How building a wood-and-canvas canoe reconnected this New Brunswick angler to her roots

Photography by Greg Hemmings

When I think of a canoe, the first image that comes to mind is of my mom on our cottage lake. I can still picture her—curly permed hair tucked beneath a well-worn Tilley hat—paddling with ease, her voice carrying softly across the water as she sings that old Canadian paddling song, “Land of the Silver Birch.”

My paddle’s keen and bright

Flashing with silver

Follow the wild goose flight

Dip, dip and swing

I’d sit on the front porch of our cottage and watch her glide across the glassy surface, listening to the loons call in the distance and seeing the joy on her face. The sight of her moving so effortlessly across the lake, completely at peace, would always make me smile. In many ways, it captured the essence of who my mom is. It also gave me a lasting lesson in how to navigate life—with ease, strength and a steady trust in the vessel that carries us.

So much of my life has since been spent on the water. From canoe trips through New Brunswick’s backcountry to fishing at our family cottages in Quebec and Ontario, and on to fly-fishing adventures around the world, the water has always been both a place of grounding and discovery for me. It’s where I’ve learned so much about patience, presence and humility—lessons that echo the same quiet grace I still see in my mother.

That memory of her paddling has always stayed with me, quietly shaping my relationship with the outdoors and deepening my respect for the craft that makes such moments possible. Perhaps that’s why, when the chance came to build a canoe of my own, it felt less like starting a project and more like continuing a story that began long ago.