safe. The people who live here make me feel at peace. I came to Canada with nothing, and now I have so much.

—as told to Samantha Pope

Toronto is on the traditional territory of the Mississaugas of the Credit, Anishinaabek, Haudenosaunee and Huron-Wendat Peoples.

ILLUSTRATION: CHELSEA PETERS

Tyler Johnston

The Letterkenny star relaxes and recharges at mom’s house on Hatzic Lake, B.C.

My mom has a house out on Hatzic Lake in Mission, B.C., and it is just magical. It is a place I didn’t really know about growing up, even though I grew up about an hour and a bit away. My mom has lived there for maybe six years now. She is obviously someone who is very, very important to me, and every time I go out to her place, it feels like I’m able to recharge.

I live in East Vancouver, and I wake up at 6:30 in the morning hearing the trucks taking out the garbage and the beeping and the SkyTrains — the noise of a city. Any time I get to go and visit my mom and spend the night, it’s quiet. You can hear the birds chirping, the wind wind-ing. It’s a nice place to go recharge.

I pull up to her front driveway from an isolated road, and across from it are blueberry fields. There are more blueberries here than you can ever imagine. My sister and I will go for a run around the blueberry fields if we’re trying to get a sweat in that day. You walk through the house, and on the other side are the lake and the mountains. She’s got her Canadian flag waving and a dock that leads out onto the water. In the summer, we’ll go kayaking or jump into the lake on hot days. In the winter, we’ll have a fire in the fire pit and roast marshmallows. We often see eagles flying. My mom likes to consider the eagles her neighbours. She’ll come visit me for a day or two to spend some time in the city, and then she’ll say she’s going to go home and chat with her neighbours the eagles in the tree next door. It’s a pretty special place.

—as told to Abi Hayward

Hatzic Lake is the unceded, ancestral and shared territory of the Stó:lō people.

ILLUSTRATION: FELICIA ATANASIU

Chantal Kreviazuk

The singer-songwriter reminisces about recharging in Ontario’s Haliburton Highlands

Being at the lake in Ontario’s cottage country is particularly special for me. My summer cannot go by without a visit to the woods and rock of Ontario, particularly my family’s spot near Haliburton. It’s a home base for us, though visits to friends’ homes in Muskoka, near Georgian Bay and at Lake Joseph, are inevitable, too.

As a kid, going to Kenora and the surrounding lake areas was an incredible treat, and I’ve never lost my love of wildlife, from moose to herons, which developed there. I used to go up north with my husband, but now it’s a tradition we share with our kids, and our place near Haliburton is similar. I hear the loons. I see the path lined with trees out to the road from the front door. The kids fish and kayak and run around free and hunt for lizards and insects. They get to be kids in their wonderment.

It’s really important to me to visit every year. Being there helps me completely shut down my busy life, and I become still. It makes me feel truly alive and present. Any yearning for material things seems to stop, and I’m at peace. I gain perspective and can jump back into my hectic life with gratitude and renewed inspiration after my visit.

As an artist, I need to shed the layers of projection and expectation that build up over time, and see what presents itself … what truly inspires me. This place allows that to happen. I get back to a simple me that can get lost in the chaos of travel and performing. I am transformed by the isolation and privacy, the beauty of nature. That’s what always brings me back home to the lake.

—As told to Aaron Kylie

The Haliburton Highlands is located on Treaty 20 Michi Saagiig territory, and in the traditional territory of the Michi Saagiig and Chippewa Nations, collectively known as the Williams Treaties First Nations, which are Curve Lake, Rama, Hiawatha, Alderville, Scugog Island, Beausoleil and Georgina Island First Nations.

ILLUSTRATION: FELICIA ATANASIU

Zacharias Kunuk

The Inuk filmmaker recalls his memorable first visit to the archipelago of Haida Gwaii, B.C.

I went to Haida Gwaii for the first time last fall and fell in love with it. I come from the Arctic, where it’s all white with snow and there are no trees. But in Haida Gwaii, everything is growing and it’s so green! Back home I know my hunting grounds, but when I went to these islands and found myself wandering through all the trees, I was at a loss.

I was there to help make Edge of the Knife, the first feature film shot entirely in the Haida languages. It’s a story from their culture about a man who survives an accident at sea and becomes known as the Haida Wildman. I stayed in a longhouse and got to see a totem pole being created for the community’s residential school memorial. It was amazing to watch that giant tree being carved. Up North, all I have to carve is soapstone! So I tried carving in wood, and did a figure of an Inuk woman with a baby on her back in cedar, which I left with my friends there.

I saw where the salmon spawn, I went clam digging, and I saw seals and killer whales. I’d seen both before, but seeing them in a new place was nice. I also went seal hunting with two young men, but they didn’t have the proper guns — just a couple of high-powered rifles, which are pretty strong for a seal. We eventually shot one, and I taught them how to skin and butcher it, then we shared some of the raw liver. The Haida used to hunt seals a long time ago but they haven’t done so in many years, so they don’t know how to do it.

Sometimes, glass floats used in fishing nets from Japan wash up on the beach. They are really neat to see. I looked around for some but didn’t find any. Maybe when I go back to see the film being finished, I’ll go see the Pacific side of the islands and find one there.

—As told to Harry Wilson

The lands and waters of Haida Gwaii are those of the Haida Nation. The historic Gíhlagalgang “Rising Tide” Haida Title Lands Agreement recognizes Haida Aboriginal title in Haida Gwaii.

ILLUSTRATION: KERRY HODGSON

Pujjuut Kusugak

A small grouping of cabins in I&uuqtuuq is a place of peace for Kusugak and his extended family.

My cabin is right along the coast, in I&uuqtuuq, within an inlet across from my community of Rankin Inlet. It’s about 25 minutes away by boat in the summer or 90 minutes by ATV if it’s too windy to travel on the water. In the springtime, when we go by snowmobile, it’s maybe 45 minutes. Being out on the land is relaxing. We’re fishing, egg picking or berry picking. Or we go goose hunting or caribou hunting. These activities are really not work. That’s our time off; that’s our free time. In the late spring, it’s caribou meat-drying season. We have meat-drying racks there that my grandfather built 30 years ago, and they’re still standing.

My father built the cabin 37 years ago. We were the first cabin in the area for our family — my parents, me and my three sisters. Then my grandparents built a cabin, and an aunt an uncle, then another aunt and uncle. Then I built one. My cousin and sister-in-law built one. Right now, we have five cabins within that small area. My nephew calls it the village!

The word we use to capture the feeling of this place is kajjaarnuq. I think the closest word to capture that idea in English is “serene.” It’s peaceful. It’s beautiful. Kajjaarnuq has so many meanings that you put together in English, but in Inuktitut it’s just one word that has all these feelings. The cabin is a place of peace for me. For many of us within the family, it’s our happy place. It’s where we’re able to teach our traditions to our children. It helps with our language and passing on our culture. It’s a healing place. It’s amazing for our well-being.

as told to Sarah Brown

Pujjuut Kusugak provided Inuktitut-language colour commentary and analysis of basketball at the 2024 Paris Summer Olympics. He previously covered hockey at the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics, the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics and the 2023 Arctic Winter Games in northern Alberta.

ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY

Nick Kypreos

The former NHL-er and hockey analyst recalls Sunday road trips to Niagara Falls, Ont.

When I was a kid, Sunday was always the most special day of the week. Sunday was synonymous with Niagara Falls, where the end of the weekend meant my family would pile into our Oldsmobile and drive from Toronto to the Falls. I grew up in the restaurant business so my dad didn’t have many days off, but Sunday afternoons were special. My dad had such a fascination with Niagara Falls and its worldwide reputation. My parents grew up in a village in Sparta, Greece, and whenever friends or relatives from Greece would come to visit, one of the first places my dad would take them was Niagara Falls. It was a special place for him and, consequently, became a special place for me too.

