My brother’s birthday is close to mine in May. The year I turned 12 and he turned 14, we each received a wood and canvas canoe as our birthday presents. One was red and one was green. Mine was the green one. That summer I lived in my canoe. Our home was in North Bay, Ontario, close to the shores of Trout Lake. My best friend and I would hoist the canoe over our heads, a mini centipede marching to a nearby beach for a day on the water. My memories of that summer, more than 50 years ago, are now a sun-dappled blur of paddling, swimming, blueberry picking. One for the bucket, one for the mouth, three for the bucket as I anticipated the pies my mother would bake, sweet smells filling the kitchen, our tongues soon blue from the steaming berries spilling out of the flaky crust.

The following March we moved to Malaysia for two and a half years and our canoes went into storage. Our next home was in Upper Sackville, Nova Scotia. I am sure that I paddled my canoe somewhere during my last two years of high school there, I just don’t recall where.

Half-way through my biology degree at Mount Allison University, I had a summer student job at the National Research Council at Dalhousie University in Halifax. There was another summer student in our lab, a research assistant and the scientist. John’s research was on the genetics and cultivation of a red algae with commercial application. Lab work was interspersed with field work. We were a merry bunch and worked well together. I especially remember the weekends of that summer. A small group of  NRC summer students and lab assistants explored the province, hiking, camping, canoeing. The highlight was a canoe-camping trip in Kejimkujik National Park. It was the last time I paddled my canoe.

That summer my parents moved to Germany. They were not able to store the canoes again. My brother had moved to Ontario. My parents did not know when they would return and where, nor where I might be living and what I might be doing when they came back. I sold it to John, saying a sad goodbye when I returned to university in New Brunswick in the fall.

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I almost didn’t’ open the email. There was something vaguely familiar about the sender’s name, Edna. Scammers are clever, and even familiar names might be hacked accounts. I hesitated, but ultimately the subject line convinced me: Your old Langford canoe.

Not only had I forgotten about Edna, I had forgotten about my canoe. It’s astonishing that Edna had tracked me down. Yes, I wrote in response, I am “that” Ruth that you knew, who loved travel, nature and science. Edna was the research assistant in the NRC lab.

She shared the story of what had happened to my canoe.

John used it for several years but it needed some TLC so he sold it to my husband Larry. Round about that time we had a new house and two toddlers so the canoe was tucked up in the rafters of our shed.

Despite Larry’s best intentions it stayed there unused and unrepaired for the last 30 years.  Last year he gave it to a neighbour that restores canoes.  The neighbour was very excited to receive it and spent the winter restoring it. He has done a wonderful job. He was also very interested to hear this story and to learn a little more of the history of the canoe and how old it was.

I saw the photos on Instagram. It is a remarkable restoration.

Hearing from Edna refreshed my memories of that wonderful summer, working at NRC and playing in Nova Scotia. Neither of us can remember the name of the other summer student. Maybe it was Richard. He came from a family of scallop fishermen in Prince Edward Island. One weekend he came back from a visit home with a massive bag of fresh scallops, my favourite seafood. Many years after that summer, my brother visited Venice and brought me a beautiful gift of a framed red algae from the lagoons. It is not the same species that we researched at the NRC, but it hangs on my wall in Winnipeg, an indirect memento. Edna’s unexpected email also helped me relive what I now remember as an idyllic summer in North Bay. I am nostalgic about my canoe. A little sad that it did not come back to me. It would be even harder if it were still green, but it now sports a glistening black coat. I feel better when I learn that the new owners are from Germany and have been enjoying paddling her this summer. As Stuart, who along with Edna brought my canoe and my memories back to life, posted, my canoe is ready for another 50 years.

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I was able connect with Stuart Inglis of Inglis Watercraft. He was kind enough to share photos. These are before. You can just see my old green paint showing through.

The restoration underway …

The final result. Isn’t she beautiful!