With screen time rising and sleep quality plummeting, Canadians are experiencing an unprecedented epidemic of stress. Even during a sunny long weekend at the cottage, it can be tough to turn off your phone and disconnect from the stresses of life back in the city. But researchers say that time practicing the Japanese art of shirin-yoku—meaning “forest bath” or “absorbing the forest atmosphere”—could be one way to reduce stress levels while building a mindful connection with nature. Through forest bathing, it’s possible to improve our overall well-being simply by going for a walk outdoors and spending time among trees.
That’s one more reason to take the Mazda CX-50 Minute Challenge this August, the goal of which is to get active in nature for 50 minutes, three times per week. What you do in those 150 minutes, and what you can gain, is up to you.
The benefits of forest bathing
Forest bathing, which is also known as forest therapy, involves experiencing nature and the outdoors through your senses. Formally developed as a practice in the 1980s in Japan, where it was part of the country’s health program and considered preventive care, forest bathing has been shown to lower blood pressure and reduce stress hormones.
According to one study, a two-hour walk through a forest park offered multiple benefits compared to the same walk taken in an urban area. Other research has indicated that time spent in nature is not only relaxing and restorative, but it can also provide some therapeutic effects on the immune, cardiovascular, and respiratory systems. At a time when one in four Canadians are reporting high levels of life stress on most days, this simpleand free practice could offer ample benefits to those who are able to get outside and immerse themselves in nature.
What to know before you try
Forest bathing can be done year-round, in any location where there are trees. This form of nature or ecotherapy involves soaking your senses in a forest environment, and could include an hours-long hike in the woods or 50 minutes spent exploring your local nature reserve or park. You could do a forest bath solo, or go out with a group or certified guide for a more educational, structured experience.
Keep in mind that it’s not an excursion that is meant to be physically demanding, there’s no special gear or equipment required, and even the shortest outings can offer some therapeutic benefits. In fact, participants in one Japanese study had decreased stress and heart rates after a 15-minute walk in a city park.
Making the most of your forest bath
Before you start, leave your electronics behind. Or put away your headphones and turn off notifications on your phone and smartwatch. Once you are outside in the forested area, decide how much time you have for the practice and find a peaceful, treed path or trail to explore. Avoid any noisy areas or parks with heavy foot traffic.
This is a time to really immerse yourself in nature, and try to experience the woods with all five senses. During the walk, allow yourself to make stops and detours to explore the forest without worrying about your pace or progress along the trail. Close your eyes to see what you can hear and feel and smell in the environment. Feel free to touch plants or even hug a tree if you’re so inclined, and see what flora and fauna you can observe and identify. If you can find a good spot, a short meditation in the forest can feel very grounding, even just for a few minutes.
Ready to spend more time in nature? Join the Mazda CX-50 Minute Challenge today and learn more about the new Mazda CX-50, at mazda.ca/en/CX50minutechallenge
The August long weekend is finally here! Time to relax and take a much-needed reprieve from the stressors of life. What better way to spend your long weekend than at one of Ontario’s many spectacular beaches. But before you pack the kids, the dog, and your floaties into the car, make sure the beach you’re headed to is open. Ontario’s public health units have issued a number of swim advisories for Ontario beaches. Here are the ones you should be aware of:
Back Dam Park at 902 Rock Road. Advisory due to high levels of bacteria. Last tested July 21.
Ennismore
Ennismore Waterfront Park at 1053 Ennis Road. Advisory due to high levels of bacteria. Last tested July 26.
What causes a swim advisory?
Public health units declare swim advisories when the water at recreational beaches is unsafe to swim in. This is usually due to high levels of bacteria in the water, such as E. coli, which can make you sick if ingested. The water at a beach is deemed safe if five testing samples show that there is equal to or less than 200 E. coli per 100 mL of water. Any more than that is deemed unsafe for swimming.
Who tests the water?
Each of Ontario’s public health units is responsible for testing the recreational water within its jurisdiction. Ontario’s Ministry of Environment, Conservation, and Parks is responsible for testing waters within provincial parks. How often the water is tested varies by unit. Some test weekly while others test monthly.
What causes the water to become contaminated?
Stormwater runoff, sewer overflows, sewage treatment plant bypasses, agricultural runoff, faulty septic systems, and large populations of waterfowl all contribute to contaminating water with bacteria. Heavy rainfall and winds will also exacerbate the bacteria.
How do I know whether it’s safe to swim?
Since there are gaps between testing, beachgoers can’t always rely on lab results to tell them whether the water is safe for swimming. There are, however, a few red flags to look for when determining whether the water is contaminated. If the beach is full of waterfowl, such as geese, there’s a good chance the water may contain high levels of bacteria. Uncharacteristically murky water is another sign, as well as dead fish. And if the top of the water looks like it’s had blue or green paint spilled on it, do not go in. That’s a sign of blue-green algae, which can be deadly to pets and harmful to humans.