When I became a husband and a dad, I extended this family tradition to my own family. I try to get down to Niagara Falls with my kids about three times a year. We bike along the river and head over to Fort George or go find some fresh-made chocolate to purchase. I feel so much comfort thinking back on all the happy memories I have there and all the happy memories still to come. Sunday means family time. In many ways, visits to Niagara Falls bring back the kid in me. It’s like history repeating itself. Having the privilege of playing hockey in this country gave me opportunities to see Canada from coast to coast, but I really do think Niagara is one of the loveliest places in the country.

—as told to Samantha Pope

Niagara Falls is on the traditional territory of the Haudenosaunee and Anishinaabe peoples. This territory is covered by the Upper Canada treaties and is within the land protected by the Dish With One Spoon Wampum agreement.

ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT CARTER

Gordon Lightfoot

The legendary singer-songwriter recalls his childhood exploits in Orillia, Ont., and the surrounding lake country

From east to west, up into the Arctic and all the other wild places I’ve been, so many have poetic imagery that, fortunately, I’ve had the ability to translate into words, into songs. They get your imagination working for you.

But of all places, Orillia, Ont., my hometown, was the greatest influence. There was always music. In Grade 7, I made my first recording for a parents’ day event. It was “Irish Lullaby,” and it got played over the school sound system. I was taking music classes, then, performing the Irish tunes Bing Crosby was recording at that time for Orillia’s ladies’ committees and the men’s Lions Club, and all through high school I sang with a dance band. My girlfriends used to sit on the sidelines at the big school dances and wait for me. They were very good about waiting.

My friends and I fished winter and summer on Lake Simcoe and Lake Couchiching. I remember one winter that had been so cold, all of Lake Couchiching was covered by black ice and no snow whatsoever. But mostly we fished in Simcoe, off Eight Mile Point. Every winter for five years, we’d go half a mile out, each in our own huts, and pull up whitefish and lake trout. We used to take that lovely whitefish down to the Buehler Bros. meat market and sell them to the guy who ran the place. In the summertime we caught bass and perch up on Couchiching’s east shore.

The memory of it all! I mean, I was like Huck Finn. You could name any number of streams and we’d fished them, including the North River area where we went for speckled trout. We could make it out there on our bicycles, you see. All of that rubbed off and it kept working its way into my tunes. It’s everywhere. My song “Pussywillows, Cat Tails” — that’s a perfect description of what it’s like there.

—As told to Nick Walker

Orillia, ON is located on the traditional territory of the Anishnaabeg, specifically the Chippewas of Rama First Nation, a member of the Chippewa Tri-Council and Three Fires Confederacy, and it continues to be home to many diverse First Nations, Métis and Inuit Peoples.

ILLUSTRATION: JÉRÔME MIREAULT/COLAGENE.COM

Ron MacLean

The hockey broadcaster reflects on the appeal of a special park in Oakville, Ont.

I’ve lived all over Canada because of my Air Force upbringing, so it’s difficult for me to pick a favourite place, but I find in Gairloch Gardens in Oakville, Ont., a little bit of all the places I love the most, whether it’s the Shuswap lakes in British Columbia or Sylvan Lake, outside Red Deer, Alta.

It’s on Lake Ontario, which looks like an ocean and reminds me of my parents and Cape Breton. There’s a pathway in the park that reminds me of Johnston Canyon in Banff National Park, where I had my honeymoon. There’s a rose garden that reminds me of my mom. The land was first purchased by a Col. William Mackendrick in 1922, the year of my dad’s birth, then by James Gairdner in 1960, the year I was born, so there are all these crazy little connections.

At least three times a week, I’ll go for a run through the park and look at the different plants and animals in season. My favourite time of year is when I see the first rosebud bloom, usually around the middle of June. That’s when you can really smell the earth, and the baby geese are running around. I run just about every day in that window to ensure I see the first rose.

They actually have a slogan for the park: “A place with room for thought.” I’m not one to meditate, but in my own funny way that’s where I go to stare out at Lake Ontario and just experience a little gratitude.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

Oakville is located on the treaty lands and territory of the Mississaugas of the Credit.

ILLUSTRATION: SHELAGH ARMSTRONG

Rosie MacLennan

The Olympic gold medallist and reigning world champion trampoline gymnast reflects on her childhood summers in Muskoka, Ont.

When I was growing up, my family had a cottage in Port Sandfield, where Lake Rosseau connects with Lake Joseph. We’d spend all summer there and weekends in the spring and fall. It was where we came together as a family.

I have three siblings and two cousins, and as long as it wasn’t thundering, the six of us would be outside all day, every day — swimming, wakeboarding, waterskiing, tubing. Sometimes we’d have sleepovers in the boathouse, where you could hear the waves at night.

My grandparents also had a cottage on Lake Rosseau, and that’s where I learned a lot of the lessons that have translated into sport and the way I live my life.

I was the youngest and smallest of the cousins, but that was never a hindering factor. If there was something I wanted to do, my family would figure out a way to include me.

My grandparents had an activity chart up in the stairwell with all our names on it next to different skills; once you did an activity three times, you got a star. I remember being especially proud to get a star for doing a back dive, because it was something I was scared to do.

A week before my first Olympics in Beijing, I went to my grandparents’ cottage with my parents and one of my teammates. At dinner, my grandfather told us about how he qualified for the Olympics in 1940. It was the first time he’d really told me the story in full, and we sat around that table for hours, just chatting. A week later, he passed away. Looking back, that was one of the most special moments I had with my grandfather.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

Muskoka is located within the traditional territory of the Anishinaabeg, which includes the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi Nations, collectively known as the Three Fires Confederacy. These lands are covered by the Robinson-Huron Treaty of 1850 and the Williams Treaties of 1923.

ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY

Peter Mansbridge

The retired news anchor recalls the emotions he felt while sailing through the Northwest Passage

My job has taken me across the whole country, from big cities to small towns. But the area that excites me the most is the Arctic, specifically the Northwest Passage. A lot of people think of the Arctic as a barren wasteland of tundra and ice, but it’s spectacular in its beauty. There are mountains, vast bodies of water and an abundance of wildlife like seals, walruses and bird life. When you are one of the lucky few who get to travel to this part of our country, you want to tell other people about it.

I have always been fascinated by the mystery surrounding the voyage of the Franklin expedition. In 2006, before the successful searches to find the two ships [in 2014 and 2016], I was sailing through the Northwest Passage on a Canadian icebreaker. “Northwest Passage” by Stan Rogers was playing from the loudspeakers. We were frozen in that moment, listening to Stan’s words about the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea. At that point, we still didn’t know what happened to the ships and crew.

The Northwest Passage never fails to take my breath away. Being aware of what’s happening in the North is so important, and we must listen to our Inuit brothers and sisters because they have been ready to teach us for centuries. Ninety per cent of Canada lives in southern Canada, so it dominates our understanding of our country. And yet there’s so much more to Canada, both physically and culturally. The Arctic really does change your perception of who we are as a country. When I am there, I feel truly Canadian. Our North is such an inspiring force.

—As told to Samantha Pope

The Northwest Passage lies within Inuit Nunangat, homeland of the Inuit in Canada, specifically Nunavut and the Inuvialuit Settlement Region.

ILLUSTRATION: TARA HARDY

Yann Martel

The Life of Pi author unpacks the feelings evoked by Saint-Jean-Port-Joli, Que., on the St. Lawrence River

Home is a complicated word for me. My parents were diplomats, so I’ve lived abroad. Now I live in Saskatoon and have had spells in Ottawa, Montreal and Toronto. But when I return to Saint-Jean-Port-Joli, Que., in some ways, I feel like I’m home. The town is part of the family history. My grandmother on my father’s side is from there, and the family — the Bourgaults — are a well-known little family. Saint-Jean-Port-Joli, about an hour east of Quebec City, is known for these small wooden figurines of fishermen holding lanterns and that sort of thing. My grandmother’s cousin, Jean-Julien Bourgault, started that tradition with his two brothers and did extremely well. They got the Order of Canada.

