stay fresh.

I used to tell my dad, “If I had a dollar for every time someone told me to write a blog, I’d be so rich that I wouldn’t have to write the damn thing in the first place.”

He’d laugh, shake his head, and usually hand over any spare change he had in his pocket at the time.

Jokes aside, I never thought I had anything worth saying. And even if I did, I honestly didn’t think anyone cared to listen. They say you’re supposed to write what you know — and for the longest time, I didn’t think I knew shit.

So instead, I started telling other people’s stories. And I became determined to do so in the most beautiful way possible. Somehow it became my job to interview some of the most intense and impassioned people who were accomplishing all of these incredible things, and it was through their stories that I started to learn. 

I still don’t think I know much, but over the past five or so years that I’ve lived in Collingwood — and definitely over the last two — I feel like I have learned a thing or two about this area and the animated individuals who call it home.

The first is this: while the Great Lakes may not be filled with salt water, they have an ocean vibe all the same.

I have always been a sucker for salt water. My journalism career started on the east coast of Canada, where I’m pretty sure one of the first stories I ever wrote was about a gym teacher who shaped his own surfboards. Writing, coupled with my inability to stay still, offered me some incredible opportunities around the world, like designing a magazine in Malta from scratch or getting sent to a secluded island in Costa Rica and told to write about it… to name a few. I chased stories on every shoreline and I fell madly in love. 

In love with this.

This infatuation with the world and everyone in it. This salt-soaked, sun-kissed sense of adventure, losing track of time and sometimes literally getting lost. Embracing new faces and places… You get it. This distance. 

So you can imagine how I must have felt five years ago when I made the decision to leave Halifax and move back home to landlocked Ontario, shortly after my dad passed away when I was just 23-years-old. I planned to stay for six months at most, have some face time with my family, and then head back to the east coast or embark on a new adventure out west. 

But then something happened. 

In my spare time, I started writing people’s stories here, too. I was fortunate enough to get a freelance gig with the local news, where I was asked to write a weekly series called Bold. The only rule for these articles was that they had to “be related to the great outdoors, adventure sports and eco-tourism.” 

Damn. Sign me up. 

Once again, it was through the eyes of countless passionate and perseverant people that I started to learn. And the more I learned, the more I fell in love. But this time, it was less about the distance. 

I fell in love with this depth. 

With just how deeply these people cared for their community. How profoundly they pursued their passions and ferociously fought for their dreams — no matter how wild they were. I realized that somewhere along the way, I had rooted myself in a community that for decades has thrived on people's wild ideas. And over the past two years, I let those roots grow deep. 

But it wasn’t just Collingwood. The more Covid kept me in Canada, the more I learned about the number of scattered, shore-lined towns some of us Ontarians get to call home. The winter beach breaks and summer snack shacks and seasonal squawks of seagulls in the sky. Just because the water isn’t salty doesn’t mean coastal culture can’t thrive.

There is something special here.

And then I learned that Canada holds 20 percent of the world’s freshwater supply. In fact, the Great Lakes Basin is kind of a big deal in the freshwater world. Often described as inland seas, Lake Superior, Huron, Ontario, Erie and Michigan represent the largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth, with some 17,000 kilometres of coast lining their shores. Each body of water is unique in its own way; the contrast of their characteristics drastic.

But their unifying factor? The people who live, work, and play in, on, and around them — every day. 

The kinds of people who wake at the crack of dawn to bike 100 kilometres before breakfast, hurdle themselves into freezing cold water to catch a wave, or hike up one of Ontario’s steepest ski hills just because. These are the people for me. 

So while no, I still don’t think I know much, I do know this:

Landlocked in between Canada’s east and west coast lies what I now call the Fresh Coast.  

And if you know me at all, you know how much I love this place.

So I am going to write about it.

Lastly, I’ve also come to learn that the Great Lakes and the thousands of tributaries that feed them make up one of the world’s most important connected freshwater ecosystems. At the heart of Canada’s economy and teeming with life, the Great Lakes support a diverse ecosystem of more than 200 species at risk. But it is a watershed under threat.

For everything that the Great Lakes provide us, they are also one of the most threatened water systems in Canada.

For this reason, I have committed to doing everything I can to promote and protect them. In collaboration with Freshwater Future Canada, a portion of all proceeds made through this endeavour will go towards preserving our playground.

So, stay fresh folks…