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Conveniently situated in P.E.I’s western region (and only about 20 minutes from the Confederation Bridge), you’ll find the second largest city on the island. Summerside is home to great food, fun activities, and shopping for cottage visitors, residents, and tourists.
Before planning your next P.E.I. adventure, here are some places to eat, play, and shop when you visit Summerside.
Where to eat in Summerside
Summerside boasts many delicious opportunities, and it’s not hard to find local Island fare or a tasty treat when you are in the area.
For your next meal, stop at Deckhouse Pub and Eatery for a lobster roll or visit Brothers 2, a restaurant that has been serving Islanders for 50 years.
Coffee and tea lovers will be able to spend time at Samuel’s Coffee House sipping on their favourite beverage or enjoying a bite to eat.
If you are taking food back home or to your cottage, Water Street Bakery and Deli has sandwiches and pizza, as well as baked goods such as donuts, date squares, and pies. Be sure to stock up before you head out of town.
Where to shop
There are many local shops to check out, including Spinnakers’ Landing. Conveniently located right along the shore, this boardwalk-style shopping area is filled with local shops and places to eat, and from time-to-time, live music and entertainment.
Another great place to shop is the Summerside Farmers’ Market (seasonally, on Saturdays) for local food, produce, meat, cheese, and hand-crafted items.
One of the newer additions to Summerside is The Knot Beach Bar and Rentals. Rent kayaks or stand-up paddleboards for some on-the-water adventuring or rent their bikes to tour around. Afterwards, sit on their patio for a cold beverage by the beach front.
Get your tickets for the Harbourfront Theatre and one of their many upcoming musical shows, comedy acts, or special performances.
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Just 50 minutes in nature, three times a week, can produce a host of health benefits. Immerse yourself in the CX50 Minute Challenge to sleep better, feel better, and achieve better balance.
In episode 4 of the Cottage Life Podcast Season 3, we’ll listen to an essay all about collecting classic cottage kitsch. Listen here or visit cottagelife.comfor access to all of the episodes.
Three years ago we went shopping for a cottage. Our requirements were simple: All we wanted was a picturesque shack surrounded by rocks and pines – you know, a couple of bedrooms, a big living room with a stone fireplace, a wraparound veranda, and a century’s worth of memorabilia accumulated by the original owners.
Strangely, such places turned out to be exceedingly rare – at least in our price range. We eventually found rocks and pine, but they came with a brand-new, perfectly pristine, split-level prefab. Hydro, hot and cold running water, wall-to-wall carpeting in the bedrooms, and all the charm of a suburban motel.
It didn’t help when Art and I met our neighbours. On one side were Myron and Clara, whose cluttered log cabin had been the hunting lodge of a 100-year-old-estate. On the other side were Buddy and Flo, who had designed and built their owncabin, guest house, sheds, and decks, all of which were filled with toys, tools, and 10 years’ worth of familiabilia. We traipsed back to our barren prefab and focused on the efficiency of the R-30 insulation and the million-watt fluorescent light fixture in the kitchen.
We were desperate to “decorate” – but didn’t know where to begin. Hammering the fire hole in unmarred cedar walls was too traumatic to contemplate. Besides, we didn’t have much of anything to hang on them. Finally, we put up a Navajo rug. Big mistake. It only accentuated the fact that there wasn’t a single other cottage collectible in the place. We sorely felt the absence of clutter.
Luckily, we had relatives. They gave us old linens: brown-and-white plaid sheets, orange-and-brown throws, navy pillow cases, brown-and-yellow towels, not a complete set in the lot. These certainly helped take the edge off our Holiday Inn look.
Then Art’s parents donated an ancient woodstove – big, dirty, and horribly inefficient. We loved it. And after I dropped a couple of hot lids, which left round burn marks on the pristine carpet, we were well on the way (as I kept telling Art) to the we’ve-been-here-forever ambiance we craved.
The second year, I bought a can of taupe paint and painted over the white drywall in the kitchen. The results were ghastly, as Art pointed out when he returned the following weekend: “That’s not taupe, it’s brown,” he said.
No matter. I went paint crazy. I obliterated the too-clean look of the Ikea furniture by painting it dark green. It looked so good, I used the same green to cover up the taupe. Perhaps I got carried away. After an unpleasant scene with Art over the matter of some laminated maple bookshelves he has recently built, and which I thought needed a good coat of enamel, I put the paint away.
After three years of admiring our Navajo rug, dirty woodstove, bare green walls, and R-30 insulation, we knew something was still missing, but we were stuck in Metropolitan Home and didn’t know how to get out. It was the lamp that finally helped us break through the barrier into true cottage-style decor. Another gift from Art’s parents, it has a ceramic base with little figures and a red shade made of old Venetian blinds – kitsch if ever there was. We weren’t sure we wanted it, until Art’s sister said she wanted it, which made us realize we had to have it. We sat it on the counter, plugged it in, and had a laugh, and it’s been there ever since. In fact we recently acquired its mate – a prancing steed wearing another Venetian lampshade.