I grew up visiting my grandmother there in her little house. Her house is the second-to-last house before the river — the St. Lawrence, which by then is actually a 35-kilometre-wide seaway. There’s a pier that juts out with a small lighthouse at the end. There’s a ritual in our family that every day, rain or shine, we go out to the end of the pier and look out. The sun sets magnificently here as the wind travels over the flat, cold water. At high tide on a stormy day, great sprays of water cross the whole pier, showering it. There’s this smell of ambient water — water below, water raining down from above and water being blown across. Across from my grandmother’s cottage is a cemetery, a lovely place. A place where my family’s memories are made geographic. These weathered tombstones speak the history of not only the people but of the village.

—as told to Thomas Lundy

Saint-Jean-Port-Joli is located on the traditional unceded territory of the Abenaki and Wabenaki Confederacy and the Wolastoqewiyik people.

ILLUSTRATION: MICAELA DAWN

Elizabeth May

The Green Party MP explains what it is about Margaree Harbour, N.S., that feeds her soul

As an MP of Saanich-Gulf Islands off Vancouver Island, it is hard not to fall constantly in love with the breathtaking views I wake up to. But my heart is on the East Coast. For me, Margaree Harbour in Cape Breton, N.S., is like a magnet — it pulls me in and doesn’t let me go. Though I wasn’t born there, it’s the place that feels most like home.

The entire island is breathtaking, but the beach on Margaree Harbour is especially beautiful. It is almost always deserted, which makes it a place of true solace, healing, renewal and joy. My daughter and I agree there’s something about the Atlantic Ocean that makes the air feel saltier and more energized, feeding my soul in a way that nowhere else does. I’ve spent countless hours on that beach, whether it be walking my dog or getting together with my friends and family to play music around a campfire.

I moved to Cape Breton Island in my teens — it’s where my parents passed away and my brother and sister-in-law still live, so there is a nostalgia for the time spent there throughout my life. I go to Margaree Harbour at least once a year, which really envelops the saying “You can take the girl out of Cape Breton, but you can’t take Cape Breton out of the girl.”

There are talks about drilling a deepwater oil well in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, which includes Margaree Harbour. This could do incalculable damage. I am very committed to protecting every part of Canada, but I feel like I have a personal relationship and responsibility to protect the Gulf of St. Lawrence and all the coastlines along Cape Breton.

—As told to Samantha Pope

Margaree Harbour is located in Cape Breton, N.S., within Mi’kma’ki — the traditional territory of the Mi’kmaq. Mi’kma’ki comprises seven districts across what is now known as Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, Newfoundland and Labrador, and the Gaspé region of Quebec.

ILLUSTRATION: RACHEL IDZERDA

Catherine McKenzie

The former lawyer and now bestselling author on what made her Quebec summer camp experience unforgettable

During my youth, I spent nine summers at Wilvaken, a summer camp at Lake Lovering in Quebec. I started off as a camper and then worked my way up to become a staff member. We’d spend our days sailing, canoeing and waterskiing, and our evenings admiring the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen. My lifetime best friend convinced me to go to the camp with her when I was a kid, so I made some of my best memories with her next to me.

My nephews went there for the first time in 2019, and the summer before that was the camp’s 60th anniversary, so there are still many things that bring me back to Lake Lovering. It’s always a special time when I arrive back, from seeing those familiar rolling hills to travelling alongside vast farmers’ fields. I can smell the pine forest and hear the birds in the trees — and I immediately know I am home.

When I attended the camp, there were only a couple of other camps on that lake, and there weren’t many boats or people outside of the campers, so the friendships I made during those summers were intimate and special. The people there are passionate about the camp, and that’s contagious.

Having a unique communal living experience like that changes those who go through it. Years’ worth of memories and friendships are compressed into a shorter time period because you’re with each other all the time. Things are just more intense in that environment.

—As told to Samantha Pope

Lake Lovering is situated in the Estrie region of Quebec. It is the traditional and unceded territory of the Abenaki people and the Wabenaki confederacy.

ILLUSTRATION: CAMILA PICHECO

Sarah McLachlan

The renowned Canadian songstress waxes lyrical about her love for Tofino, B.C.

When I moved to Vancouver almost 30 years ago, I had a friend who kept insisting that I come up to visit her in Tofino. She spent her summers there, at her parents’ little cottage. When I finally went, I was like “Holy crap, this is the most incredible place in the world!” I still get that feeling every time I drive to Tofino; as soon as the salt air hits my nose, I start to smile. Being there is the closest thing to heaven on Earth that I’ve ever experienced.

I bought a place on the beach 14 years ago, and that’s where I decompress — even if my two daughters are running in and out, looking for wetsuits with kids they met on the beach, or the house is full of friends. I can be social, be a mom, cook, unplug, relax. I rarely ever go into town, unless it’s for groceries or to eat at SoBo, my favourite restaurant.

When I’m there, I’ll usually get out early in the morning when it’s pretty quiet and take the dog for a walk or go surfing. Tofino is a big surf town, which is one of the reasons I love it so much, but by the middle of the afternoon in the summer there’s probably about 300 people on the beach — it’s insane.

Still, it’s wonderful to be so close to the ocean. It reminds me of growing up in Halifax and of my dad. Not long after buying our place in Tofino, I bought the place next door to it for him. I have some great memories of the times we spent together there reconnecting. When he died, I spread his ashes in the ocean, went out there and walked in the water with him. I know you’re not supposed to do that, but it was so profound and beautiful and sad. Every time I go out on the water, he’s there with me.

—As told to Vanessa Hrvatin

Tofino is on the traditional and unceded territory of the ƛaʔuukʷiʔatḥ (Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation).

ILLUSTRATION: JUD HAYNES

Rick Mercer

The comedian, author and television personality reflects on days spent at his cabin in Chapel’s Cove, N.L.

When it comes to Newfoundland and Labrador, I could probably have 100 spots on my top 10 “favourite places” list. But a spot that is particularly special for me is Chapel’s Cove, where I have a summer home. My father and his brother originally built a very small cabin here. It was more like a utility shed with a wood stove. They never bought anything new. At one point, they took out a bucket of bent nails that had been pulled out of old wood. We would sit there and they would be like, “Okay, we got an hour to kill. Let’s straighten nails.” As a kid, I remember thinking, “Surely you could just buy a box of nails!”

Today, I have a real home there that I designed. It’s about 45 minutes from St. John’s and overlooks Conception Bay. When I look out, it feels like I am on a boat, with the land disappearing and only the ocean visible on the horizon. As the sun rises and dips, I feel like I am watching my favourite painting change minute by minute in front of my eyes.

I am constantly mesmerized by the lights and boats that float along Conception Bay, with fishermen going out at daybreak and coming back in at sunset, coming and going in vessels of all shapes and sizes. When the bay is filled with squid, humpback whales frolic in the water in front of my cabin about 200 feet from shore. I could just sit there all day and watch them. It’s somewhere I feel at peace and where I can delve into my writing. The words just come easy when I am there and the only distractions are the noises that whales make right outside my window.

—as told to Samantha Pope

The area around St. John’s is the ancestral homeland of the Beothuk. The island of Newfoundland is the ancestral homeland of the Mi’kmaq and Beothuk.

ILLUSTRATION: MARY SANCHE

Geoff Molson

The owner and CEO of the Montreal Canadiens and scion of Molson Coors on what makes his hometown great

You almost get a taste of Europe when you come to Montreal: everyone speaks two languages and the architecture’s a little different. You just sense you’re in a vibrant city with a lot of history and culture.

I love that you can look out from pretty much anywhere on the mountain and see the brewery on the river. I’m proud to know that it’s been part of the city and part of our family for more than 230 years, but I also feel a responsibility, as a member of the seventh generation, to continue it.

I have three boys and a girl. At this stage, they all want to play hockey, but they’re starting to develop an interest in business and realize that making it in the NHL is a lot harder than they might have thought! It’s not my style to put pressure on them to have an interest in the brewery, but I hope at least one of the four will try to keep it going.

Hockey is sort of in our family genes. My grandfather and his brother purchased the Montreal Canadiens in 1957, and it’s pretty much been in the family and in the brewery since then. Growing up, we lived a block away from the Montreal Forum, where the Canadiens used to play, and if I got my homework done, I was able to go to the games. That’s how it all started for me, and now I’m living the dream of being in the ownership.

