The City of Kimberley is home to a truly exceptional trail system, both on and off pavement, which are accessible without leaving City limits.
The 840-hectare Kimberley Nature Park is home to more than 50 kilometers of trails linking forested hillsides, panoramic viewpoints, old-growth cedars, and numerous small ponds and streams. Walking, running and mountain biking are all popular activities
Lois Creek Trails, located adjacent to the Townsite and Morrison subdivisions, are popular for hiking and biking and offer a mixture of single and double track trails that weave through mature forest, rock outcroppings, and along Lois Creek.
The NorthStar Rails to Trails is a former railway track between Kimberley and Cranbrook that has been converted into a paved trail for walking, running, biking,
blading or longboarding. It features spectacular views of the Steeples and Purcell mountain ranges and the St. Mary’s River. The Lions, Volksmarch, and Mark Creek Trails connect Kimberley and Marysville and all offer a variety of scenic walking and biking paths. The mostly paved Peak to Platzl Trail offers a walking and biking link between the Kimberley Alpine Resort and the downtown area.
Your furry family members are welcome on the trails, but you must ensure they do not harass wildlife or other park users and that you clean up after them. The Nature Park and Lois Creek Trails are both recognized off-leash areas, but your dog must remain under your control at all times.
For more information on the trail systems, please visit http://kimberley.ca/community/things-do/recreationand-parks/trail-information.
Kimberley Family Dental is proud to announce the grand opening of our new and modern dental clinic. is allows for greater doctor availability, more appointment times, and a more relaxed and comfortable atmosphere for you!
We look forward to providing the best possible dental care for the wonderful people of Kimberley. We love this town and can’t wait to enjoy the new clinic with each of you.
We’ll keep your whole family smiling!
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GO Kimberley Magazine is published four times per year and is printed in Canada.
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Jeff Pew
Get close to 30 bottles of wine for a fraction of what they cost at the liquor store. We can make any varietal or style you like, and we guarantee you’ll love it.* It’s as easy as coming to see us.
*Seriously! We really do guarantee every wine we make. You can exchange your batch for any reason.
Open: Monday-Thursday 9am-5 pm | Friday 10am-4pm
W: Britt Bates
P: Grady Pasiechnyk
Stepping into Mountain Grass Glass Gallery & Smoke Shop, one feels immediately calmed, at ease, and inspired. The open-concept glass gallery, situated upstairs in the buttercup yellow building across the street from City Hall, is a beautiful addition to Kimberley. Light filters in generously from the enormous windows at either end of the long, wide space. The walls and high ceilings are painted the palest shade of blue-white, lending a cool breeze to the room. It’s the perfect backdrop to showcase the stunning glass art: the abundant colourful pieces throw shards of sunshine in every direction.
Diana Fox, the owner of Mountain Grass, stands at the end of the room, smiling. She looks professional and put-together in a dark blazer and hair pulled loosely back, yet she is immediately warm and approachable.
A glass artist herself, Fox takes pride in sourcing only Canadian-made glass art — mostly from BC and Alberta. “I blew glass for over ten years, but had to stop due to a bad shoulder,” she explains. “This work keeps me connected to glass and to that world.” She sculpts an image of a tight-knit and thriving community of artists. Fox is clearly an expert in that world and has curated a collection brimming with exceptional — and often wildly intricate — works of art. But it was important for her to carry pieces that people can use, she tells me. It’s true: the objects that adorn the gift shop’s shelves are not only all gorgeous, but functional. I pick up one of four sturdy stemless wineglasses with an aurora borealis blooming at its base, and realize my evening glass of red has been lacking an important addition that would elevate it from routine to ritual.
The northern lights in my hand aren’t the only example in the gallery of an artist being deeply inspired by nature. Everywhere I look are the textures of earth, sky, leaf, and petal. On a high shelf, a few large, goldflecked vases portray the surfaces of Writing-on-Stone Provincial Park in Southern Alberta.