The lamps were quickly followed by a dozen family photos scattered across a nearby wall. Then, after three years without a cottage guest book (because we couldn’t find one to meet our exacting design standards), we started taking Polaroids of friends and making them create their own twig, bark, and painted cardboard frames for the Bathroom Guest Gallery. Old posters were unfurled and ruthlessly plastered onto every available wall. We stopped living out of overnight bags and imported Goodwill drawers for the bedroom. We hung up Art’s toy boat and plane to get them out of the way and liked the way they looked. We drilled holes all over the cedar walls for coat and hat pegs.
Everything is still too new, but we know that with time, a continuing influx of clutter, and a little courage on our part, our cottage will be as properly shabby as any other on the bay.
Summer may be a little less bright this year. Last week, the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) moved the migratory monarch butterfly to its “red list” of threatened species. Now endangered, the bright orange butterfly’s population has been battling habitat loss and climate change for decades.
This “endangered” classification puts monarchs just two steps from extinction, renewing the already high alert for the butterfly’s wellbeing.
While the new report and label does not directly impact conservation law, it can inspire people to “take a look at monarchs—and other insects—and do more to conserve and protect them,” says Don Davis, who has been tagging, tracking, and observing monarch butterflies between Canada and Mexico since the 60s.
“Right now, this planet is in pretty rough shape. Species are on the decline,” says Davis, who personally has not seen many monarchs this year.“We had a cool, damp spring,” he explains.
Climate change, including droughts and extreme weather, is a huge factor, Davis says. Other threats, he notes, are “extensive” herbicide and pesticide use as well as land use changes, especially around Lake Erie, Lake Huron, and Lake Ontario, “which are important monarch migration paths.”
Couple that with modified plant species and degrading overwintering forests in Mexico, many factors are affecting the monarch’s ability to feed and reproduce peacefully.
“We’re planting more and more nonnative plants,” Davis says. The relationships between native plants and insects have developed over millennia and rapidly changing the ecosystem with nonnative flora is nearly impossible for native species to adapt to.
“Our ecosystems are changing very quickly, breaking down, and not working as effectively as they once did,” he says.
The IUCN designation implores Canada, Mexico, and the United States to revisit their individual (national and regional) species at risk lists. In 2016, the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada recommended classifying monarch butterflies endangered, but in the U.S. monarchs await inclusion on the respective list.
Every summer, millions of monarch butterflies paint the sky orange as they migrate from the tropical forests of Mexico, through the United States, to Canada to breed and feed. The 3,000-kilometre commute is impressive but risky for the fluttering insects. The migration opens them up to threats from across the continent, from severe storms and droughts, to illegal logging and various pesticides. “Hundreds of thousands die along the way,” Davis says. “It’s a precarious journey.”
It’s important to look at monarch populations in terms of their wintering population, Davis explains. To maintain monarch numbers, we need to have a population of about six hectares of forest cover. (Often, monarch butterfly numbers are assessed in terms of how much area they cover.) “We have a long way to go to stabilize that migration population,” he says.
In Canada, specifically in southern and eastern Ontario, expect to see monarchs migrating from mid-August to mid-September. Their key routes are around the Great Lakes where there are flowering plants and large clover fields.
If you’re in the Toronto area, at Tommy Thompson Park (or the Leslie Spit) you can find monarchs treating themselves to the goldenrod fields. “It’s an amazing phenomenon,” Davis says. “You have to be there when they cluster in the fall. It’s pretty spectacular to see.”
How should we help?
Positive change is possible, Davis says, “but a lot of work has to be done.”
To start, “don’t mow just to mow,” he says. Correct management of private lands, crown lands, and municipal lands play an important role in preserving butterfly and other insects’ habitat and food sources. Besides monarchs, he says, “I’m finding very few species of other butterflies this year,” mentioning a lack of red admirals, viceroys and swallowtails in eastern Ontario. He mentions a drop in bee sightings too.
Davis suggests and applauds homeowners and cottagers planting pollinator gardens that include goldenrod, milkweed—a monarch favourite—and other native flowering plants.
“When you benefit monarchs, you’re benefitting many other species,” he says.
He also suggests sharing with your kids, if you have them, and other people around you. “Study monarchs. Raise a few with your children,” he says. Exploring and reading are powerful ways to spark interest and raise awareness for butterflies. “I’ve always had an interest in nature,” says Davis, who grew up in rural Ontario around a family of farmers and developed an interest in nature at a young age.
Citizen science is vital and easy with apps like Journey North or iNaturalist. “Record sightings,” he says. “Teach others what you know. Donate to organizations that promote monarch conservation.” Davis is the chair of the U.S.-based Monarch Butterfly Fund.
“There’s lots that people can do to contribute to improving the state of our planet,” Davis says. “Whether we’ll turn things around or not, we simply don’t know. But we’re gonna give it a good try.”