There’s nothing like going to a hockey game in Montreal. There’s so much passion and energy and love for the Canadiens in this city; you can feel it when they step on the ice, and when they score a goal or win a game, it changes the mood of the city. It’s incredible.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

Montreal/Tiohtià:ke is located on the traditional territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation, who are recognized as the custodians of its lands and waters. It has long served as a meeting place for many First Nations, and today it continues to be home to a diverse community of Indigenous peoples.

ILLUSTRATION: DON MONKMAN

Kent Monkman

The artist and Fisher River Cree Nation member on how he found his perfect escape in Prince Edward County, Ont.

I discovered Prince Edward County through close friends who moved out here about 15 years ago. I didn’t really know the area at all prior to visiting them.

I bought my first piece of land in the county in 2012. It was vacant, so I was going out there pretty much every weekend, camping in an Airstream trailer. I realized I wanted to spend more time out there, especially in the off-season. So I started thinking about setting up something more permanent, which, in turn, led to me buying a small farm in 2014. It’s an old farm on a dead-end road, so it’s really quiet. I can’t hear cars or see city lights. The air is really fresh, and there’s lots of bird life. You can hear the coyotes howl at night, and it just feels very tranquil. It’s a very calm place to be.

After buying the farm, I realized I needed a place where I could actually create my art. So I built a studio for myself where I can work full-time when I want to. The views are beautiful. I sometimes find myself popping outside to take photos of clouds for a painting. I also designed the studio with this long strip of windows that frame the landscape. Each window is like a different landscape painting. All in all, I’m very comfortable in Prince Edward County. I’ve carved out a little corner of the county for myself, and having somewhere like this to escape to has been a huge relief to me. This place has changed my life.

—As told to Tyler Cheese

Prince Edward County encompasses the traditional territories of the Anishinaabeg, Wendat and Haudenosaunee Peoples and is adjacent to the Kanien’keha:ka (Mohawk) community of Tyendinaga.

ILLUSTRATION: SONIA ROY; PHOTO: COURTESY OF CTV

Jon Montgomery

The Amazing Race Canada host and Olympic gold medallist in skeleton reminisces about his grandparents’ cabin in Manitoba’s Riding Mountain National Park

I’ve been fortunate to see much of this country as host of The Amazing Race Canada, but nothing compares to going back to the places where I spent time as a youth — particularly Clear Lake, in western Manitoba’s Riding Mountain National
Park. That’s where I feel grounded and reconnected to what I knew growing up.

My grandma and grandpa had a small seasonal cabin there by the lake, just over an hour east of Russell. There was no plumbing — water collected in a bucket below the sink, and a common bathroom and cookhouse were shared with seven other cabins.

Now, the word “mountain” conjures up images of the Rockies and jagged outcroppings. But this is the Prairies, so if you think that’s what you’re going to get in Riding Mountain, you’ll be disappointed. It’s more of a gentle rise. The whole terrain undulates and it’s densely forested; to see Clear Lake you have to get up on it.

And it really does have unusual clarity. In fact, it’s what Margaret Laurence, the great author from Neepawa, Man., just 45 minutes southeast of Clear Lake, called “Diamond Lake” in her novels. You can see five or 10 metres down — it doesn’t have the algae blooms that are clogging the big lakes in Manitoba.

Over the years, what Clear Lake means to me has evolved. When I was little, it was a chance to be mischievous and adventurous and to explore a wonderful place. To this day, when I hear a loon it reminds me of spending time with Grandma and Grandpa down by that clear water. They’re both gone now, so it’s nice to have memories like that. As a teenager I would come to the lake with pals and rent a nearby cabin. Now that I’m older, I don’t think about carrying on the way I used to — I think about taking my own family. I loved bringing my wife Darla to that cabin for the first time to show her some of the things I got to experience, and to brag about it a bit, because the park really is quite beautiful.

It’s a spot you can enjoy from the first day you draw breath to the last. It will always be the place we go back to.

—As told to Nick Walker

Riding Mountain National Park is located within Treaty 2 Territory and Parks Canada works with First Nations from Treaties 2, 4 and 1 to collectively manage the park.

ILLUSTRATION: STEPHANIE SINGLETON

Sergio Navarretta

The film director reflects on meteor showers and other magical moments on Lake Simcoe, Ont.

For 20 years we had a place on the corner of Innisfil Beach Park. I would sit on my balcony in the morning and have my phone meetings staring at Lake Simcoe. That, for me, is the spot. The water is turquoise and calm. In the mornings you see a few canoes. It’s beautiful and serene. There’s a view of Snake Island and Fox Island, two small islands. I consider myself a water person. The feeling of going for a morning swim in that lake before I start my day puts me in an optimal state to work in creative spaces. There’s this fresh, sweet smell that comes off the lake that’s really apparent in the early morning when you’re swimming.

Most post-production houses for film are located in the busiest areas of Toronto. I would go in to edit my latest film, The Cuban, and then come home, sit on the balcony and think about it. It was in those pauses that I would regain perspective. Having that contrast was so important. It recharged me.

I have so many fond memories of going out fishing with my dad and exploring the lake. One night, around midnight, we were swimming under the stars. I had never seen meteor showers so clearly. I’d seen them in documentaries, but seeing it live — while swimming and looking up at the cosmos — was something magical that I’ll never forget. It was so peaceful and so rare. It took me a long time to appreciate how unique that is. I think the pandemic really helped clarify all that I’m so grateful for when it comes to Lake Simcoe.

—as told to Thomas Lundy

Lake Simcoe encompasses the territory of the Chippewas of Georgina Island. It is within the traditional territory of the Anishinaabeg people, which include the Odawa, Ojibwe and Pottawatomi Nations collectively known as the Three Fires Confederacy.

ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY

Heather O’Neill

The award-winning author recalls her past and recent adventures around the McGill University campus

The McGill campus always stood out to me, growing up in Montreal. It was so noticeable, the way it opened up through these big gates into what seemed to me to be this strange, Victorian world. I would think, “When I grow up, I’m going to study English literature there.”

When I became a student at McGill, the campus was a sort of bubble in the city that was so magical. I love that as soon as you get there, there’s this river of young people and conversation and laughter. I remember being a student and thinking, “I want to be an old lady and still come here with my books and be surrounded by young people.” I always had this dream that McGill would bequeath me one of the large old houses on campus, so I could just live there and read. I mostly grew up in tiny little apartments, so the houses there are so marvellous to me.

I recently met up with an old friend from McGill. Both of us had come from working-class backgrounds, and we reminisced about how the university was a place where we were able to escape this poverty and to mix with middle- and upper-class kids. I loved just sitting on the steps of the Arts Building with all these other students who were so fascinated by literature. I felt like I had finally met my people. Every time I go back, I feel like I’m entering this strange little kingdom again, where people read books and talk about them and are somehow able to escape the problems of actual life.

—as told to James Ivison

Montreal/Tiohtià:ke is located on the traditional territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation, who are recognized as the custodians of its lands and waters. It has long served as a meeting place for many First Nations, and today it continues to be home to a diverse community of Indigenous peoples.

ILLUSTRATION: JUDY HILGEMANN

Sanoa Olin

Canada’s first Olympic surfer on her profound connection to the coastline of Tofino, B.C.

Tofino is really special to me. It’s where I grew up and where my family and all my closest friends live. I love it here because it has so much nature — the most beautiful old-growth forests and a rugged coastline. You’ll get incredible sunrises and sunsets over the mountains and the ocean. It’s where I learned to surf and where all my best memories are.

Tofino makes me feel connected to the world around me. I get to go a little slower and take in every second. I feel close to the people around me and to nature. I love the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks and rolling up the shore. I love the sound of all the birds in the forest. And when I’m out in the boat, I can hear the wind whistling.

I spent much of my childhood playing in the ocean, on the beach and surfing. I spent countless hours with my sister rolling around in the sand, swimming and boogie boarding in the waves, having the best and worst surfs of our lives and working towards our dreams on the ocean.

