Amplify: A family camping tradition spearheaded by my grandmother

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Irene Galea is a business reporter with the Globe and Mail.

Earlier this year, my parents and I rose at a preposterous hour several days in a row to attempt our greatest pandemic feat yet: booking our annual August camping trip.

Each summer, my parents, brother, grandparents and I elect to exchange our Toronto homes for the forest, collecting upon us a considerable film of lake water, campfire smoke and the occasional small bug. We wear the same outfits for a week. There may be bears, and it most certainly will thunderstorm. It is excellent.

With vacations abroad largely off the table for another summer and city life still looking crowded, we were not alone in our mission to book camp sites this spring. Campgrounds saw a record number of reservations, and reports of people using computer code and taking advantage of booking loopholes to find spots started to fray our nerves.

Our first two attempts to book were unsuccessful, and the panic over the possibility of missing out entirely was compounded by much shrieking on the part of my mother. On the third morning we were, thankfully, triumphant: We secured two sites (one for us, one for my grandparents) at our usual campground in Killbear Provincial Park, Ont. The annual family camping trip was safe.

I have my grandmother to thank for this tradition.

When Nanny, now 82, immigrated to Canada from England in the 1960s, she had two young daughters and little money for a vacation. One summer, in need of an escape from Toronto, they ventured north, inexpensive mattresses and canvas tent in tow. They discovered Killbear, a rugged campground on the promontory guarding quiet Parry Sound from Georgian Bay. Nanny fell in love with the sweeping pines, cool waters and Canadian Shield granite.

“It’s a Killbear day,” she’ll remark throughout the year, whenever the sky is brilliant blue and cloudless. I know she’s always longing for the campground.

For most of my life, my family has returned to the same spot every year. This is where my relationship with Nanny bloomed: helping to cook classic English fried breakfasts, sharing languid mornings on hot stones post-swim, playing afternoon Scrabble and singing campfire songs, Nanny’s British accent rich and resounding under the Milky Way.

Not to mention that living in a forest makes for a pretty good backdrop to bond with those around us. The effects of being in the wilderness on our mood is no secret: Studies show that even viewing scenes of nature reduces anger, fear and stress while increasing pleasant feelings. Exposure to nature also contributes to your physical wellbeing, reducing blood pressure, heart rate, muscle tension and the production of stress hormones.

Those with similar traditions can attest to the deep connection you build with a patch of forest and a bit of shoreline, even if you’re only there for a week every year: You know the best place to watch the sunset, and which big rock is wobbly. You can walk around the park at night without a flashlight, guided by the red glow of campfires through gaps in the silhouetted trees, and know where Vega is in the night sky.

Of course, camping isn’t perfect. My family still bickers about bedtimes and sunscreen. Once, a raccoon on our site challenged my mom to tug-of-war over a full bag of bread and won. But even through the challenges, these trips form the basis of a strong relationship rooted in nostalgia and mutual memory.

It is not lost on me that I am lucky. Quarantine has made it harder to see relatives, especially older ones who are vulnerable. In a year full of worry, we have been reminded of how valuable our time with family truly is.

More than 26,000 Canadians died of COVID-19 this year, the majority of whom were 70 or older. I think about how many people lost loved ones, and about how many will be carrying on traditions without them for the first time. For them, there will be no “return to normal” – no next camping trip.

My grandparents are healthy; I am hopeful that we have more camping trips on the horizon. Still, this year I know I’ll appreciate every moment spent together at Killbear. And one day, I’ll bring my future children: I’ll show them Nanny’s favourite tanning rock and the campsite she first came to nearly 60 years ago. We’ll keep the tradition alive.

What else we’re thinking about:

Art has been an escape for many during this difficult time. From this New York Times story about art of pandemics past, to the Royal Ontario Museum’s initiative to collect works reflecting our COVID-19 experiences, it’s clear everyone has a different approach.

For me, art has been a way to re-experience one of the elements of pre-pandemic life I miss the most: travel. Days glued to the screen left my mind feeling fuzzy and desperate for a creative escape. Last fall, I discovered the virtues of acrylic paint: It’s cheap, dries quickly and stays bright. Best of all, you can easily go over it if you make a mistake.

I choose pictures I took during a European backpacking trip and spend hours lost in creation: the shadow of a French roofline, the sparkle of a Belgian canal. It feels great to be so singularly focused, and to reflect on past memories as I create.

If you’re nostalgic for days away, pick up a cheap canvas, brush set and paint – you can get all these supplies for around $40 from most arts and crafts stores – and paint yourself a window into the places you’re dreaming of seeing again.

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