It’s true that bringing Fido requires extra packing, planning and training, but having pets along offers some benefits, too. Dogs can create some of the best memories on a holiday.
While I dream of buying the perfect vacation property in the future, the perks of exploring various rentals have given me the chance to test out features and amenities without a significant financial commitment.
After travelling across Canada with two husky mixes since they were adolescent puppies, I’ve learned a few things about how to make the most of our trips. Cottages and cabins are my preferred style of rental with dogs, because they offer more privacy, soundproofing and easy exits for those late night potty breaks.
Of course, we’ve had some ups and downs. It is undoubtedly more work to bring two fluffy squirrel chasers into the wilderness, but I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. The enthusiasm dogs show for the outdoors is infectious, and through them I am inspired to visit places beyond my comfort zone.
Here are my top 5 tips for travelling with dogs:
Dog proof the space (as best you can)
When I first check into a rental property, the huskies wait in their kennels until I do a thorough sweep of all tempting items that would be costly to replace. As they’ve gotten older and wiser, this has become less important, but my rascals used to nibble remote controls and still love to counter surf. If there are any welcome goodies, I put them away and out of paw’s reach. If there is a fenced yard, check it for gaps a dog might be able to fit through, especially if their recall isn’t the best.
My little escape artist once popped out of a tiny gap in the gate to chase after deer, bouncing through the forest after them as if she were one herself. That was an invigorating chase, but not one I would care to repeat (especially for the deer’s sake). The lesson: bring tie down stakes and a mallet, in case the fence just can’t be trusted.
Keep up the training
My dogs are rescues, and our travels have offered many training opportunities for new and novel experiences. That being said, a holiday isn’t the best time to work on the basics. When you travel with dogs, kennel training is your ally. Not only does it keep them safe and out of trouble, but it helps with potty training, too. Wiping up messes indoors isn’t exactly how I love to spend my vacation.
Know the local wildlife
Part of the appeal of a cabin or cottage is, of course, the location. Whether the property is deep in the woods, on an island, a lake, or up in the mountains, it’s important to be conscious of what else you and your dogs are sharing the environment with. Family pets can even attract coyotes, bears, and cougars, who might be tempted to approach if they think they have a chance at food. Predators are part of the outdoors, and we are sharing their space when we visit, so don’t leave your pets unattended. A bell fastened to your pup’s collar can help keep from catching larger critters by surprise, but I also carry a deterrent horn if needed.
Have an emergency kit
It’s great to get away into the wilderness and enjoy the peace of secluded locations. Your dog will thank you! However, the downside to places, both for humans and our furry friends, is the limited access to emergency services and healthcare.
I bought a generic first aid kit for dogs years ago, but here are some extra additions you don’t normally find in them that I added to mine:
Dog safe allergy medication (for bee stings)
A carry sling in case your pup injures themselves away from the car
Activated charcoal as a backup home remedy in case Fido eats a toxin
Pain medication
Anxiety treats
Sometimes, a kit isn’t going to cut it, and you may need to rush your dog to the vet. Once you have your stays booked, check ahead of time to find out where the closest vets are and keep their phone number, address, and hours of operation at the ready, in case cell service and wifi aren’t available.
Prepare for messes
Accidents happen, even to the best of dogs. An upset stomach can lead to all kinds of unpleasant substances inside your cabin. I always bring my own additional supplies, because sometimes the ones provided are not enough for the mess. I learned that in a less-than-fun way. So, do yourself the favour of packing extra towels, cleanup fluids, and gloves.
Dogs like to bring the outdoors in on their paws and coat. A penalty cleaning bill is always a damper on the travel budget. Not to mention, I would want anyone using my property to respect it, and I take my guest ratings seriously. Both me and my dogs get 5+ reviews from hosts, which makes booking a breeze.
Pack smart with these hacks
I swear by packing cubes! They come in all kinds of shapes and sizes and work to tame the chaos in your cargo. Waterproof cubes are perfect to store food, treats, toys, blankets, a first aid kit, those cleaning supplies, and any extra gear. My other trick is bringing compact roll-up dog beds. They preserve cargo space while giving your special furry friends a place to sleep after a long fun day of adventures with you.
Happy travels!
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By the time her birthday rolls around in late August, Christina Jones has been at her island cottage since mid-June, mostly by herself, and basically marooned. There’s a kayak and a rowboat, but the septuagenarian is at the end of Baie Fine—a freshwater fjord culminating in the Pool, a lake-like pocket surrounded by Killarney Provincial Park—and the nearest marina, the one that taxied her in here, is some 20 kilometres away. Cell coverage is iffy, at best, and Christina typically can’t be bothered even trying.
The days have bobbed along, borne on the rhythms of reading and knitting, of fetching water from the lake, of visits from kingfishers and snapping turtles. Often it’s enough to simply gaze at the circumvallate hills, chalky in colour but harder than marble, not to mention older than the Alps.
