Nothing can explain the excitement you feel when you pack up the car, head out on the road to only unpack it all again and fill its contents into a canoe on the water’s edge. What awaits you is the steady rhythm of paddling as you plunge the wooden blade into the water below, the sound creating a small splash as you propel the canoe forward. Water drips, creating artistic ripples on the calm water’s surface reflecting the world above. The gentle sound of paddle knocking canoe, and creak of your seat ground you to the present. Water and sky surround you. Evenings fill the air with campfire smoke, the chatter of family, and meals that taste divine. A tent zipper signals the end of the day, as bodies snuggle into sleeping bags, whispered goodnights are said and the last mosquito is defeated. Eyes close, and the distant loons sing a sweet and longing lullaby.
These are the memories and moments that stand strong in my mind. The closest I can come to describe the peaceful moments sat atop a canoe. When you’re dropped off in the middle of nowhere it can be easy to explain those moments to the peace and quiet of solitary places in nature. Stunning landscapes, close encounters with wildlife, and time alone. In the process of appreciating these moments we overlook one thing.
The people.
What is often overlooked are the people you meet on the journey. The ones who offer service, advice, food, and kindness.
A car shuttle, or a float plane ride, dropping you off or picking you up. Individuals who love these adventures in a canoe so much they offer their time to help you on yours.
The families you meet who offer food, laughter, a shared campfire, and advice for the stretch ahead.
The ones whose cabins sit on the lake shore. They wave you in and offer fresh fried fish, a bed to sleep in and a shower because someone forgot to pack deodorant for the family (That someone was me. Twelve years later and it’s still brought up). Our only saving grace was the wild mint we picked along the way.
There’s the family or friends you share the canoe with. The ones who play a game of Uno in the protection of the tent with. The dog who stands on guard with ears perked and tail wagging.
These adventures would be nothing if not for the place. But they would also be nothing if not for the people.
Ever since beginning my journeys on Canada’s lakes and rivers I have felt called to paint on paddles. Always at the back of my mind but never close enough to touch; being a watercolour painter I was hesitant to reach for acrylics, and didn’t know where to begin with how to prepare a paddle. I created problems before giving myself a chance.
That was until I heard about the It Takes A Village painted paddle auction. I spoke with Haley Daniels, the athlete working hard to have the chance to compete in the Tokyo 2020 Olympics, and knew I had to be part of this. Throwing all my hesitations aside I delved into paddle painting. Learning as I went, making “mistakes” and fixing them. Trying again and again until it worked. The experience was one where you find joy in learning, grateful that you took a risk and proud of the colour exploding before you.
Attending the auction event, the phrase “it takes a village” truly hit me.
Our canoe trips wouldn’t have been possible had it not been for those who transported us, fed us, or offered us friendship on the waters edge. It would have felt empty without the family who kept me warm, and the dog who kept watch at camp.
An artist wouldn’t leave her comfort zone, or have tried something new without someone saying they believed in her vision and skill. She wouldn’t be painting if no one encouraged creativity in a classroom, or packed paints on a road trip.
An athlete couldn’t train or compete if it weren’t for those who showed up to support, fund, coach and holler from the sidelines. Standing at the auction event was an outdoor community that supports its members, sharing a love for sport and the great outdoors, elevating them all.
The greatest lesson I learned is that no matter your journey, whether it’s time in the outdoors, a career, or an olympic goal;
It takes a village.