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Confirmed outbreak of EHD in white-tailed deer near Kingston, Ont.

Photo by Shutterstock/Raul Baena

There is a confirmed outbreak of epizootic hemorrhagic disease (EHD) among white-tailed deer in the Kingston, Ont. area.

In September, approximately 30 deer were found dead on Wolfe Island. The Ministry of Northern Development, Mining, Natural Resources, and Forestry (NDMNRF) sent a biologist to investigate. Additional sightings in Gananoque Lake, Stirling, and Lansdowne reported dead deer, typically found near water.

The biologist collected an adult buck and a female fawn from Wolfe Island and an adult buck from Gananoque Lake, transporting the deer to the Canadian Wildlife Health Cooperative in Guelph. All three tested positive for EHD.

“EHD is a viral disease that affects mostly white-tailed deer,” says Keith Munro, wildlife biologist for the Ontario Federation of Anglers and Hunters (OFAH). “It has been known to infect some livestock, but it rarely results in symptomatic disease. And it’s not a disease of people. There’s no human health risk.”

This includes consuming deer that has been infected with EHD, Munro adds.

The disease is spread to deer through midges—sometimes referred to in Ontario as ‘no-see-ums’. A midge will bite an infected deer and then transfer the disease when it bites a healthy deer. The midges are carried into new areas on the wind.

Experts are theorizing that the Ontario outbreak has been caused by midges carried up from New York State. According to Munro, the disease is endemic in certain southern states and is beginning to move further north with climate change.

Frost is what kills the disease, Munro says. Experts have observed that approximately two weeks after the first frost, the midges die off, putting an end to the outbreak. “Unfortunately, climate change is contributing to the spread of it because we have longer, hotter summers, but then also we have delayed winters, so the outbreaks can go longer,” Munro says.

Symptoms of EHD can include loss of appetite, no fear of people, swelling of the head and neck, respiratory distress, and extensive internal hemorrhaging. Munro adds that deer killed by EHD are often found near water. “EHD leads to fever, so animals go to water to try to cool themselves down and die there.”

Symptoms emerge in a deer approximately seven days after it’s been infected. From there, it can be anywhere between eight to 36 hours before the deer dies.

Munro stresses that while some of these symptoms are similar to Chronic Wasting Disease (CWD), a disease caused by a folded protein that can be extremely difficult to get rid of, they are different. “With EHD, generally, those animals will look healthier. They will be salivating, but they’ll look healthier, as opposed to the Chronic Wasting Disease ones. They look skinnier and unhealthy,” he says.

Read more about Chronic Wasting Disease in deer

There are no preventative measures or treatment for EHD, Munro says. Instead, OFAH is focused on tracking the disease and ensuring ecologically sustainable levels of deer population.

“Those sorts of populations, the sustainably managed ones, they are more resilient to disease,” he says. This is because there’s more food available to a smaller, controlled deer population, making the animals healthier overall.

In some southern states, deer have developed immunity to the disease, but in the north, where the disease is rarer, deer populations are more greatly affected. For example, in 2012, approximately 15,000 deer died from EHD in Michigan, Munro says.

If you come across a dead deer or a live deer exhibiting symptoms, report the sighting to the CWHC at http://www.cwhc-rcsf.ca/report_and_submit.php.

“Public reporting is incredibly important,” Munro says, “both to identify new things that pop up, but also to estimate the extent of outbreaks where they do occur.”

Nature scrapbook: Meet the white-tailed deer

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9 bike trails to explore in Ontario

Photo by Monkey Business Images/Shutterstock

Whether you want to climb over rocks and blast your way up hills, or just have a peaceful cycle through the countryside, there are bike trails for everyone all over the province—each offering a unique mix of scenery, history, and interesting spots to pull over and snap a picture. Here are some of the best bike trails in Ontario.