A collection of plates catches my eye that are different than anything I’ve seen: thrifted antique china the artist has found, all adorned with delicate pastel flowers — the word grandma can’t help but come to mind — and stamped with the artist’s work in black before being fired in the kiln: a skeleton dances on one, flowers are laid at a gravestone on another. The contrast of light and dark, dainty and sombre, makes me laugh out loud — and covet the plates.
At the far end of the studio, the open shelves give way to glass cabinets that showcase glass pipes and bongs in a wide variety of styles. It’s a refreshing and welcome departure from a typical head shop: the cabinets are devoid completely of any Rasta-coloured flags or Tommy Chong-adorned objects. Rather, Mountain Grass reflects the sophistication of cannabis culture: a postlegalization upgrade to an aesthetic that holds space for the more adult, professional, and frankly, pretty version of pot. The pipes and bongs are delicately detailed and are as much works of art as they are paraphernalia.
Fox opened the doors to Mountain Grass in October 2018, after moving here a few months earlier from Calgary with her husband. “Kimberley is an amazing place to do business,” she says enthusiastically. “The city has truly been so welcoming.”
Each item in her gallery is hand-selected by Fox, who either knows the artist’s work intimately, thanks to sitting on the board for the Glass Art Association of Canada — a position she still holds today — or because she’s walked through the artist’s studio and carefully chosen the pieces she thought would best speak to her visitors.
“It’s all very human,” Fox says with a smile, referring to the hands-on nature of the art, and to the short, direct line that connects the creator to the buyer. “Each artist is fully committed to the highest quality. I would know,” she says, with an easy laugh that immediately makes me smile, “because I know glass.”
While nothing beats visiting Mountain Grass Glass Gallery & Smoke Shop to see the full splendour of their exquisite glass collection in person (at 201 - 349 Spokane Street), you can also peruse their wares online at mountaingrass.ca or follow them on Facebook and Instagram @mountaingrassglass.
W: Britt Bates
Illustrations: Julie Liu
We can’t confirm or deny anything. But rumour has it that Dick Bova strolled through the Platzl in his three-piece suit, hands in his pockets and whistling a tune, on the day it was discovered. It was a sunny Monday morning in the early 1970s. He was on his way to open up his thriving downtown business, Mason’s Menswear, the store keys jingling as he walked.
Everything seemed normal. The red bridges arching over the little creek stood regal in the sunlight. The fountains which Bova himself had helped build continued their constant small celebrations. Everything normal, that is, until Bova turned the corner and saw the crowd, standing in the sudden dark shadow cast across the Platzl that hadn’t been there the day before. All their jaws turned upward, staring. It wasn’t just any Bavarian-themed cuckoo clock that appeared, literally overnight: word was quickly spreading through the crowd that it’s the largest in the world. Could it be true? Was it aliens? Bova heard the hushed whispers rising to a small frenzy and smiled quickly to himself.
Bova heard the hushed whispers rising to a small frenzy and smiled quickly to himself.
When the Society brought its grand concept to City Council, they balked at the price tag and shooed them out of City Hall.
Bova, along with his good friend Bill Spence, was a member of the Bavarian Society, a group determined to beautify and enhance the city. A Kimberley local, Bova was passionate about showcasing the quirky, fun, and awe-inspiring city to tourists and locals alike. What could they bring to the Platzl that could reflect those very qualities?
“The world’s largest cuckoo clock!” someone once declared in a meeting. It began as a joke, but quickly gained a playful momentum. They tracked down German clock builders and horologists across the ocean to inquire about how much such an undertaking would cost. $80,000: a pretty penny in those days.
When the Society brought its grand concept to City Council, they balked at the price tag and shooed them out of City Hall. Bova and Spence — never
ones to be defeated — scheduled regular covert Society Meetings, where beers and ideas were passed abundantly around a table in someone’s basement. They had a plan.