Growing up in Tofino and on that coastline has 100 per cent made me the person that I am today. It’s where I fell in love with surfing and where I found my passion for the sport. The cold water definitely has shaped me. It is a little harder to motivate yourself to surf in Canada and in colder water, but it also makes it more special. I love the ritual of it — it takes more preparation to go out into the water. When I have my wetsuit on, and my hood, and I’m in my little bubble, that’s definitely when I feel the most myself.

—as told to Abi Hayward

Tofino is on the traditional and unceded territory of the ƛaʔuukʷiʔatḥ (Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation).

ILLUSTRATION: CHENOA GAO

Candy Palmater

The comedian reminisces about her hometown in New Brunswick’s North Shore region

I’m from Point La Nim in the North Shore region of New Brunswick — a place so small that everyone knows everyone. The North Shore is made up of the town of Dalhousie, the city of Campbellton, the city of Bathurst and a whole bunch of little places peppered in between.

It’s a unique area because the North Shore is a mix of white anglophones and francophones and Mi’kmaq people. My father is from Eel River Bar First Nation, nestled along one of only two natural sandbars in the world that have a highway running over it. We dug clams there and cooked them right on the beach when we were young. I remember spending whole summers on that stretch. We would catch lobsters, mussels and fresh salmon. They’re not just “rich person foods” there — everybody gets to enjoy them. The first time I bought clams in a supermarket, I almost had a heart attack because I hadn’t realized how expensive they are in a city where you can’t just pull them out of the water yourself.

Famous people flew into our airport all the time. I remember when Jack Nicholson came to town one summer because he wanted to fish in the Restigouche River. It’s cool knowing that our little part of the world, our little heaven, entices people. In the winter, the east wind is harsh, but that’s just life on the North Shore. It’s a harsh but beautiful place.

I once couldn’t wait to get out, but when I see my old friends back home post a photo on social media of themselves sitting in their backyard on a Tuesday night with a big fire going, surrounded by their family with the water and mountains an arm’s-length away, I think differently.

—As told to Kiley Bell

New Brunswick is located on the unceded and unsurrendered territory of the Wolastoqey, Mi’kmaq, and Peskotomuhkati peoples. These Eastern Wabanaki Nations have lived on and cared for this land for generations beyond memory.

ILLUSTRATION: GUY PARSONS

Gurdeep Pandher

Tombstone Territorial Park inspires this educator and influencer as he spreads his message of positivity

I love the spectacular scenery of Yukon’s Tombstone Territorial Park. One place I particularly love is the Grizzly Lake Trail. You have to hike for a little while, but you’re eventually met with some amazing scenery — it’s like something out of the heavens. You also see Grizzly Lake, in the middle of nowhere among the mountains. I’ve never seen any place quite like it. The beauty is untouched by humans and is reserved for the animals that are lucky to see it every day. That kind of beauty draws me to dance there.

When I am there, I feel connected to the land. I’m mesmerized by the views and by the power of nature. It makes you humble. I share a lot of Tombstone’s landscape through my dance videos. I think it has been really important for people living in other places, especially during the pandemic, to experience Yukon’s wilderness. It brings joy and positivity. Nature is powerful, even if you’re only seeing it through a computer screen. When people see a beautiful natural backdrop like these mountains, they connect with it right away.

Nature is a great healer. When we disconnect from nature, we don’t feel grounded. When I’m in nature I feel like I’m coming close to my source, where I originated from as a human being. This park has allowed me to understand that nature is supreme. We humans are not supreme; we’re simply part of the system. There are much bigger things in the world than ourselves. This park has completely changed the way I see my life on planet Earth.

—As told to Austin Westphal

Tombstone Territorial Park lies within the traditional territory of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation and its protection is a legacy of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Land Claim Agreement.

ILLUSTRATION: NICOLE WOLF

Chantal Petitclerc

The Quebec senator and former Paralympian on the joy of skiing in Kananaskis, Alta.

From 1991 to 1994, I had a chance to travel Alberta quite a bit when I did my university degree in Edmonton. One of the spots I still remember fondly, for many reasons, is Kananaskis. We used to go there whenever we had a chance. One of the reasons we discovered Kananaskis was that they had — and this was in the early 1990s — a fully wheelchair-friendly lodge and access to adapted cross-country ski equipment. At the time, this was groundbreaking because there weren’t really a lot of big conversations going on around inclusion, accessibility and equity.

When you are a wheelchair user who loves nature, the options are not always easy. There are obstacles and barriers. Kananaskis was one of my first experiences on my own with my skiing sticks and my muscles, and I could just go into nature. I have memories and photos of having to stop for bears or deer. I had this sense that I was on the wildlife’s turf — in their environment — and that’s why it was so, so, so precious.

I’m now a mother, and my son is nine. It is definitely in the plans to go back there in the next few years — to take him to this favourite place of mine.

Every now and then, I need to retreat — to reflect, absorb nature and just be in the moment. Kananaskis was one of those first experiences. I was in my early 20s when I began to realize that this balance is so important. I was at the beginning of my racing career, and the media attention, the pressure and the travelling — it could get intense. I needed to have balance, to find myself in nature and be active in nature.

—as told to Catherine Zhu

Kananaskis is the traditional territory of the Treaty 7 Nations of the Îyârhe Nakoda First Nations of Chiniki, Goodstoney and Bearspaw; the Tsuut’ina First Nation; the Kainai, Siksika and Piikani First Nations of the Niitsitapi (Blackfoot) Confederacy; and the Métis Nation of Alberta, Region III.

ILLUSTRATION: CHELSEA PETERS

Andrew Phung

The star of the sitcom Run the Burbs discovers the “organic cool” of suburban Hamilton

Hamilton has a special place in my heart: it’s a chill, inspiring city where you get to just exist. I’m a Calgary kid, born and raised, but I connect with Hamilton because it’s like being back home. I’ve recently spent a lot of my time here filming Run the Burbs and it really inspires me. When I’m filming outdoor scenes in the suburbs, it feels like a throwback to being a kid again. You step outside and it’s warm, there’s people mowing their lawns. Then you can see kids playing basketball and hear others running through sprinklers. When we’re filming a lot of the scenes, neighbours will come out with lawn chairs and sit outside and watch us. There’s this calmness to it.

On weekends, I explore the city. I tend to do a circular tour. Part of that is mapping out some vintage toy stores like Bounty Hunter Toys and Retrosaurus. I love reconnecting with my childhood. I shared this toy store adventure with my kids.

I was surprised to find a large Vietnamese population here. There’s one strip mall with a Vietnamese restaurant, a Chinese butcher shop and an Asian grocery store — and that feels a lot like home. When you’re a person of colour looking to go to the suburbs, the fear is that it will be void of any of your own culture. To find and experience hubs like this in Hamilton makes me feel really connected to it. This city brings me joy because, in my 30s, I’m okay to trade in the hipster cool for this city’s organic cool, with these good places serving good food and doing good things.

—as told to Rachel Fiset, JULY/AUGUST 2023

Hamilton is located within the territory of the Dish With One Spoon treaty, a sacred agreement between the Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee Confederacy whose ancestral and current homelands encompass the Great Lakes region.

ILLUSTRATION: KERRY HODGSON

Coeur de pirate

Béatrice Martin, the Québécoise singer-songwriter known by her stage name, reminisces about her favourite Montreal hideaway

My favourite hideaway in Montreal is where Parc Jeanne-Mance and Mont Royal meet, between Mont-Royal and Duluth avenues and St-Laurent Boulevard and Park Avenue. Jeanne-Mance is known among Montrealers as the place to hang out: the area is historically charged, it’s close to where Mordecai Richler lived and the Montreal equivalent to parks such as Trinity Bellwoods in Toronto, Stanley Park in Vancouver or Major’s Hill in Ottawa.

I remember spending most of my summers there as a teenager, so it really influenced the person I am today. I was from a very residential part of Montreal a bit farther north, so going downtown — and seeing Montreal for what it was — was going to Jeanne-Mance. There’s something about the trees, the light and the cultural happenings that occur in the park. It hosts concerts and people play ball; the space really brings people together.