Hilton Falls Conservation Area, Halton Region

A waterfall, old mill ruins, and a peaceful reservoir all make for a fun day at Hilton Falls. The conservation area has three bike-only trails, including the 5-kilometre Bent Rim, which is described as a “rock garden” and suitable for advanced riders. If you’re looking for a leisurely pedal with the family, choose one of the mixed-use trails—the Red Oak trail around the reservoir is nice and quiet. Just make sure your bell is working and you keep your wits about you—you’ll be sharing this trail with other bikers, hikers, and horseback riders.

Cambridge/Paris/Brantford/Hamilton Rail Trail, Cambridge to Hamilton

Do a little, a lot, or all of this 77-kilometre trail network, which connects Cambridge to Hamilton through a network of four different rail trails. Cambridge to Paris takes you along the Grand River, boasting ruins and some spectacular views of the river. The SC Johnson Trail links Paris and Brantford, winding through farmland and rare prairie grasslands. Through Brantford, you’ll follow the Gordon Glaves Grand Valley River Loop to hook up with the Brantford-Hamilton rail trail, which will eventually take you through the Dundas Valley and into Hamilton. (Hint: If you go from Brantford to Hamilton, the last 20 per cent of the ride is downhill!)

Welland Canal Parkway, St. Catharines to Port Colborne

Smooth paths, 26,000-ton ships, and one big climb up the Niagara Escarpment are the hallmarks of this 45-kilometre trail along the Welland Canal. In Thorold, you’ll get to watch ships climb up or down the escarpment through a series of flight locks—the largest in the world! You can take a free ferry to explore the other side of the trail around the City of Welland, which then becomes a single trail again. Once you reach Port Colborne, relax and watch the ships at the Lock 8 dockside district.

Savanna Biking Trail, Grand Bend

Explore Pinery Provincial Park, which boasts the largest protected forest in southwestern Ontario, on this easy 14-kilometre loop that winds through woods and along a lightly-travelled road in the park. This trail is perfect for campers and cottage-goers who may not have packed their bikes—rentals are available across from the park store. And at the end of your ride? Check out Grand Bend’s glorious 50-kilometre Blue Flag beach and take in a famous Lake Huron sunset.

Hardwood Ski and Bike, Oro Station

Hardwood has pretty much everything for the very beginner to advanced mountain bikers: bike rentals, lessons and clinics, and a wide range of trails at many different difficulty levels. For those with a competitive edge, Hardwood also has a series of bike events throughout their summer season, culminating in their Halloween Hustle at the end of October.  

Caledon Trailway, Caledon

One of the first rail trails, the Caledon Trailway is a 39-kilometre multi-use trail from Palgrave to Terra Cotta. A peaceful ride through farmland, villages, wetlands, and forests, the trail also offers ample opportunities to stop, explore a small town or two, or read about the history of the area through a series of interpretive signs. If you’re travelling during its running season, the South Simcoe Railway in Tottenham is worth a stop to take a different kind of ride.  

Uxbridge to Lindsay to Peterborough, Kawarthas

Roughly 100 km, the rail trail from Uxbridge to Lindsay, and then from Lindsay to Peterborough has a little something for everyone: trestle bridges, an extensive stretch through peaceful wetlands, and, of course, close proximity to Kawartha Lakes Dairy stores. It’s worth taking a weekend to explore the whole stretch.

 Lynn Valley Trail, Norfolk County

This short, shady trail passes over several wooden footbridges on its 12-kilometre path connecting Port Dover and Simcoe. In Simcoe, you can choose to extend your ride by taking the Norfolk Sunrise Trail to Waterford or Delhi. In Port Dover, grab some Lake Erie perch or whitefish and watch the waves on the beach. Just don’t try this route on a Friday the 13th—Port Dover fills up with motorcyclists and traffic in the surrounding areas can be quite heavy.