Spence and Bova, each talented in their own right, had complimentary skills to turn the vision into a reality. Spence was a talented engineer by trade, and Bova counted carpentry among his many skills. They were the ideal pair to take on the mission.
Spence began collecting and sorting various parts from old washing machines. Bova gathered all the wood scraps and old cans of paint he could find. And most importantly: an old record player, complete with a record of local woodcarver Adi Unterburger yodelling. Sure, they didn’t have $80,000, but they had $2,000, and that would have to do the trick.
They knew the mayor and council were heading out of town for meetings on an approaching weekend: the perfect time to bring their vision to life. On that warm summer evening, after months of planning and assembling, the Society met in the dead of night, with Bova and Spence as its captains. It all went smoothly; and just as a sliver of light began to appear in the east, they scattered. Bova had just enough time to sneak in a couple hours of sleep before heading to work.
And on that bright Monday morning, the mayor and councillors stood at the front of the crowd, furious. Two of them rushed up to the casual Bova as he walked by. “Did you have anything to do with this?” one demanded.
“Absolutely not,” Bova replied heartily.
The other narrowed his eyes. “This needs to get out of here. We’re getting rid of it.” Anger and disbelief shook in his voice.
“Well, just be careful you don’t break it when you do,” Bova said, flashing a half-smile to the men, “because it cost 80,000 dollars.” Their eyes widened.
For the first little while, the doors swung open every hour, on the hour, and Adi Unterburger’s loud yodels would fill the Platzl for several minutes, prompting many complaints from residents who lived nearby.
Or the pranks: once, someone broke inside and replaced Unterburger’s record with one of Led Zeppelin, and it took quite a while for the City to learn how to switch it back.
Once, someone broke inside and replaced Unterburger’s record with one of Led Zeppelin, and it took quite a while for the City to learn how to switch it back.
These days, much of the structure is the original; however, the washing machine parts have since been updated. Unterburger’s voice no longer appears every hour, but only on demand, with a loonie pulled from a pocket. A lick of paint gets applied here and there over the years.
But what remains the same is Happy Hans’ wide eyes and slightly mischievous grin. As if he contains a knowing that, no matter how our Platzl evolves and changes, there’s one thing that isn’t going anywhere.
Accepting reservations for 2019 now.
RV RENTAL
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“I don’t know where I’d be without that k I d,” t a h ay’s closest friend says. “ a nyt I me I th I nk about giving up, i think of t a h ay.”
W & P: Jeff Pew
In 2008, the East Kootenay Friends of Burma sponsored the Paw family, members of the Karen tribe, who fled the violence and military persecution against ethnic minorities in Myanmar (Burma). They’d survived a decade in crowded refugee camps on the Thai-Myanmar border, where conditions worsened over the years with diminishing food supplies and numerous cases of sexual and gender-based violence against women. In 2007, the Paws received the good news that they were going to be relocated to Kimberley, British Columbia as part of the Canadian government’s private sponsorship of refugees program.
Htae Paw, the forty-year-old mother, and her seven children — ranging from a newborn to a twenty-three-yearold daughter and her husband — moved into the house across the street from us, and our neighbourhood was never the same. On warm summer nights, we’d hear girls giggling on the porch and the soft murmur of Burmese folk songs. The house had the familiar foreign scent of chili peppers and fish sauce, and there was always a pot of rice on the stove. They planted a garden and repaired our leaky canoe to go fishing. They got jobs as janitors. They showed Kimberley how to make something out of practically nothing.
there was nothIng ta hay tha couldn’t do. he never complained, nor expressed any fears.
When I returned from three weeks in the Foothills Hospital, they quietly left four bags of groceries on our front porch. On heavy snowfalls, they’d cross the street to help us shovel, a beaming smile on Htae Paw’s face.