These ancient peaks are also greener than they were a half-century ago, a forest thinned by axes and acid rain now thickening back up. Christina can see her whole life reflected in this setting, although the sequence isn’t necessarily linear. One moment she’s a child, the next a grandmother. The shadows of pines are more real than the hands on a clock; calendar squares cease to mean much, or at least become an afterthought. “I turned 74 yesterday,” she announces when I show up, a day late. Or just in time, depending on how you look at it. “I thought,” she says, “it was today.”
Photo by Peter Baumgarten
Christina and her family
Christina Jones (centre) holds a photo of her grandfather Newland Spreadborough, who built the family cottage nearly 100 years ago.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s island cottage
She punches bears. Her grandkids call her “the inappropriate grandmother.” And she’s reigned over northern Georgian Bay for decades.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten
Christina’s cottage exterior
The rudimentary abode, comprising roughly 1,300 square feet, took shape in
the late 1920s out of wood scavenged from a derelict boat.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina in Baie Fine
Christina has been coming to the island cottage in Baie Fine—one of the largest freshwater fjords in the world—since she was a one-year-old.
Her daughter, Christianna, has naturally kept track, arriving with husband, Peter, and three of their grandkids to fete the matriarch on the appropriate date. Her favourite present? An artifact that great-grandson Ayden produces after a bit of treasure hunting along the shore. It’s an old iron clamp that was originally used to secure log booms and later repurposed as a weight for a water line. Ayden, 11, finds it in the water but unattached to anything—except, of course, the very roots of his family’s connection to this unique nook of northern Georgian Bay.
“My grandfather Newland Spreadborough came here to work as a scaler for the Spanish River Logging Company in 1904,” says Christina. “He lived here year-round and loved it.” The timber operation was based on the east shore of the Pool (an old company house built in 1911 is still discernible from the Jones cottage) and Newland’s wife, also a Christina, would join him in the summer with the kids, travelling from the family home in Bracebridge, Ont. “My mother was six weeks old when she came here for the first time.”
Christina was not much older on her inaugural jaunt. “I was just starting to walk,” she says. “My aunt Ellen went out to the backyard (of the Bracebridge home) and said to Grandfather, ‘the baby and I are going to Baie Fine.’ ” At that time, reaching the inlet from Muskoka was still a circuitous, multi-stage journey by rail and water. “You switched trains in North Bay, and then we would get a boat,” she says. “The first time we came in, the idea was to stay for two weeks, and my aunt said to heck with it, ‘we’re going to stay for the summer.’ ”
That was 1948, so communication was even trickier than it is now—you can get a ping from a tower in some parts of Baie Fine, though rarely in the Pool—yet her aunt was able to “get a message out” from a resort at the fjord’s entrance regarding the change in plan, as well as order provisions from Little Current, on Manitoulin Island. “They checked to see if a yacht was coming in,” Christina says. “And in came our groceries.”
Ever since, the cottager has spent her birthday in Baie Fine, barring a few years when work or family obligations got in the way. “As long as I’ve been able to go, I’ve gone,” she says. “This is my Prozac. If I can’t come here, I’m going to call MAID (medical assistance in dying).”
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Baie Fine
There’s a
kayak and a rowboat, but the septuagenarian is at the end of Baie Fine—a freshwater
fjord culminating in the Pool, a lake-like pocket surrounded by Killarney Provincial Park
—and the nearest marina, the one that taxied her in here, is some 20 kilometres away.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s Blue Willow dish collection
In the cabin, Christina displays her various collections, including Blue Willow dishes from Eaton’s,
oil lamps, and paddles.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s cottage interior
One room of the cottage was effectively a dance hall, and to this day a
working gramophone remains, along with the same hardwood planks upon which the
girls (and the young lumberjacks or sailors who served as dance partners) did the
Charleston, or whatever moves were in vogue.
Christina can be blunt, and also very funny. Of a Pomeranian who hops on the picnic table while we’re chatting—a beloved but somewhat badass rescue she adopted a few years back—she says, “that’s Tucker, but we sometimes change a syllable.” Rarely, if ever, does she seem to feel the need to retract a comment or apologize for its edge. “My grandchildren call me the inappropriate grandmother,” she says.
While she relaxes outside, tossing a few raspberries to finches, Ayden has been busy filing the rust off his archaeological find. “My great-grandchildren are learning skills that aren’t—this business,” says Christina, thumbing an invisible phone. “He’s learned today what an axe file is. He’s cleaning up his clamp, and then he wants it hung on the wall with the crosscut saw and the rest of the logging equipment from around here. So there you have six generations, fixing up something they’ve found.”
The cottage is itself a kind of reclamation project, or perhaps upcycling would be the better term. The rudimentary abode, comprising roughly 1,300 square feet, took shape in the late 1920s out of wood scavenged from a derelict boat. “There was an old barge on the shore, a big scow they used to bring supplies to the loggers,” says Christina. “They gave my grandfather permission to take it apart. It was done in winter, with the stipulation the rest had to be burnt. So that was the start of the cottage.”