Cataraqui Trail, Smith’s Falls to Strathcona

This 103-kilometre trail follows a CN Railway line, passing over a section of the Canadian Shield that links the Shield to the Adirondacks in upstate New York. Along with rock outcroppings, you’ll see farmland, wetlands, lakes and wooded areas and numerous types of wildlife, including turtles, herons, snakes and otters. While most of the surface of the trail is good, there can be rough sections. For that reason, it’s recommended that you use a hybrid or mountain bike to ride, rather than a road bike.

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Wild Profile: Meet the humpback whale

By GUDKOV ANDREY/Shutterstock

So, you’ve never seen a humpback whale. Picture a city bus with fins, leaping acrobatically from the water. Unbelievable, right? If you happen to be near B.C.’s Salish Sea in the fall, you’re in luck: it’s prime humpback-whale time—and you can see this magic for yourself.

The humpback whale is big everywhere—even its heart weighs about three times as much as an average human being. Its powerful tail can measure as long as 18 feet. And its 15-foot-long pectoral flippers are the largest of all whales’ (compared to body size): one third of the entire humpback’s body length.

A six-hour rescue mission freed this humpback tangled in an anchor line

The Salish Sea is so humpback-heavy in the fall because this is the huge mammal’s last chance to stuff its face before moving elsewhere to overwinter. An adult whale will scarf up to 3,000 lbs per day, usually zooplankton, krill, or gobs of schooling fish. Humpbacks are baleen whales—they have no teeth (unlike, for example, orcas). So they don’t chew anything. Instead, they raise their upper jaws, and expand a series of folding plates—picture someone playing an accordion—to gulp down gallons and gallons of water and fish in one go. The whale can then use its tongue to squeeze the water through a series of bristly, hanging “plates” on either side of the jaw (a.k.a. baleens). It’s like pouring a can of stewed tomatoes through a sieve to drain the excess liquid.

What happens when humpback whales get into a rumble with orcas?

Working in groups, humpback whales also do something called “bubble feeding.” Whales will blow bubbles around fish to deliberately encircle them, as if in a net. Then, another whale, or several, will swim from beneath, swallowing the prey—helpfully concentrated into a mass—as they rise to the surface. Cooperation makes fish happen!

Humpbacks are also known for their stellar singing. The humpback whale’s song is more complex than the vocalizations of any other marine mammal. Their calls are audible—to other whales, at least—from hundreds of kilometres away. Whales don’t have vocal chords; they make noises by squeezing air through their sinuses. What they produce sounds like a series of whines, grunts, squeals, and cattle-like lowing. But it’s cool enough that in 1977, a Voyager spacecraft included a humpback whale recording as part of its “greetings from earth” messages. Has your voice ever been sent into space?

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Zoe Whittall confesses her cottage sins: Lust

Illustration by Sam Island

Pride, wrath, envy, sloth, lust, greed, gluttony—the cottage can bring out the best and the worst in us. We asked seven of Canada’s top writers to come clean about their cottage sins.

I Have a Confession to Make…

I didn’t learn about cottage culture until I moved to Toronto from Montreal in my 20s and encountered the Cottage, the proper noun. As far as I knew, the Cottage didn’t really exist anywhere else in Canada. I worked in a store and a co-worker would say, “I’m going up to the Cottage this weekend.” Which cottage? I would wonder, quietly. It reminded me of how in the LGBTQ+ community we say “Are you going to the Bar?” even when we live in a city with thousands of bars.

The first thing I noticed about Toronto was the wider disparity between rich and poor. I arrived during the Harris years to house-sit with a friend I’d met at Concordia University. Our class differences weren’t that noticeable in our shared Montreal apartment. But in Toronto, our differences were stark.

