On a Happier Note …

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In tumultuous times it’s wise to reflect on the random acts of kindness that keep us human. To calm myself down this morning after hearing about The Donald’s desire to rename Lake Ontario as Lake America, I recalled a chance meeting at my bank the other day.

It was one of those long line-up days where every teller was dealing with customers wanting credit cards or mortgage check-ups. To distract myself I started to focus on the back of the sweatshirt the person in front of me was wearing. It featured two Muskoka chairs in a bright sunset circle. I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I like your sweatshirt logo – I’d love to be sitting there right now.”

The woman turned around with a sunshine smile and said, “Me too!” One question led to another and then to a discussion about our common love of the beauty of nature. I told her about the recent overnight camp I had done with children, and how awed they were with the sunset and sunrise they experienced. The wait in line flew by, and we shook hands and exchanged names before it was our turn at the teller’s booths. I left the bank with a smile.

A few days later, I was walking my dog around our neighbourhood when I heard my name being called. “Skid! I thought that was you.” I looked up into that sunshine smile once again. It was my new friend from the bank! “Hi, Andrea,” I said. “Do you live around here?” And yes, she did. Turns out we are one street apart and she knew the family that had given us our dog. We parted with a wave and a smile. New friends in the hood. When the universe throws us a lemon, it also gives us a chance to make lemonade.

We all need more Andrea moments. The way I see it.

The Gang of Five: 1 down, 4 to go

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  • For a full term in our current Caledon Council, we witnessed the negative impact of Strong Mayor Powers on democracy. We also witnessed a record of voting block blindness that boggled the imagination. The infamous “Gang Of Five” voted as a team on almost every issue that challenged the line between developer influence and citizen concerns.

Well, with our Strong Mayor suddenly announcing her retirement after her multi-thousand dollar  private fundraiser gala, we are one down, with four to go. Out of those four, only one is running unchallenged in his Ward. One is challenging for Mayor, and the other two are seeking re-election in their Wards.

The rest of the current list of candidates for Council consists either of Real Estate agents from Brampton, or Developers from Brampton, including a former Councillor seeking election as Mayor. Only one Councillor seeking election as Mayor represents the rural/urban composite that is Caledon.

Only five current candidates for Councillor positions are uncontaminated by the last term’s dictatorial behaviour. Let’s wake up, do our homework, and vote accordingly. The decision will obviously be up to Caledon’s constituents. I have my list of preferred current candidates based on track record, defence of democracy in Caledon, social justice and environmental literacy support, and no fear of speaking their truth to power.

And I can assure you that no member of the Group of Five will ever receive my support in a Caledon election. You are either with the people or with the Developers. Greed is not good, the way I see it.

Skid Crease, Caledon

An Elder Story

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My father was, and still is, my hero. A prisoner-of-war survivor from Stalag Luft III of “The Great Escape” fame, he raised me with stories of ingenuity, humanity, and perseverance. Some of our favourite times together were on our fishing, camping and canoeing trips, when stories around the campfire took on mythical proportions.

Some of the best lessons I ever learned in life came from those stories, and often those lessons were encapsulated in wise one-liners. Here is my favourite life lesson, and the basis of my environmental literacy.

It was the late 1950’s, and we had spent a week out camping and fishing on Rice Lake. He was a wise teacher, framing every lesson in a story credited to some other person. When he showed me how to tie on a hook, or find bait under a log, or look for the ledges and overhangs and riffles and reed edges where fish might be waiting, or to eat what you caught, it was always something passed on from someone else.

It was an Anishnaabe guide from Temagami, or a trapper from Golden, or a canoe maker from Peterborough who had taught him. He was just passing on their wisdom. He was wise enough to know that it is very difficult sometimes for a son to listen to his father’s advice, but if it came from someone else’s wise father, well, that was acceptable. To paraphrase Mark Twain, “When I was a kid, I couldn’t believe how dumb my dad was; by the time I’d turned twenty, I couldn’t believe how much the old man had learned in ten years.”