When I started frequenting downtown, around 15 years old, I spent much of my time there — and the same people I grew up with still visit. Since becoming a mother, visiting the area with my daughter has become special, too. Our first home was in the Plateau, so bringing her to Jeanne-Mance was really easy. It’s something you want to share with your kids. We visit Café Santropol — a local establishment my mom liked to go to that has been there since the 1960s — but my own family more often frequents Café Melbourne or Hof Kelsten. The real Parc Jeanne-Mance experience, though, is finding the perfect spot and setting up a picnic.

— As told to Andrew Lovesey

Montreal/Tiohtià:ke is located on the traditional territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation, who are recognized as the custodians of its lands and waters. It has long served as a meeting place for many First Nations, and today it continues to be home to a diverse community of Indigenous peoples.

ILLUSTRATION: LIZ MAC

William Shatner

The actor and author of a new book, Leonard: My Fifty-Year Friendship with a Remarkable Man, describes his childhood in the Laurentians

My childhood summers were spent at a cabin on Lac Long in the Laurentian Mountains north of Montreal, where I’m from. Our cabin fronted a dirt road, which is probably a highway now, and had a swinging screen door, the slap of which I’ll always remember. That’s where movies like The Yearling and books like The Red Pony, by Steinbeck, moved me the most.

It started off with three families on the lake. To get running water, we had to hand-pump it from a well to a cistern on the roof. When I was five or six, I offered to fill each family’s cistern for 25 cents, which was a fortune then. I hadn’t realized how hard it was to pump the water, so I’d get a cistern half-filled and be so exhausted that I’d have to come back the next day. I never was able to top off a cistern.

As the number of cabins increased over the years, a corner store finally sprang up. There was a group of 10 kids of different ages — I was around 11 or so — that would gather there on a Saturday night and dance to whatever was playing on the radio or to this French trio that would come and play country music.

Around that time I started to notice girls — and actually caught my first glimpse of a naked girl. It was as memorable as catching my first fish. A friend of my older sister’s was visiting our cabin, and while I was in my room at the top of the stairs (which had no door), the door to my sister’s bedroom opened and I saw her friend Diane dressing. She caught me looking and slammed the door. That memory has stayed with me to this day.

—As told to Michela Rosano

The Laurentians are the traditional territory of the Kanien:keha’ka (Mohawk) and Atikamekw.

ILLUSTRATION: MICHELLE CAMPOS CASTILLO

Vivek Shraya

Edmonton’s River Valley is a space the musician, writer and artist can go to just be herself

One of the challenging things about living in a small city is that you sometimes feel overexposed. When I was growing up in Edmonton, there was this feeling that there was only one bookstore or one restaurant or one mall, and that you were inevitably going to run into people you know. Some people like that small-town vibe, but for me — especially being queer and brown — sometimes I wanted spaces to be invisible in. The North Saskatchewan River Valley was a space within the city to feel anonymous. I have such a tender spot for the River Valley because I associate it with finding my own way. It feels like a choice. I go there when I want to do something with the people I love who aren’t biological family.

This might speak to just how displaced I felt as a teenager, but there were a lot of times I was in the River Valley and I didn’t even know that I was in the River Valley. Sometimes when you’re in a space where you feel safe, it’s not that you arrive at the space and think “I feel safe now” or “I can be myself now.” Sometimes it’s about being in a space where I forget to worry about not feeling safe or acting a certain way. I can let my guard down.

When I go there, there’s probably a good chance I’ll run into someone I know — but I never have. It feels expansive and private. I feel weird about bringing my parents into this space. It’s like, as a teenager, you never have your parents hanging out with you in your bedroom — your bedroom is your private space. The River Valley feels like my Edmonton bedroom. It’s for friends, and it’s for me.

—As told to Abi Hayward

Edmonton is in Treaty 6 territory and Métis homelands. This land is the traditional and ancestral territory of the Nehiyaw (Cree), Denesuliné (Dene), Nakota Sioux (Stoney), Anishinaabe (Salteaux) and Niitsitapi (Blackfoot). It is within the Métis Nation of Alberta Region 4.

ILLUSTRATION: LILY YEARWOOD

Anna Silk

The actress and star of the series Lost Girl reflects on a childhood tradition on New Brunswick's Bay of Fundy shore

I split my time between Los Angeles and Toronto, but my favourite place in Canada is Pocologan, New Brunswick. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of place on the Bay of Fundy, between Saint John and St. George, about an hour’s drive from Fredericton. Every Easter from the time I was quite young until I was into my late teens, my mother and I and a whole group of others would meet at a family friend’s home built on the rocks right over the Atlantic Ocean, where the waves could splash the windows on a rough day. It was a truly amazing house; the owner was a woodworker and everything inside was made from beautiful wood. There was a swing inside! The ceilings were really tall, so we could swing inside the house, looking out at the ocean.

Our annual tradition was an Easter egg hunt. My mom is heavily involved in the New Brunswick theatre community, and a lot of her friends are artists and craftspeople, so our Easter baskets were these spectacular handmade creations, like something you’d see in a magazine. In our baskets we’d get kites, and we’d drive to nearby New River Beach to fly them. It would be cold, and the tide would be out, and there would be at least 10 of us kids running around on this cold, beautiful beach with our kites. One of the first years we did it, I ran to the beach and let the kite unroll, and it went higher and higher until I realized I hadn’t tied the string to the handle.

We would climb on the rocks going down to the ocean. We would write our names in the sand in big letters, then watch the tide come in and wash them away. It was magical.

I was talking to my mom about it recently, and she said, “You know, even when you guys became teenagers, you were never too cool to go to Pocologan.” It was a really special time, bringing together families that would otherwise have lost touch. I’d love to have that for my own family and adult friends.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

New Brunswick is located on the unceded and unsurrendered territory of the Wolastoqey, Mi’kmaq, and Peskotomuhkati peoples. These Eastern Wabanaki Nations have lived on and cared for this land for generations beyond memory.

ILLUSTRATION: AARON MCCONOMY/COLAGENE.COM

Christine Sinclair

The captain of the Canadian women’s national soccer team loves nothing more than unwinding in Sechelt, B.C.

We have a family place in Sechelt, just up the coast from Vancouver. You have to take a ferry to get there, and it’s only about an hour and a half from the city, yet it seems a thousand miles away. It’s a small cedar cabin, just off the beach, on about two acres of land. If you step out the front door, you’re on the deck, which overlooks the yard and some blackberry bushes, and then there’s the ocean, right there. It’s very wild, very quiet. I’ve been going since I was born, and some of my best childhood memories are from there. We grew up fishing off the coast, and I remember being in a little aluminum fishing boat when I was about 10 and seeing orcas swim by.

When I was young, we used to spend about a month at the cabin in the summers. Now, because of the way my soccer schedule is, I don’t get summers off anymore, but as we’ve gotten older, my cousins and I have spent New Year’s there and done a polar bear swim on New Year’s Day. But whenever I go, it’s the same. I walk through the door, smell the cedar and go into total vacation mode. I end up playing a lot of cards and walking along the beach. It’s a pretty mellow time. There’s no stress, no Internet, the cellphone service is terrible and the soccer ball stays on the shelf. It’s awesome.

—As told to Harry Wilson

The District of Sechelt is located on the traditional and unceded territory of the Shíshálh Nation.

ILLUSTRATION: MICAELA DAWN

Elvis Stojko

The figure-skating great revisits his happy childhood in the farming country near Newmarket, Ont.

The first 10 years of my life were spent on a 50-acre hobby farm in Queensville, Ont., north of Newmarket. I had a very happy childhood, full of imagination and exploration. When you’re little, 50 acres is huge; I spent most of my free time biking, climbing trees, and crawling through the barn with my friends, making forts or jumping from the rafters into giant bales of hay.

Even though it was a hobby farm, there was a lot of work to do. We had horses, dairy cows, pigs, rabbits, geese, chickens and a huge organic garden. I was too little to lift the hay bales, so I got to drive the truck.