Newland Spreadborough and his wife were still staying in company quarters on the mainland at the time, but their three daughters had reached an age when they were inclined to whoop it up on occasion, so he acquired the nearby island, mostly to get a good night’s sleep. “He built this camp so the girls could come over here and not disturb them, but he also wanted to have a piece of this area that was his own,” says Christina. One room of the cottage was effectively a dance hall, and to this day a working gramophone remains, along with the same hardwood planks upon which the girls (and the young lumberjacks or sailors who served as dance partners) did the Charleston, or whatever moves were in vogue.
Christina cranks up the Victrola and drops the needle on a 78 by Tommy Dorsey and his Orchestra, titled “Take Me Back to My Boots and Saddle.” There’s a gal in Cherokee/And she’s waitin’ there for me, he twangs, above the hiss of old vinyl. Some tunes in the collection were more direct on the subject of romance, or laden with innuendo, at least. “As a kid, I used to go around singing all these risqué songs,” Christina recalls with a laugh.
It was while staying in the Pool that she met her future husband. Christina was 16, and Lawrence Jones, an Ojibwa from Wikwemikong, had arrived to fight a wildfire. “Somebody rolled a rock down the hill,” she explains, pointing to the slope in question, which, like all of Baie Fine’s shoreline, consists of craggy quartzite. “Quartz on quartz can throw a spark.” The hill rises sharply from the water’s edge, just 100 metres or so from the island, so the family had front-row seats for the drama. “He came down from the fire in the evening, I picked him up on the shore, and he came over for a visit. And that was it, we were off to the races.”
Sadly Lawrence predeceased her long ago, dying at 55. “He had his first heart attack at 36,” says Christina, adding with characteristic cheek: “probably from living with me.” He lives on in the kids, though, and their kids, all of who have embraced their First Nations heritage. Christina, meanwhile, kept heading for Baie Fine whenever possible, accompanied or not. Since retiring as a nurse eight years ago and stepping down as a municipal councillor, she’s made it her routine to hunker in for the entire summer.
“I get the water taxi from Birch Island and stay down here for three months,” she says. It’s a repeat of what she did as a youngster, when she would come right after school got out and stay until Labour Day—but she is okay with that arc. “You come into the world peeing your pants, and go out of the world peeing your pants,” she says.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s cottage interior
The cottage has changed little from its earliest days and is packed with heirlooms.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s great granddaughter
“My great-grandchildren are learning skills that aren’t—this business,” says Christina, thumbing an invisible phone.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s logbook
Group of Seven artists A.Y. Jackson and Arthur Lismer signed a logbook the cottager keeps carefully stored in a Seal Line dry bag.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christianna and her grandchildren
When the grandkids are with them, Christianna (left, in blue shirt), her husband, Peter, and the rest of the family frequently build evening campfires on ‘the Big Rock’ on the east side of the island.
The cottage has changed little from its earliest days and is packed with items from her grandfather’s era: cast-iron pans, deer antlers, enough oil lamps to illuminate a small castle. There’s also a map showing the timber limits her granddad oversaw, and a bureau he built using wooden crates as drawers. Pull one out, and you will see “Carnation Evaporated Milk,” among other brand names for tinned goods, stamped on the side. Coffee percolators abound, one of which has its bulb held in place with string from a potato bag. There is no hydro (unless you count a single solar panel and an ancient generator gathering dust), no landline, and no running water. There is a hand pump, however, and a wood-fired cookstove with removable rings that can bring a pot to boil.
“To fill a tub, you need five full pails of cold and three pails of hot,” says Christina. That’s for an adult, who wants a really good soak. Babies—including June, the youngest great-grandchild, who had followed family tradition by cottaging before she turned one—can be more casually dunked. “The last time we had her down here we bathed her in the cooler,” says June’s grandmother, Christianna.
Christina says she rarely feels anxious while cottaging by herself, although she does carry a cattle prod when making trips to the outhouse at night. Originally, she had a short handle for this zapper, but her kids convinced her to use a longer one. “Their opinion is, why do I want to be that close to the bear?” she says. Luckily she’s never encountered a bruin while bound for the privy, but one did surprise her in bed one night, seemingly to its regret. “About three in the morning, I heard this zzz-ip as he ran his claw, neat as could be, through the copper screen,” she says. The bear proceeded to poke his head through the opening and even placed a paw on her chest. “I sleep in a single bed, so there wasn’t much room for the two of us,” Christina recounts. “I’d heard the tenderest part is their nose, so I…whacked him there. And he just sort of pulled back and left.”
More worrying to her is the presence of porcupines, as a grandson’s dog got “mixed up with one” in the past. “Down in the boathouse I have a big tin can for them,” she says. “I just take a board and whump the porcupine into it, put the lid on, and row it over to the mainland. I don’t want to kill it, but I don’t want it on the island.”