On this particular trip, I learned to fillet a fish, cook a full meal over a campfire and make certain that fire was dead out before leaving. I learned how to select and prepare a safe and appropriate tent site, scavenge for firewood far away from the campsite, search for wisps of birch bark that had blown off the trees, chop and split wood safely, and light a fire in the pouring rain. I learned to find the North Star off the cup of the Big Dipper, read the wind and the clouds and the skin of our canoe in the morning for weather wisdom. All of this was taught to me through stories allegedly from someone who had taught my dad. He was simply passing it along.

He never took credit for any of these wisdoms. His motto was: “First, comes the Great Spirit that Loves Life; my fellow creatures come second; I am third.”

But the greatest lesson of all came when we prepared to head home. My dad walked me around the campsite, even back to the farthest areas from where we had collected firewood. Every trace of our time there was removed.

Even the campfire rocks were moved back and the ashes washed into the duff. The only thing left behind was a small pile of kindling and birch bark protected under a piece of tree bark, “For the next campers, if they know where to look,” he told me. Then he stood with his arm around my shoulders, looked out over the lake and said, “Son, always leave your campsite cleaner than you found it.”

The wisdom of our elders.

 

In memory of Harry S. Crease, father and friend

Stop Signs and Literacy

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It should be quite simple. The big red octagon with the four large white letters spelling S-T-O-P. Even for a driver with severe dyslexia, the visual clue alone should do the trick. When we get our driver’s licence we are all taught to come to a full, complete stop at that Big Red 8 sided Sign. We are taught to stop completely being able to fully see the stop line, to  check left, right, left again for vehicles, and to scan for pedestrians before proceeding.

We are also taught that failure to stop completely, if observed by an attentive police officer, is worthy of a $110.00 fine and 3 demerit points. A reasonable deterrent considering we are now sharing the roads with 10 year olds cruising on electric scooters at 25 klicks. We will discuss Parental Literacy in another post. Back to Stop Sign literacy. If we can’t stop at a Stop sign properly, we should turn in our car keys.

First, there is no such thing as a “rolling stop” often used as an excuse by illiterate drivers in a hurry. Still the same fine for failing to come to a full, complete STOP at the big red sign. Having pulled bodies from cars at the scenes of failure to stop fully completely, I have absolutely no patience with people who fail to stop in my child filled neighbourhood in Bolton.

Let me recount a recent incident with a resident driver who I will refer to as Simple Simon. I was just leaving my local Fortinos the other evening, when a vehicle cruised right through the stop sign at the street I was about to enter. I slammed on my brakes and hit the horn. I was fearful that their brakes had failed. The vehicle turned right, right down my street and sped away, As it did so, the male driver waved to me to follow. It was then I noticed he had a birth defect, only one finger on his hand.

Fearful for his safety I followed him home to advise him of my concern. His family must also have been concerned, because they all came out to greet me when I pulled up beside his home. I noticed that they also had the same genetic disposition to only having one finger on their right hands, which they proudly displayed. When I explained that I was concerned that the vehicle’s brakes had failed and I wanted to make sure the driver got home safely, I was told to pleasure myself. It was then that I realized the whole family was illiterate. I also noticed that they were all heavily tattooed.

Ah, perhaps new immigrants from the indigenous population of New Zealand. Although they looked a lot like the cast from Sons of Anarchy. I should have been more sensitive. Special needs and adjusting to our North American customs.

I wished them a nice day, and drove off as hey all rushed out into the street and saluted me as best they could with only one finger. I drove home slowly, realizing that we must do more to educate new immigrants to our driving rules that keep our communities safe. But also recognizing the reality that if you are illiterate, perhaps you shouldn’t be given a driver’s licence. The way I see it.

The First Time

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On the weekend of August 8, 2026, I had the pleasure of introducing thirteen children to their first overnight camping experience.  It took place at Quarry Lake near Caledon Village. It was their first time overnight away from home, their first campfire under the stars, their first sunset and sunrise ceremonies. And it was perfect.