The farmhouse was already 100 years old when my parents bought it, before I was born. There was a little cubby under the stairs off the family room, and that was my hideout. I would hang out in there and draw on the inside of the door with crayon, and when I was seven, I signed my name.

We moved to Richmond Hill when I was nine because I was skating in the Toronto Cricket Club by then and my competitive career was taking off, but all the subsequent owners of the house have left my signature in the cubby, which is pretty cool.

I’ve travelled the world and I was fortunate to have lived in Mexico for 12 years, but my wife and I recently purchased 100 acres in the Kawartha Lakes area, and it really feels like coming home. I can stand in the middle of the forest and close my eyes and listen to the wind in the trees, and just feel that beautiful exhaustion that comes from being outside all day.

—As told to Alexandra Pope

Queensville, ON is located north of Newmarket, which is the traditional territories of the Wendat, the Haudeno-saunee, and the Anishinaabe peoples and the treaty land of the Williams Treaties First Nations and other Indigenous peoples. The Chippewas of Georgina Island First Nations are their close neighbours and friends.

ILLUSTRATION: FELICIA CIRSTEA

Amy Stuart

Childhood memories of Greenwich in Prince Edward Island National Park remain engraved in the author’s mind

Memories are imperfect and can fade over time — this has been a repeating theme in many novels I have written over the years. I see this in my own life, in that as I get older many details about my childhood have started to fade away or become less clear to me. But the memories I have created in Prince Edward Island feel entrenched in my mind.

When I was a child, Greenwich wasn’t part of a national park yet. It was a quiet, little-known spot where you’d drive up, park your car and walk about a kilometre over rolling sand to get to the beach. During the day we’d swim in the water, and at night we’d make bonfires. It was an expansive, white sand beach stretching for kilometres and there would never be anybody on it because nobody knew about it.

As I walk along the northwestern shore, I am surrounded by bright green grasses that blow in the wind. There’s a particular smell to those grasses that transports me back to being that 10-year-old kid again.

When I visit Greenwich with my three children, I see them doing the same things I did when I was young. It feels like history repeating itself. During a recent trip, my family went snorkelling and were surrounded by tiny crabs, lobsters and jellyfish. It felt like my kids were getting to experience those same joyful moments on that beach.

When I watch my children run down to the water just as I did all those years ago, I get emotional because of how transporting this place is and how clear those memories are.

—As told to Samantha Pope

Prince Edward Island, known as Epekwitk, is in Mi’kma’ki, the ancestral and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaq.

ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY

Tanya Tagaq

The 2014 Polaris Music Prize winner relishes the feeling of freedom and release she finds around Pond Inlet, Nunavut

The hoodoos on Bylot Island, just across from Pond Inlet, are the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. My mother was born and raised in Pond Inlet, on the land, in igloos and sod houses. Our family was relocated by the Canadian government in the 1950s. That was a very difficult thing for everyone. So Pond Inlet is our uninterrupted homeland, where we were happy, where we were surviving, where we were supposed to be. There’s a purity to it, a kind of pre-colonial sweetness. When I travelled there for the first time, I felt a very deep connection to it.

The hoodoos themselves are outstanding. They’re pillars of sandstone that are strong enough to stand on but soft enough that you can carve your name into the rock with your fingers. There was nothing running through my mind when I wrote my name on one of them, and that’s the beauty of being in a place that’s magical, cleansing and astoundingly beautiful — your neuroses disappear. When you’re in a big city, you’re crossing the street and you look and there are 500 cars and 50 people walking by and you’ve got to get somewhere before three o’clock and blah blah blah … all that’s gone up there. It’s a release of every stress when you’re out on the land. It’s like that peaceful feeling you have when you wake up but your eyes are still closed, and there’s just a couple of seconds before everything piles on you and you have to get up. I feel like that all the time when I’m there.

—As told to Harry Wilson

Bylot Island, known as Akia in Inuktitut, is located in the Qikiqtaaluk region of Inuit Nunangat.

ILLUSTRATION: MARY MCPHERSON

Tanya Talaga

The award-winning author and journalist on her connections to the shores of Lake Superior at the Fort William First Nation, Ont.

From the top of Mount McKay — known as Animikii-wajiw in the Ojibwa language — you can see the Kaministiquia River, which starts north of Thunder Bay and winds its way over Kakabeka Falls and then wraps around the mountain. From up there, you can see the grain elevators that stand alongside the river and the Sleeping Giant, Nanabijou, sticking out into Gichigami, or Lake Superior, that moody wild beast of a lake, where it can be sunny, bright and beautiful one minute and all rolling clouds, gusts of wind and torrential rain the next.

The whole area has been a meeting place for Indigenous Peoples for a very long time, before the city of Thunder Bay existed and before the country of Canada existed. My family still goes back for powwows held on the mountain.

My mother grew up nearby in Raith, on the traditional territory of Fort William First Nation, my grandmother’s reserve. There, it’s all about water. It’s a remarkable place that you can feel more than you can see because it’s the Arctic watershed, the place on Turtle Island where things split and all the water goes north to Hudson Bay or south to the city. The rivers are the highways of the past, so when I’m there I’m reminded of that. It’s magical.

I don’t remember the first time I went to the mountain — I would have been really young. But seeing my kids there when they were smaller, seeing them running around on top through the tall grass, reminded me of the generations that have been there and will continue to be there. It’s a place of spiritual significance for the Ojibwa. It’s a place that means a lot to my family. It’s a place that absolutely touches me; it makes me feel peaceful when I’m there — I feel very happy and whole.

—As told to Jensen Edwards

Animikii-wajiw is within the Fort William First Nation reserve and is located in the wider traditional territory of the Anishinaabe Peoples.

ILLUSTRATION: CHANTAL BENNETT

Kim Thúy

The acclaimed novelist on experiencing both kindness and lots of trips to the zoo in Granby, Que.

Granby was where I first arrived, and it was my first contact with Canada. I had never seen snow, and it was amazing to see the cleanliness. When you live in a refugee camp in a war zone, it’s impossible to have this kind of silence and luminosity. And that was the first shock.

But the most important shock was when we stepped out of the bus, and there were so many people in the hotel parking lot waiting for us. Everybody was so tall. They were giants to me. I was so skinny as a 10-year-old. All the men had big beards and coats with fur all around. As Asians, we don’t express our emotions physically. But these people were just holding us — I was not even touching the floor. I still question how they could hold us in their arms when we were covered with infections from mosquito bites and had lice in our hair. But they did not hesitate.

In a refugee camp, you don’t feel human. And then, they looked at me, and I swear to you, I had never seen myself as beautiful. But that purity in their love for us — they gave me back my humanity, my dignity, all that we had lost in the camp. The people of Granby gave me back the humanity that I had lost. From that point on, I was not an immigrant from Vietnam; I was an adopted child arriving in a new family. When summer arrived, different families would take us to the zoo. We went to the zoo every single weekend. Now I realize how expensive it was for these families to take us there. The zoo illustrates all the kindness and generosity that I have received from the people of Granby.

—As told to Catherine Zhu

Granby is located on the traditional and unceded territory of the Abenaki, part of the Wabanaki confederacy.

ILLUSTRATION: SOPHIE LEMIEUX

Ziya Tong

The host of Discovery Channel’s hit science show Daily Planet on experiencing a magical moment near Churchill, Man.

People talk about animal migrations in the Serengeti, but the most magnificent migration I’ve ever seen was 50,000 beluga whales in the Seal River, near Churchill. It was pretty spectacular to be out on the water and see what looked like little bobbing pieces of ice everywhere — and then realize that they were actually beluga whales.

I was there to do a story on monitoring beluga estuary habitats, which is incredible to see, too. The scientists have to be like cowboys and jump onto the belugas — safely, of course, with vets present — to capture and tag them.

After we did the story, I was with the folks at the Seal River Heritage Lodge, and they basically tied my feet together, gave me a snorkel and a mask, and told me to lie face down as they dragged me backward through the murky water. I felt like I was in an episode of The Sopranos. But then they told me to sing. And when I did, the belugas came right up to me. It was pure magic. I was very blessed to be there in the water with them.