Loneliness isn’t a huge concern, as she enjoys communing with other critters, including the massive snapper who visits daily, and could be as old as the cottage itself. Plus, it’s not as if the Pool—remote as it might look on a map, and secluded as it might feel at times—is a place devoid of human activity. The sheltered anchorage has been a magnet for yachters for well over a hundred years, and canoe-trippers sometimes pass through too.
Christina will often wave or welcome them ashore, as was the case when one group from a summer camp was caught in a downpour, and with insufficient gear. “It was August, and they were hypothermic,” she says. “I brought them in and got them warmed up, fed them, and dressed them in peculiar clothes.” The supply of spare duds was limited, she explains, so one young man ended up tugging on a pink nightgown with a cat on its chest. “He wore it quite happily,” she says. “And for two or three years after that, guiding the kids, he always stopped by to say hello.”
A mainstay for years in the Pool was The Chanticleer, a boat so big it dwarfed the island to which it was tethered. Both the boat and the island, located within view of the Jones cottage, belonged to Ralph Evinrude, of outboard motor fame, who married Hollywood actress Frances Langford. Neither is alive now, but Christina got to know both when she was a kid and would often catch frogs for them to use as fish bait.
Another celebrity was William Hale “Big Bill” Thompson, the portly mayor of Chicago and apparent crony of Al Capone. He had a cottage on Threenarrows Lake, accessed by a steep trail from the Pool, and was reputedly toted over this mountain pass by four men in a modified chair. Christina wasn’t alive to see this happen, but she did see evidence of the portable throne. “The chair was still there, on the side of the hill, when I was a kid,” she says. “It finally fell apart.”
There are stories too of men with violin (a.k.a. gun) cases, as well as Capone himself, passing through Baie Fine, and Big Bill escaping via a different route when he knew the mobster was looking for him. Christina admits these episodes have only been communicated to her through family lore. More verifiable are the visits from Group of Seven artists A.Y. Jackson and Arthur Lismer, not just to the Pool but to the Jones camp itself. Both signed a logbook the cottager keeps carefully stored in a Seal Line dry bag. Lismer, who stayed with Christina’s grandparents in 1933, along with his wife and daughter, contributes a sketch with his entry. It depicts the painter and his family gazing out from the island, below a panel of scenery and wildlife, along with the caption: “If there’s anything else in Baie Finn (sic), we haven’t seen it.”
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina’s cottage interior
While the cottage is neither big nor fancy, there is much to take in.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
The outhouse
The outhouse, of course,
is home to the bedpans.
Photo by Peter Baumgarten.
Christina knitting
Christina has no intention of stopping her summer-long, largely solo visits to the Pool. “I bring in everything that I need with me,” she says. “I’m very content here.”
Today, it’s relatively quiet in the Pool. There are a couple of sailboats but they are anchored around a corner from the Jones place, out of view, and there is no one at the Evinrude cottage. About the only marine traffic is Christianna, who goes for a spin on a stand-up paddleboard, clad in a T-shirt that reads: “It’s camp not cottage.” Later, her husband, Peter, will also go for a paddle with Ayden, gliding around the edge of the bay in a canoe.
Christina says that she welcomed a boater ashore a few days earlier, and gave him a tour of the cottage. While neither big nor fancy—with its rectangular layout and rough-sawn planks, it feels not that far removed from the barge that spawned it—there is much to take in, including a loft that looks like something out of a children’s story and a wall full of faded, hardcover books. Among the titles is Lost In The Backwoods, by Catharine Parr Traill, an old enough edition that the name on the spine reads “Mrs. Traill” and a swastika (not yet synonymous with evil) graces its cover. There’s also a 1934 novel by Caroline Miller about the antebellum south that won a Pulitzer and should be more famous than Gone With The Wind, but never caught on the same way, perhaps because its title—Lamb In His Bosom—confused even readers of the day.
If those tomes didn’t catch the interest of her visitor, there was plenty more he could peruse, including old photos from the 1920s, a pie safe, the saved skins of snakes, wineskins, cowbells, a harpoon gun, and countless representations of owls, sailboats, and loons. “He loved it,” says Christina. “His comment to me was, ‘It’s like a museum.’ ” The cottager, who would rather add another logging artifact to her walls than acquire indoor plumbing, and sees no reason why a 60-year-old canister of Fry’s Cocoa should be tossed, took that as a compliment.
Just as we’re getting used to the idea of having the whole Pool to ourselves, we hear the sound of human voices, joined in song. The source isn’t immediately obvious. The chorus grows louder—but not obnoxiously so—and then a truly odd craft rounds the point, drifting slowly toward us. It’s a perfectly flat rectangle, like a floating carpet, but topped with four chairs. In those chairs are four people, harmonizing with one another. Each seems to have a beverage in their hand, and they are clearly enjoying themselves, while not really annoying anyone else.
“What is it?” says Ayden. “I thought they had rafted two paddleboards together, but I’ve never seen anything like that,” says Christianna. “It looks like an inflatable platform,” says Peter.
