The nature of creativity
Lake Superior shoreline (Photo by Cara Copeland/NCC staff)
Growing up in northern Ontario, I was fortunate to have regular exposure to the outdoors. Every summer we camped in provincial parks and visited my grandparents' cottages. Even so, when my parents decided to purchase a piece of land on Pancake Bay, on Lake Superior's eastern shore, I knew I was in for something different. The land, which we simply referred to as "The Property," was completely undeveloped. We cleared enough space to park at the side of the access road, as well as a narrow hiking trail down to the lake and some space to set up a couple of tents. My dad built a picnic table and an outhouse, and that was it. No cottage, no toys and certainly no television.
Instead, my parents encouraged my younger brother, sister and me to explore The Property's forest and rocky shoreline. Before long, we discovered that the red-hued rocks scattered along the shore could be used as a kind of chalk to draw on the other, lighter-coloured rocks. Even better, when crushed into a fine powder (using, naturally, more rocks as a rudimentary mortar and pestle) and mixed with a bit of water it formed a paste. Add a couple of dried plant stalks, frayed at one end and voila—paint, paintbrush and hours of entertainment!
Islands of Lake Superior (Photo by Cara Copeland/NCC staff)
Those of you who have braved the waters of Lake Superior know that it can be chilly at the best of times. Add that to the fact that our swimming area had a rugged, rocky bottom rather than the lovely sand beach the rest of Pancake Bay is known for, and you might wonder how we managed to spend so much time in the lake. Easy—we became explorers!
The two largest islands were dubbed “Bermuda” and “Hawaii." One smooth boulder that looked like just the place for a mermaid to sun herself became "Mermaid Rock." From a certain angle, "Frog Rock" resembled the profile of a frog poking its head up from the surf. Even the sun-warmed pool of standing water became “the hot tub,” while the flat bedrock covered in a film of algae was "the treadmill."
About five years later my family moved to a new town—too far away to travel to The Property for short weekend trips—and my parents made the difficult decision to sell the land. I suspect the area has since been subdivided into cottage lots, but it's preserved in my memory as I once knew it—a special place inspiring the kind of creative play that can't be bought in a store. Nature was our playground and the sky was literally the limit to our imaginations. And that, my friends, is priceless.
About the Author
Cara Copeland is the Nature Conservancy of Canada's (NCC's) Coordinator, Conservation Biology for Midwestern Ontario.