In my late 20s, I was finally invited to the Cottage in Muskoka, by a partner’s friend. It was a beautiful log cabin that her great-grandfather had built himself, now surrounded by million dollar houses. Despite the permanent soundtrack of jet skis charging around an otherwise pristine lake, I sat on the dock as the sun set and made it my life’s mission to own a cottage. To be able to say, “Want to come up to the cottage?” to someone. Some people who don’t have money aspire to own a home, a fancy car, or to go on first-class vacations. But my fantasy involved vintage quilts on lumpy beds, deer peering in the bedroom window at dawn, softwood walks, summer salads on an expansive deck, and tan lines from afternoons reading on the dock.

I began to collect things that would look cute in a cottage, like a girl in the 1950s with a hope chest. Of course, as a single writer with no family inheritance, this is an impossible dream. And so I rent cottages and pretend. And whenever a group of my friends get together I inevitably ask, so, what if we pooled our money and bought a cottage?

At the start of the pandemic, I convinced two good friends to try. But it turns out even three people with middle class incomes cannot qualify for a cottage on a lake in Ontario. Mortgage brokers humored us. But we only qualified for lake-adjacent cabins, or “tear downs” on the swampy ends of lakes too far from the city to be worth it. This is simply the plight of my generation. And so it remains a fantasy. But so much of life in the pandemic is fantasy-based— the food we’ll eat at restaurants, the places we’ll travel, the pleasures of life in a state of suspension.

One evening early on in the pandemic, frustrated by the lack of options on Tinder, I changed my settings from Toronto to global. By the end of the night, I was messaging with James, a handsome trans guy from Philly. I don’t normally set out to have long-distance crushes, but with no sense of when travelling might be an option again, it seemed harmless to make a connection this way. Plus, I’m a queer femme, with a penchant for trans men and butches. (I once pointed to a rack of plaid shirts in a store and said, “That’s my sexual orientation.”)

After 20 years in Toronto, I felt as though I’d already met everyone in the community. James was married, but open. I was in an open relationship too, but still so heartbroken from the break-up of a previous long-term relationship that I didn’t want anything serious. Eventually James and I decided that when COVID-19 was over, we’d rent a cottage halfway between our cities. And then we spent months describing what we’d do. Fireplace. Outdoor hot tub. Summer salads. And more specifically, what we’d do to each other.

The Cottage became a repository not just for moneyed aspirations, but a site to escape my small, solo apartment in a city seething with disease and despair, with a lover who worked a frontline job, which meant that we couldn’t see each other. These beautiful little cabins became the settings for a future where I could relax in the arms of someone who also longed for an escape filled with lust, pleasure, and comforts. The Cottage, then, was a repository for all the fantasies of an easier life. I’m still hoping for midnight skinny dipping, and forest fantasies, for a break in the clouds.

Zoe Whittall is an acclaimed novelist, poet, and TV writer. Her newest novel, The Spectacular, was recently published.

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8 pieces of safety gear DIYers need to have at the cottage

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If you choose to purchase any of these products through the links provided, we may earn a small commission. Read more about our Editorial Policy here.

DIYers love collecting tools but they often overlook protective gear. Here are eight essential pieces of safety equipment for the DIYer in your life.

hearing protection Photo courtesy of Worktunes/Amazon

Hearing protection

Power tools such as chainsaws and impact drivers are loud enough to cause permanent hearing damage. Foam plugs that fit into your ears are better than nothing, but why not upgrade to a Bluetooth-equipped headset that protects your ears and allows you to listen to music while you work.

Buy from Amazon
$65.69

safety goggles Photo courtesy of Lowes

Safety glasses

DIYers of a certain vintage might recall these construction safety videos from the 1980s, including one that featured a shard of metal flying into a man’s eye. Watch it once and you’ll never forget to wear your safety glasses.

Buy from Lowe’s
$8.99

safety gloves Photo courtesy of Lowes

Work gloves

A good pair of work gloves protect your hands from splinters, knuckle-blows from errant hammer swings, cold weather, and more. But do not wear gloves when using stationary tools with spinning parts, like a drill press or table saw where the material can get caught in the machinery.