And then there was Ta Hay Tha, the ten-year-old boy born with partial limbs and no hands nor feet. He’d shuffle across the street to our yard and do backflips on the tramp with our kids. He’d play soccer and throw frisbees. He learned to skateboard, stopping with a modified sandal strapped to his thigh. In the winter he skied. There was nothing Ta Hay Tha couldn’t do. He never complained, nor expressed fear. One winter morning, looking out our kitchen window, I watched him waiting for the handyDART in his wheelchair, smiling, catching snowflakes with his tongue. When my kids complained about an overcooked poached egg, I tried not to reference Ta Hay Tha.
In high school, he learned how to draw and paint. He’d grip a brush between his chin and shoulder or between his arms. His teachers noticed a rare talent and determination. “He’s an exceptional human being,” Sylena McCuaig says. “He possesses highly-developed control and artistic skills and makes the smallest refinements until his piece is done. He shows other students that anything is possible when you’re doing something you love and giving it your all.”
woodwork was no different. his corner-shelf project showed the fInest attention to detaIl, and hIs scroll saw skills came close to mastery
When I ask Ta Hay what he likes about art, he shrugs and giggles. “I don’t know,” he says. “It feels good.” In his last year of high school, he toured Alberta College of Art and Design where he plans to complete a visual communications degree. “It was incredible to see him react to the art on our visit to ACAD,” Tegan Whitesel, his grade 12 art teacher, says. “You could see his sense of wonder looking at the possibilities. Ta Hay always challenged himself technically and conceptually. He was one of the hardest working kids I’ve taught.”
When Ta Hay entered woodwork, his teacher, Ryan Treber, had no idea what he was capable of. “In Drafting and Design he produced some of the most meticulous hand drafting I’d ever seen,” Treber explains. “Woodwork was no different. His corner-shelf project showed the finest attention to detail, and his scroll saw skills came close to mastery.”
Shauna Jiminez, who was instrumental in bringing the Paws to Kimberley, reflects on what it means to a community when they welcome refugees: “We learn so much from witnessing and supporting these folks with such incredible resilience. We gain so much. I’d be dismayed if I fell skiing and my prosthetic legs came off. Not Ta Hay Tha. Patiently, he helped me get his ski legs back on so we could tackle another run. I imagine it might be tough to kayak without using my hands. Not Ta Hay Tha. His first time kayaking, he paddled the length of Wasa Lake. The more time I spend with him, the more I learn about patience, persistence and compassion. I often wonder, who’s really teaching who?”
tayhay_paw
In his short time in Kimberley, Ta Hay Tha has taught me a lot: that the human spirit is something far beyond the assembly of flesh and limbs. That we measure others more by what they can do than by what they can’t. And the most beautiful thing we can do is smile, even when everyone else towers above us.
In the final days of writing this article, Ta Hay Tha and his family received some devastating news: Htae Paw suffered a massive stroke and passed away four days later. As the family gathered by her bedside at the Foothills Hospital, Kimberley did what Kimberley does best: over 150 people contributed to a GoFundMe campaign to help support the Paws, and a meal train was organized to deliver dinners every few nights. Htae Paw’s three youngest kids now live with their eldest sister, August Paw, and her husband.
A few weeks after Htae Paw died, Ta Hay Tha did what he does best — like the quote on his Instagram account says, “Strength comes from lifting yourself up when you’re down.” He returned to school to take another art class, because like he said, it feels good
. Check out Ta Hay Tha’s artwork on his Instagram account: tahay_paw. To contribute to the Paw family in this time of need, please visit the GoFundMe account that has been set up here: https://www.gofundme.com/help-the-paws. The family could also use help with meals.
W: Monica Karaba
P: Dr. Ilona Hale/Healthy Kimberley, Bryn Oakley
I had my first walking meeting in Kimberley! Not surprisingly, it happened because I was meeting with Dr. Ilona Hale, the president and one of the founders of Healthy Kimberley, who, as it turns out, really walks her walk as she talks her talk! Together, we descended from our respective mountaintop retreats in Townsite to have tea and discuss the amazing Food Recovery Program that Healthy Kimberley launched last November.