Christina just smiles. Then, in a way that both echoes Lismer’s guestbook entry and somehow answers it, proclaims: “You’ve never seen half of what I’ve seen here.”
This article was originally published in the June/July 2022 issue of Cottage Life magazine.
Photo Courtesy of Ontario Provincial Police – Central Region/Facebook
A 48-year-old man is dead after being struck by a boat while out swimming in Lake Rosseau in Muskoka early Monday morning.
Ontario Provincial Police’s Bracebridge detachment, Muskoka EMS, and the Muskoka Lakes Fire Department responded to multiple 911 calls around 7 a.m. reporting an unresponsive body in the water near Shamrock Lodge Road in Port Carling, approximately 20 metres out from a dock.
Muskoka Lakes fire chief Ryan Murrell says that when he arrived on scene EMS had managed to lift the man onto a floating dock and were performing CPR. “They shocked the patient once, so that would tell me that there was a [heartbeat] rhythm,” he says.
After no response, members of the fire department assisted EMS with transferring the man from the floating dock to an ambulance. From there he was taken to the South Muskoka Memorial Hospital where he was later pronounced dead.
The man, who was staying as a guest at the Shamrock Lodge, had been out for a morning swim and was equipped with a visibility marker when he was struck by a boat. The boater remained on scene and is cooperating with the OPP. Const. Taryn Molnar of the Bracebridge OPP says it is an ongoing investigation, meaning no charges have been laid at this time.
Currently, the OPP isn’t releasing any more details about the investigation out of respect for the man’s family. The police have, however, asked that anyone with surveillance footage from their residence or information about the collision contact Bracebridge OPP at 1-888-310-1122.
When operating a boat early in the morning at low visibility hours, Van Isle Marina suggests going slow enough that you can stop in half the distance that you can clearly see, turning on your running lights, and assigning a lookout to sit in the bow of the boat and watch for anything in the water and drive well away from the shoreline, especially if moving at a higher speed.
Photos by EWY Media/Shutterstock and Travelingthenorth/Instagram
When the restoration of Kenora’s Husky the Muskie statue was revealed on June 22, some people thought it was less than fin-tastic. The 12-metre-tall local icon received a new paint job this spring, with funding from the federal government through the Northern Ontario Heritage Fund Corporation. Many people have taken toFacebook to voice their opinions.
“Put it back to the way it was,” said Sandra Alin-Willis, a Kenora local who says she isn’t fond of the statue’s new look. “It’s not our Husky the Muskie.”
Kristen Boucha, another resident of Kenora, says she wasn’t concerned when this update was first announced and agreed that the fish was in need of a touch-up. But, when the statue was unveiled, Boucha was surprised to see how much it had changed. “I don’t think anybody was expecting to have one fish covered up with the tarp and have it unveiled to be a completely different fish,” she says.
Boucha would like to see the statue changed. “Maybe kind of bring it back a little bit to what it used to be, or try and blend the two together to find a happy medium,” she says. Though, she doesn’t think a change is likely, given the amount of money that was spent on the project, and the fact that it was financed from a heritage fund.
Alin-Willis says the statue is dear to many in Kenora, having been around for so long. “A lot of people get their graduation and wedding pictures down there,” she says. “It was the first big thing they ever put up in Kenora, and the tourists love it.”
Bronson Carver, a local journalist for the Kenora Miner and News, wrote an opinion piece on the statue’s unveiling in late June. Carver says he thinks there are more pressing issues for the community to worry about than Husky the Muskie’s paint job, but he says he understands why the community reacted so strongly to the change.
“He was supposed to be a symbol of keeping the lake clean, taking care of the water, and obviously fishing,” Carver said in an interview, noting that the city of Kenora has deep historical and contemporary ties to fishing. “I think if anything else had a divisive paint job, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal. You couldn’t find something that has more potential to be divisive than Husky the Muskie because people care about fishing.”
We put a call out in a Facebook group to see how people were feeling, and this is the response we received.
Some took issue with the fact that the renovation was not done by a local company or artist. The restoration was done by Alberta-based Dinosaur Valley Studios. “They definitely should have hired a local artist, they really had an opportunity to bring the community together, make it fun and include us,” wrote Suzanna Mary Alcock.
Both the city and the studio did not offer comment on this issue, but in a press release from the City of Kenora, the company’s president Frank Hadfield said: “After extensive research on the real fish, it was decided by our artists and designers to blend characteristics of the several sub-species of muskellunge, with a focus on the tiger muskie.”
“I personally don’t like it…but that’s my opinion…l think it looks too cartoonish,” wrote Annie Augustine.
“More a tiger muskie now, they should have kept the natural look of muskies from our area,” wrote Terrence Kozak.
The studio also decided to give the muskie a brighter look to make it stand out from the surrounding area. “We also noted that the original colour blended in with the surrounding foliage so well, that it was difficult to notice Husky when driving by. We decided to lighten his background colour, so that he stood out from the trees a bit more,” Hadfield said in the press statement.