Buy from Lowe’s
$20.99

Hard hat Photo courtesy of Rona

Hard hat

A DIYer’s greatest tool is their brain. This is why, like a pro, you should protect it with a hard hat if you’re doing demolition work, trimming tree branches, or other tasks where objects could fall from above.

Buy from Rona
$43.99

Knee pads Photo courtesy of Rona

Knee pads

Give your hardest-working joints a break by wearing protective knee pads when you’ll be working crouched over (installing deck boards, gardening, etc.). Alternatively, buy a foam pad you can rest on.

Buy from Rona
$38.99

Respirator mask Photo courtesy of Amazon

Respirator

Now that we’ve all gotten used to wearing masks in our daily lives, it should be a no-brainer to wear a respirator when doing DIY projects that generate dust or involve the use of chemicals or other products that off-gas fumes.

Buy from Amazon
$31.86
$28.75

Work boots Photo courtesy of Mark’s Work Warehouse
safety

Work boots

If you’ve ever stepped on a nail doing a DIY project, you’ll never make that mistake again. Look for CSA-approved work boots that have both a steel toe cap to protect your lower digits, and a sole plate to prevent injuries from stepping on those exposed nails.

Buy from Mark’s
$89.99

Safety pants Photo courtesy of Amazon

Chainsaw pants

Whether you’re felling dead trees or harvesting your own firewood, if you use a chainsaw at the cottage, you should invest in chainsaw pants.

Buy from Amazon
$131.94

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Cottage Q&A: Fast-growing trees for the cottage

By Caterpillar Taqi/Shutterstock

I need suggestions for fast-growing trees for the cottage. I have a row of Swedish columnar aspen that has been eaten and killed by yellow-bellied sapsuckers. What could I replace them with that’s fast-growing but is not favoured by those woodpeckers?—Julie Hink, Beaver Lake, Alta.

We’ll get to your fast-growing trees question later. First: let’s not throw the sapsuckers entirely under the bus. The reason that your trees died could be because Swedish columnars aren’t native to Canada. “Native aspens have been dealing with sapsuckers for thousands of years,” says Chris Earley, the author of Feed the Birds. “They know what they’re doing.” Since your trees probably didn’t evolve with yellow-bellied sapsuckers, it made them weak to this woodpecker’s onslaught; another species could have taken it.  

That said, while sapsuckers will drill into “a very long list” of trees, they are particularly fond of aspens, says Earley. So avoid those, and pick another native tree.

Jean-Mathieu Daoust, an arborist with the Calgary office of Bartlett Tree Experts, suggests poplar, American elm, or laurel leaf willow; they’ll grow two feet or more per year. Of course, trees that grow quickly get large quickly. “People say, ‘I want it to grow super-fast! But I don’t want it to get too big!’ ” says Daoust. Follow the tree-planting adage: right tree, right place. For example, you might not want to squash together trees with a wide canopy spread into a spot that suited the skinny aspens. (Columnar trees are column-like.) 

Three things to consider when planting a tree

Before you decide on a species, do as much research as you can, says Daoust. You want to get “a true perspective on what impact the selected species will have on the landscape over time.” Talk to local nurseries and arborists; look online; check out images; ask your lake neighbours: which trees have they had success with? 

And the sapsuckers? You may have to accept that they’re not going to stop sucking sap. It’s kind of in their job description.

This article originally ran in the August/September 2021 issue of Cottage Life magazine.

Got a question for Cottage Q&A? Send it to answers@cottagelife.com.

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Rural Canada could be hit the hardest as propane prices soar

Photo by Shutterstock/VDB Photos

Cottagers who rely on a furnace for warmth should prepare for a heating bill hike this winter. While many people have been watching the eye-watering surge in gasoline prices, propane and furnace oil have also experienced price increases.

The price of propane, a byproduct of natural gas processing and oil refining, has jumped by 296 per cent over the last year in North America. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration (EIA), prices have risen from approximately $0.50 USD per gallon in October 2020 to $1.40 USD per gallon in October 2021.