In its short time span, the humble but mighty Kimberley Food Recovery Program is already yielding incredible results and stories. The program got its start thanks to Healthy Kimberley’s vision, a three-year grant from Columbia Basin Trust, and its first enthusiastic partners: Save-On-Foods, Bread & Butter Kimberley, and Shoppers Drug Mart, who donate leftover perishable food. This is food that cannot be sold but is still viable and would otherwise be wasted
“fit to eat but not fit to sell.”
Operating out of the Kimberley Health Centre, the Food Recovery Depot has recovered and redirected over 9,000 pounds of food in its first four months! Beneficiaries of the food surplus include the Kimberley and Cranbrook food banks, school food programs, the Kimberley Early Learning Centre, and other local food programs. Roughly 55% of the recovered food is produce, 25% dairy, 15% protein, and 5% grains. About 10% becomes compost with just 3.5-5% ending up as waste. And, as befitting Healthy Kimberley’s mission and philosophy, recovering donuts and other not-so-healthy edible items are emphatically not a part of this effort.
Volunteers pick up the donated food and sort it on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The food bank, schools, and other agencies that benefit from the food are able to access the depot to take what they can use as needed, a convenient model which has been working well so far.
During a recent open house, I toured the Food Recovery Depot and met Kandice Mueller, the food recovery coordinator for the program, who couldn’t be more perfect for her role. Kandice is passionate about what she does and brings a wealth of knowledge as a public health dietitian and before that as a clinical dietitian. In fact, one of her former colleagues helped set up the Kamloops Food Share, which gave Kandice direct insight on how to do this in Kimberley.
Kandice says that what motivated her to take this position was her experiences counselling people with diabetes and other health conditions who use food banks. She told me, “I often felt limited in my ability to help people manage their health concerns if they had to rely on food banks as they often did not have access to the ideal foods that could help prevent or manage chronic disease.”
Programs like Healthy Kimberley Food Recovery are important because they shed light on the issue of food waste and increase healthy options for anyone experiencing food insecurity. Kandice points out that this is not just a local issue but a national one as recent estimates show that over 50% of food produced in Canada is wasted. According to 2017 data, approximately 10% of British Columbians experience food insecurity, meaning that they do not have economic access to enough food or to the appropriate food to promote health. This translates to about 1 in 6 children in BC living in homes that experience food insecurity. This is why food recovery programs like Kimberley’s are so necessary as Kandice explains, “Though food charity will never solve the poverty underlying food insecurity, as long as people have to choose between healthy food and paying rent or other necessities, it’s important that they have access to healthy food through schools, public programs, and food banks.”
MAKING THE HEALTHY CHOICE THE EASY CHOICE
Healthy Kimberley is a registered charity dedicated to promoting physical activity and healthy eating in the community. Healthy Kimberley has initiated a number of successful, progressive, and fun programs around town including the Playbox in Rotary Park, the Swan neighbourhood playground, a new outdoor basketball court coming to Selkirk Secondary School, and the “Taking Care of Business” project. It also has an ongoing focus on physical literacy and several research projects.
PROGRAMS LIKE HEALTHY KIMBERLEY FOOD RECOVERY ARE IMPORTANT BECAUSE THEY SHED LIGHT ON THE ISSUE OF FOOD WASTE AND INCREASE HEALTHY OPTIONS FOR ANYONE EXPERIENCING FOOD INSECURITY.
THE VOLUNTEERS AMAZE ME. THEIR ENERGY AND COMMIT MENT MAKE THE PROGRAM FUN, AND THERE IS NO WAY ANY OF THE FOOD RECOVERY WORK WOULD BE POSSIBLE WITHOUT THEIR ENTHUSIASM.