I think that in this digital world people are increasingly looking for true wonder and solace, and that they find it when they go back out into the real world. I never thought you could go to Churchill and see something that would blow your mind, but you can. You’re there with the polar bears, the northern lights, the belugas. All the creatures are just going about their business, and there’s this tremendous sense of peace and order. I think it’s calming, being out there and knowing that you’re a part of something that’s so much bigger than you are.

—As told toThomas Hall

The Seal River watershed is home to many Indigenous nations and communities, including Sayisi Dene First Nation, Northlands Dene Nation, Barren Lands First Nation and O-Pipon-Na-Piwin Cree Nation

ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT CARTER

Alex Trebek

Jeopardy! host and Honorary President of The Royal Canadian Geographical Society reminisces about his years in Ottawa

I spent three years in boarding school at University of Ottawa prep, and then three years at the university itself. They were some of the most formative of my life, so Ottawa holds a special place in my heart.

I grew up in Sudbury, but it didn’t register all that much. When I got to Ottawa, though, I had to take things seriously. My parents had divorced and I got in trouble a lot. I was a rebellious kid. The priests at the prep school helped me reform. When harsh discipline didn’t work, they befriended me and showed me the right path. They turned my life around.

The high school was in the university administration building, and the dormitories were upstairs. I remember I had a crush on a girl who used to walk by every day on her way to Lisgar High School. We’d be outside playing and I would just … well, I never talked to her. We had three rinks set up outside school that we had to shovel the snow off, so I think I might have skated on the Rideau Canal once. I used to walk along it a lot, though, and have always liked that there’s so much greenery in the city.

When we were out of school on the weekend, we’d take the streetcar over to Hull and go to the Gatineau Club, the Chaudière Club or Chez Henri, or just wander around the Byward Market. We had a good time. In university, a favourite haunt was the Château Laurier hotel. They had a great pea soup, a fantastic indoor swimming pool and a barbershop that made us feel special — when we had enough money to go there. They used hot towels on our faces and trimmed our sideburns with a straight razor. You felt like a rich businessman being pampered.

—As told to Harry Wilson

Ottawa is located on the unceded territory of the Anishinabe Algonquin Nation. The peoples of the Anishinabe Algonquin Nation have lived on this land for millennia.

ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT CARTER

Justin Trudeau

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau sings the praises of paddling

My favorite place in Canada is in the stern of any canoe I happen to be in, anywhere. I can’t tell you my favourite place because there are so many more lakes and rivers that I hope to paddle — maybe the next one will be my favourite! But if I’m describing the perfect stretch, I picture not full-on rapids. It’s ripples. Nice rapids around the bend, but we’re not quite there yet. I don’t see any signs of habitation. I’ve got packs in front of me and I’m in my canoe with someone I love. Maybe my daughter in the bow. And we’re excited about what’s around the bend and looking forward to whatever it is we’re going to mess up on the campsite for dinner that night.

The image of paddling down rapids is, for me, a way to understand how you navigate through life — the currents bring you one direction and you can sometimes eddy out and pause a little bit and catch your breath. You don’t decide where the rocks are; you just decide how to make it around them. And you have to respond to what life throws at you as you keep paddling down the river.

In this era of social media and everything digital and tech, getting out there is all the more important — getting out there into something that requires your presence and your peacefulness at the same time, even as there are moments of adrenaline. There’s a concreteness about canoeing and a spirituality about it that I think is just foundational for the soul.

—as told to David McGuffin

ILLUSTRATION: MICAELA DAWN

Guy Vanderhaeghe

The novelist reminisces about spending time riding with his father in the hills of Qu’Appelle Valley, Sask.

One of my favourite places in Canada is the Qu’Appelle Valley in Saskatchewan. My father had a small ranch there, so it’s a place that’s dear to me. We used to ride up and down the hills. We would come up on top of the hill and have this straight vista: if you looked in one direction, you could see the trees from the slopes of other hills; if you looked in another direction, you would see the valley bottom. The valley bottom was cultivated, so at different times of the year, you’d see either the crops growing there or fallow land that was black, recently turned and waiting to be seeded.

There were sights that you saw, but also felt, as you wound your way through trees. I remember the scent of the bark of the bur oak, which always seemed to have a dusty fibre smell to it. If you looked up, you could often see hawks, suspended above the hills, above the valley. At different times of the year, you would be riding along, and as you passed by bushes of saskatoons or chokecherries, or whatever was in season, you would just reach out and grab a handful of them. Saskatoons were always my favourite — and I still love that berry — but I even liked chokecherries, which sort of puckered up your mouth when you ate them.

My fondest memories of my father are in the Qu’Appelle Valley. I think they were happy memories because he was happy there. He loved the place, and he gave us that sense of loving the place.

—as told to Aaron Kylie

The Qu'Appelle Valley is located within Treaty 4 territory. Treaty 4 encompasses the lands of the Nehiyaw (Cree), Anishinabek (Saulteaux), Dakota (Santee/Isantee), Nakota (Nakoda), Lakota (Tetawan), and the homeland of the Métis.

ILLUSTRATION: JEREMY CARDARELLI

Rufus Wainwright

The Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter connects with his French-Canadian heritage in Quebec City

Quebec City has always been a very symbolic place for me and my family. I’ve gone there regularly since I was a child, and I’ve performed there a lot. I grew up in Quebec and half of my family is French, so I was very much brought up in that environment.

The city certainly is the most beautiful in Canada, and it renews my sense of wonder and romance about my heritage. For me, one of the most important aspects of the place is its geographical location. As you’re driving along the St. Lawrence River, a city that looks like Prague suddenly appears in the distance. And it’s not large, so there isn’t urban sprawl to dull its impact.

And then when you’re up on top of its fortified hill and you look east and north, there’s just this vast wilderness of la belle province. It’s very heartening to know there’s still virgin territory out there.

Whenever I go to Quebec City, my French-Canadian blood simmers, and I’m reminded of my ancestors who have lived in the province for centuries. There’s something very ancient about the experience, and I seem to go back in time and slow down when I’m there. Everything stops, and I just have to walk everywhere and pause. I’ll turn a corner and I’m unexpectedly flung back 200 years. It’s nice to be able to slow down like that — it makes me feel more alive.

—As told to Amely Coulombe

Quebec City is on the traditional and unceded territory of the Huron-Wendat people.

ILLUSTRATION: RICK SEALOCK

Hawksley Workman

The musician reflects on spending his formative years living in a special building near Sprucedale, Ont.

When I first moved out of my parents’ home, I bought a red-brick oneroom schoolhouse in Sprucedale, about 20 minutes down a winding dirt road from where I live now. It had a gothic fireplace and northfacing windows, so it always felt a bit dark. It served as my struggling artist bachelor pad for nearly a decade. I even had a studio set up and recorded a few records there. It was a beautiful place. Living in a 100-year-old building could be trying though, especially for a young
rock ’n’ roll guy who was always on the road.

I was so secluded, and nature felt much more intimate there. In winter, it was a battle to keep out the -40 C chill; for a while it was heated only by wood, and I’d go into Huntsville to warm up in the grocery store. There were animals, too; a squirrel once ate the handle off my microwave oven and there were often mouse nests in my studio, which was the warmest place in the house. But I kind of liked the imposition. It felt authentic, like when I come home from a ski with a beard full of snow.

That schoolhouse also had significant familial connections. My grandmother, who passed on her profound love of nature and whose maiden name became my stage name, got her education there. Some of my family is buried in a nearby cemetery. We’ve been in this area for a long time.

I think when you grow up on the Canadian Shield there’s a stability, an unshakable foundation that nobody really points out to you, but I feel it gives me peace. Being a musician lacks stability, and it’s something I long for. There’s always been a magic about this place.

—As told to Sabrina Doyle

Sprucedale is located within the traditional territory of the Anishinaabeg, which includes the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi Nations, collectively known as the Three Fires Confederacy. These lands are covered by the Robinson-Huron Treaty of 1850 and the Williams Treaties of 1923.

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