A predicted shortage in the U.S. could put a strain on some families this winter.

Compared to last year, the EIA said that to warm their homes U.S. citizens will spend 54 per cent more for propane, 43 per cent more for heating oil, 30 per cent more for natural gas, and 6 per cent more for electric heating—and these numbers could be higher if the weather is colder than expected.

“As we have moved beyond what we expect to be the deepest part of the pandemic-related economic downturn, growth in energy demand has generally outpaced growth in supply,” said EIA acting administrator Steve Nalley, in a press release. “These dynamics are raising energy prices around the world.”

Despite a healthy supply of propane, Canada is also feeling the crush of this price increase. Edmonton, Alta. and Sarnia, Ont., Canada’s two propane hubs, are producing necessary amounts of the fuel, yet it’s the industry’s tie to the world market that’s driving up the price at home, said Allan Murphy, senior vice president of government relations for the Canadian Propane Association.

“There’s an increased demand globally, especially in Europe and Asia, and that’s really driving the price up,” Murphy said. “We’re a net exporter of propane in Canada. A lot of people don’t realize that we export about half of the propane we produce into the United States and now into Asia.”

Murphy said he doesn’t expect the price increase to last. “Probably early spring next year we’ll see the price come back down to normal. The challenge for everybody…is that we have to get through the winter.”

Rural communities, like cottage country, may be hit the hardest. “A lot of people in rural areas depend on propane,” Murphy said. “They need energy for transportation more than they would in the city.”

To help combat the price hike, the Canadian Propane Association is lobbying the federal, provincial, and territorial governments to help mitigate the rising energy prices.

“The federal government has a leadership role to play in helping Canadians offset the increased costs for energy,” said Nancy Borden, chair of the Canadian Propane Association, in a press release.

“It must turn its attention to developing policies and programs in conjunction with provinces and territories that will offer relief to Canadians from high energy costs. This could be done through such actions as introducing or enhancing home energy rebates, particularly for lower-carbon fuels such as propane.”

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Vicky Mochama confesses her cottage sins: Sloth

Illustration by Sam Island

Pride, wrath, envy, sloth, lust, greed, gluttony—the cottage can bring out the best and the worst in us. We asked seven of Canada’s top writers to come clean about their cottage sins.

I Have a Confession to Make…

I have always considered myself a jack-of-all-trades of laziness. I have done nothing in every way possible on at least three continents and in every outfit I own. I can be indolent standing up and sluggish sitting down. I have achieved feats of laziness that are inspiring: for example, I have regularly taken three-minute taxi rides to the gym.

I was, I thought, more than prepared to sacrifice all activity in the service of the nation and global health. The many were being asked to give up all activity in service of the few.

Yet I, a practiced hand at eschewing work, was working harder than ever during the pandemic. I had a seemingly endless task list. One that I was deeply committed to. I need, I said to my boyfriend through gritted teeth as we strolled one night, to be more productive.

But staying at home and keeping away from other people/disease vectors had worn me out because I was working all the time; when I wasn’t working, I was working on what else I could do. I had to reclaim rest. I had to be lazy again. I had to learn to be lazy again.

Sloth has a bad reputation—which is truly unfortunate because, of all the sins, it is the most enjoyable. Productivity, however, has an excellent PR firm. (I’ve heard that they also represent Anxiety and Peloton.) It is the most successful marketing campaign since advertising firms of the last century pitched young women on smoking cigarettes by calling them “torches of freedom.” Keeping busy has become a bad habit.

And so, the scale of events demanded open skies and blue water.

Determined to get to the beach before noon to begin immediate relaxation, I would put on swimwear, pick an outfit to go over that, and pack my beach bag: lip gloss, sunscreen, moisturizer, two water bottles, a bottle of wine, fruit, an ice pack, cookies, a towel, a beach blanket, a fan, a book, a magazine, a portable phone charger and cord, earbuds, and a back-up outfit for emergencies I’ve never had. By the time I was ready, I was late to the beach.