As a relative newcomer to Kimberley, Kandice has been impressed with the high-caliber community she’s discovered here. “The volunteers amaze me. Their energy and commitment make the program fun, and there is no way any of the food recovery work would be possible without their enthusiasm.” And of Kimberley overall, she enthused, “I love how the people and amenities of Kimberley make being healthy so easy! There’s no shortage of beautiful places to walk, ski, or bike, and there are always friendly people out enjoying the trails. It seems like people of all ages and backgrounds are involved in causes they’re passionate about. I think that sense of purpose and being surrounded by like-minded people will keep Kimberley healthy indefinitely!”
Both Kandice and Dr. Hale see many possibilities to expand the Healthy Kimberley Food Recovery Program including gaining access to a kitchen to be able to process the short shelf-life produce they receive into nutritious soups, stews, and sauces, and offering cooking and food skills workshops and
community dinners with recovered food. Kandice described some of the amazing produce that was received including many containers of spinach, a flat of parsley, and lots of eggplants that unfortunately could not be used because of a lack of options for processing.
The Healthy Kimberley Food Recovery Program expects to evolve to better serve the community. In the meantime, new volunteers and ideas are always welcome. It has already made a big impact and serves as a great example of how communities can make better use of healthy food that might otherwise be wasted. Special thanks go to Columbia Basin Trust, the City of Kimberley, Save-On-Foods Kimberley, and all of the other contributing individuals, businesses, and organizations supporting this remarkable program.
If you’re interested in volunteering, own or know of a business interested in donating perishable foods, or are involved with a non-profit who would like to receive healthy foods through the Healthy Kimberley Food Recovery Program, please contact Kandice via email at healthykimberleyfrd@gmail.com or call (250) 255-6494. To learn more about Healthy Kimberley, please visit https://healthykimberley.weebly.com/, and to donate, please go to canadahelps.org/en/charities/kimberley-wellness-foundation/.
W: Lori Craig
P: Susan Nicholson
Nature calls us. Sometimes she shouts, as our wildfires did last summer. Sometimes she whispers. Sometimes, those whispers take form. Whether you’re visiting or have come to live here, Kimberley is a place where anything seems possible. Anything, including the chance of faeries, those ancient folklore spirits, living in our midst.
Ask any of the kids living near Louis Creek Trails, they’ll tell you. At the bottom of the path near Lindsey Park Elementary School, turn right, and where multi-coloured hues dance through the dappling of leaves, you will find Faerie Forest. Faerie Forest — a place of peek-a-boo doors scattered amongst the gnarled roots of old growth trees, echoing wood chimes dangling from the canopy above, and sparkling bejeweled ornaments catching the sun’s rays as they dance from lower branches — prompts images of shimmering winged beings, green appareled spirits, and glistening beetle bugs. “No Trolls Allowed,” the sign states in Faerie Forest. Troll Town, the kids will tell you, is just down the trail. Enchanted in its own way, twisted wooden faces peer out from the grey, aged bark and dark figurines loiter in the shade.
A
place of peek-a-boo doors scattered amongst the gnarled roots of old growth trees.
My research into faeries led me to Sue Nicholsan. Sue’s affection for all thing’s faerie is palpable. From the smile in her eyes as we talk, to her flowing white hair, Sue is sage-like in her honour of these spirited beings. After sharing a walk in Faerie Forest, Sue invited me to her faerie-inspired garden in Marysville. The wave of humidity that rolled over me as we strolled into Sue’s backyard an hour later couldn’t have contrasted more to the dry, sauna-like heat we had just experienced in the forest. Sue’s backyard is testament to the fact that lush gardens can and do exist in Kimberley. Gazing past towering cedars, lavish flower pots, and a bountiful vegetable garden, I became captivated by a scaled-down oasis taking center stage in Sue’s backyard retreat. Everything surrounding me disappeared as I was drawn toward a delicate white table and chairs where Peter Pan sat listening to a story read by a pointy-eared elf. My eye followed the path of smooth, circular stones to a proud, green, arched door offering entrance into a birch bark villa tucked into the daisies, irises, and lilies surrounding it. Another door, hidden behind a stray maple shoot, led the way to a faerie-sized cottage embellished with a thatched roof and dormer windows. Plump sedums of every variety exuded out of driftwood, miniature pots, and crevices between the pebbles. Pop-up pansies sprinkled the scene in flirtatious yellows, mauves, and purples.