It all began when I took out a Dog Park membership at the Canadian Cross-training Club run by former Olympic coach Barrie Shepley. Thanks to the foresight of the James Dick family to share in his vision, Barrie established a successful private beach park on their spring fed Quarry Lake near Caledon Village. The south east side of this area is still a working gravel business, but it only compliments the beauty of the C3 site. Barrie’s wife, the late Caron Shepley, had dedicated a section of the beach as a fenced off dog park and that was the only section of the property that I knew.

My dog, Chase, refers to it as the Dog Beach Spaw, but to me it was a touch of paradise in the middle of Caledon. If you stand on the high point of the dog park outside the beach area and look North West, you could easily be in a Muskoka resort. During the day, the human beach area is filled with families playing, marathon swimmers training, and paddle boarders cruising the far shores. Beyond that are the forest trails used by walkers, runners and bikers. In the distance is a clear view of a meadow just begging for a tent and a campfire.

I had worked with Barrie in a previous life, and he was well aware of my background as an outdoor educator. He approached me one morning as we were exercising our Border Collies at the Beach Spaw and he said, “Hey Skid, you know we run a children’s Day Camp here, and a number of the families who can’t afford to send their kids to an overnight residential camp would love to give their children that opportunity. Do you think we could do an overnight camping program here?”

The gauntlet was thrown, picked up with joy, and I spent the next three weeks chain sawing, whipper snipping, and clearing debris to help his landscaping staff create a campsite clearing and a forest dining hall. Canadian Tire in Bolton gave us financial assistance in purchasing the tents, sleeping bags and sleeping pads necessary for the overnight. During that time Barrie had put out the call to his members and day camp crew  with an invitation to be part of a first ever away from home Inaugural C3 Quarry Lake Overnight Camping Program.

During the program preparation process, a friend asked me, “Doesn’t it bother you having the gravel pit operating across the lake?” I simply said, “How did we drive here? on roads built with that gravel. Where do we live? In homes built with cement and stone. Where do  you think it comes from? This Quarry Lake site is a testament to the wise use of resources and the foresight to create a local natural treasure. The best of both worlds,” But would it work as an overnight campsite given the closeness of main thoroughfares and big cities to the south?

We made it clear to parents and children that this was a test case, a trial run to see if the site was suitable for overnight camping. We also made it clear that the challenges we gave to the campers like to build their shelters (put up new tents), and cook food (getting a campfire going to roast their S’mores) were up to them to solve. It was my intention to nurture independence, and take them outside their comfort zones by removing the eternal parental helping hand.

Fifteen campers applied. Two left early due to family commitments, but my “Baker’s Dozen” survived the challenges to complete an amazing overnight adventure. The campers had hot, humid summer weather, a tough time setting up the tents, sudden microbursts of rain, strong winds, and wet tents and gear. But they persevered, dried out, trimmed the tents, and ended up with a secure campsite.

At one point, one of the tent groups sat down in frustration, looked at their floppy tent, and asked me, “Where are we going to sleep tonight?” I pointed to their tent and said , “There. Three times the other tent groups offered you help. Do you want their help, or do you want to sleep in that tent?” They finally asked for help and the campers worked together to fix the tent. No adults involved. Mission accomplished.

These children got to experience their first overnight away from home, watched the sunset as a community, lit their first campfire, listened to ancient stories, stargazed, went for a late night swim, and slept, safe and warm, in the shelters they had created. In the morning they awakened before dawn, came to the campfire circle at the point by the lake and experienced the most brilliant sunrise I have ever seen.

After morning breakfast, the team cleaned up, packed out their gear, and got in a little more beach time. Family arrived at noon to pick them up. The feedback from parents and the campers was overwhelmingly positive and humbling. We set out to enrich young lives with a meaningful first time overnight camping experience. And we did it right here in Caledon.

Special thanks to our wonderful overnight female staff and lifeguard Louise, and our intrepid reporter Kathryn for their commitment to the project. And for Barrie and Caron, your dream will never end. The way I see it.

***

Go to the C3 online site for photos and aerial videos.