The beach I chose was a profile of the city at its most insular and resplendent. Its location down an industrial road in a not-yet-developed part of the city made it effectively an island community—a cottage town with no cottages. And it didn’t feel like any cottage I had ever been to because I have never been to a cottage alone; with friends or family, it has always been a group activity. One cottage trip to Tiny, Ont., was a literal multi-day group game with a gamesmaster and a schedule; it was exhausting and awful but my flip cup skills remain unmatched.

On my little no-cottage cottage beach, however, I was alone in a crowd. Subcultures took up real estate on the sandy strip: water activities took place east of the lifeguard stand while nearby, young people in crop tops gossiped. Further west, families popped up their beach tents. There were the ravers, the rowers, the construction guys on lunch, the hapless bylaw officers trying and failing to catch drinkers. And me.

On the sand, I searched for something to do—swim, read, respond to emails. I’d long given up on reading at the beach; the books would just get sand-filled, and reading is itself a devotion to the activity of the mind, she says philosophically with, like, an Austrian accent. If anything, all I’d done was take Productivity out so it could practice its backstroke.

So, instead of looking for things to do, I just looked—and listened. Teenage gossip remains incoherent and extremely fascinating. Toddlers wobbled towards birds. The ravers knew the bylaw officers’ schedule.

Sitting on a towel in the sun, I could finally see it. It is hard, after all the work Productivity has put in, to choose to produce nothing. I had to work on not working until I developed a new habit: doing absolutely nothing at all. I forgot about being late to the beach.

Vicky Mochama is a writer and editor. Her work has appeared in The Walrus, Hazlitt, The Globe & Mail, and The Washington Post.

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The most iconic cottages and cabins in Canada

Photo by Neil Balderson/Shutterstock

Some buildings are so well known—or are so significant historically—that they’ve come to be a part of the fabric of Canadian history. And while there are lots of big, grand buildings on that list—think the Château Frontenac or the Parliament buildings—there are plenty of smaller spots too. Here are some of the most iconic cottages and cabins in Canada.

Caretaker’s Cottage in Murdo Frazer Park, B.C.

This small log cottage in Murdo Frazer Park in north Vancouver may not be historically iconic, but chances are you may have seen it in a film or television show. Lots of them. Most recently a setting for Virgin River, the cabin, built in 1950, has also been seen in Supernatural, The Flash, Stargate SG-1, Once Upon a Time, and MacGyver among many others. It’s also the setting of the Shaw cable yule log, the first widely broadcast fireplace channel in Canada.

Sam McGee’s Cabin in Whitehorse, Y.K.

Made famous by Robert Service’s poem because his name sounded poetic, the real Sam McGee was an unsuccessful prospector from Ontario who lived off and on in Yukon (and was definitely not cremated in a woodstove). There’s some debate about whether the cabin, now located on the grounds of the MacBride Museum in Whitehorse, was actually built by McGee, but it is known that McGee’s family lived in a similar building, so it’s OK to let your imagination run wild if you visit.

Grey Owl’s Cabin in Waskesiu Lake, Prince Albert National Park, Sask.

Archibald Belaney, who was born in Hastings, England, adopted the name Grey Owl after relocating to North America and eventually told people he was half Scottish and half Apache. While the persona may have been fake, Belaney’s conservation work—which was inspired by his wife, a Mohawk woman named Gertrude Bernard/Anahareo—helped influence generations of conservationists to come. His cabin, tucked on the banks of the Waskesiu River in Prince Albert National Park, is accessible by foot (20 km one way) or by boat.     

Tom Thomson Shack in Kleinburg, Ont.

While it was originally located in a Rosedale ravine in Toronto, the Tom Thomson Shack—now located outdoors at the McMichael Gallery in Kleinburg—might as well have been a cottage. The spot where the celebrated artist painted two of his most famous works, Jack Pine, and The West Wind, was a modest wooden cabin that served as a home and studio and was a gathering place for the members of the Group of Seven.  

Uncle Tom’s Cabin Historic Site in Dresden, Ont.

After escaping slavery in Maryland and Kentucky, abolitionist Josiah Henson eventually relocated to Dresden in 1841 and became a conductor on the Underground Railroad, helping 118 enslaved people find freedom. Henson, who was known as “Uncle Tom” because of his connection to Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel of the same name, founded the British American Institute of Science and Technology with missionary Hiram Wilson, and his house still stands, along with the settlement that grew up around the school. 

Roosevelt Cottage in Campobello Island, N.B.

Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt’s summer home on Campobello Island is really a cottage in name only. Jointly administered by Canada and the United States, the 34-room summer home is part of the Roosevelt Campobello International Park, which boasts three other turn-of-the-century summer cottages, along with nature trails.

Maud Lewis Painted House in Halifax, N.S.

The tiny home of renowned folk artist Maud Lewis and her husband Everett is covered in her colourful decorations: on the walls, mirrors, canisters, cast-iron stove — and almost every other paintable surface. Purchased by the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia in 1984 after falling into disrepair, the house sat in storage for a decade until it was restored and finally put on display in 1996. 

Hawthorne Cottage in Brigus, N.L.

Hawthorne Cottage, built in 1830, was the home of one of Canada’s most celebrated Arctic explorers, Captain Bob Bartlett. Named for the hawthorn trees planted around the cottage, the building is now home to a museum that, with artifacts from Bartlett’s expeditions as well as period furnishings, offers a look into maritime life in Newfoundland in the 19th century. 

Green Gables Heritage Place in Cavendish, P.E.I.

This iconic building—the setting for L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables—is located in the L.M. Montgomery Cavendish National Historic Site, a spot that also houses Montgomery’s childhood home. Along with the house and a new interpretive centre, you can also wander the grounds and explore spots from the book, including the Haunted Wood, the site of the schoolhouse, Lover’s Lane, and a babbling brook.

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Cottage Q&A: RRSPs and buying a cottage

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Can I use money from my RRSP to pay for a cottage?—Violet Pearl, via email

You can use money from your RRSP to pay for anything: a lambo. A year’s worth of Baby Duck. An expensive Shetland pony. 

But you’ll be taxed on it. “You can withdraw money from your RRSP to purchase a cottage, but the amount of the withdrawal will be treated as a ‘payment of pension income’,” says Karen Slezak, a tax partner with Crowe Soberman in Toronto. “That means that there will be tax withheld at the time of the withdrawal: 10 per cent on the first $5,000, 20 per cent between $5,001 and $15,000, and 30 per cent on any amount above $15,000.” And, depending on your actual tax bracket, you may have to pay additional tax when you file your return. 

If I rent out my cottage, do I need to include it as income when I file my taxes?

Another, possibly better option, is to take advantage of the Canada Revenue Agency’s Home Buyer’s Plan (HBP). “The plan allows for withdrawals of $35,000 or less from an RRSP as long as very specific criteria are met,” says Slezak. (It’s tax-free, and works a little like a loan: you have to pay the money back over a maximum of 15 years.) 

And you have to qualify. “The main requirement is that the person has to be a first-time home buyer,” says Slezak. You can meet that requirement if, in the four years leading up to buying the cottage, you didn’t live in a home that you, your spouse, or your common-law partner owned. So, “if you’ve been renting your accommodation, the cottage may be considered a first-time home.” 

If you’re interested in using the HBP, talk to a tax expert to help determine if you’ll qualify.

Seven deal-breakers to think about when buying a cottage

This article was originally published in the August/September 2021 issue of Cottage Life magazine.

Got a question for Cottage Q&A? Send it to answers@cottagelife.com.

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