As I stood transfixed by the plethora of texture, colour, and vigor of the scene, I couldn’t help but marvel at nature and what she evokes. Spending time with Susan and the faeries reminded me that while nature’s pleas seem to be getting louder, it is some comfort to know that in places like Kimberley, her whispers can be just as audible.
I couldn’t help but marvel at nature and what she evokes.
Elli is silent as she walks barefoot through the snow to the water’s edge. She crouches at the rim of ice, calmly lowers one leg into the water, then the other, and then slips her whole body — adorned only in a purple bikini — into the creek. She moves like a graceful river otter to the deepest part of the pool, next to a small, ice-sheathed waterfall, before dunking her head underwater, arms splayed wide. She lingers here for a few seconds before re-emerging, and hoists herself out of the creek as quietly and elegantly as she got in. I’m in awe. How does she do it? I wonder.
“I meet the river where it’s at,” she tells me later over tea, the sun slanting through the window onto her skin. “I just lean into it. I think to myself, you’re here. You’re in it.”
Indeed, I had noticed Elli Gillen’s reverent presence at the creek, surrounded by towering pines and the vast quiet of water beneath winter’s thick blanket. She seemed in her own space, a space where the rest of the world is on mute. She visits the creek every Sunday afternoon of the year, playfully calling it her church.
“It’s the time of the week that’s mine. Life is chaotic — I’ve yelled at the kids, I haven’t cleaned the house — but this is my chance to rinse off last week’s little disappointments and start fresh. It’s a total reset.”
I don’t want to see nature through a wIndow. I want to roll around In It lIke a dog.
It makes sense to me immediately, as I find myself pondering deadlines, dates, and appointments. Meeting up for drinks and running to the store. I quickly evaluate when the last time was that I chose to move out of my mind and back into my body, and consider this conversation with a wild river-dipper my invitation to do just that, in some way or another.
“What originally hooked me to the practice last year,” Elli, a mother of three, explains, snapping me back to the present moment, “was the very first thought I had when I dunked my head under: It’s not so bad.” She lets out a long, contented exhale. “It became my mantra for the year, for everything. I’m running late for something? It’s not so bad. The baby won’t sleep? It’s not so bad. The river always reminds me of that.” I smile at her commitment to gratitude and quickly jot her mantra down in my notebook as a reminder to my future self.
“Another part of it is that I don’t want to feel like a tourist in my own bioregion,” she continues. “Frankly, I don’t have time to study every type of tree here. But, I can notice the little changes in weather, the changes in the ice.”
Elli smiles broadly. “I don’t want to see nature through a window. I want to roll around in it like a dog.”
The image makes me laugh out loud, and resonates perfectly with the sentiments shared with me by another local who regularly dives into this cold-water ritual. Lori Hagland, who has a voice as calm as a gentle creek in winter, tells me of her once-monthly dip: “it’s my chance to connect with water, to connect with nature. I get to watch all the little transitions. The river changes slowly, the bank changes slowly.”
There’s an easy joy that rises in Lori’s voice when she talks about her river swims. “We have a favourite spot on the Saint Mary, our special spot.” The ‘we’ Lori refers to is herself and her husband, Bjorn, who started joining her in the water soon after she started the ritual, once he saw how positive and peaceful it made her feel.
While Elli and Lori take their river dips regularly all year — including during the coldest depths of winter — for their own reasons, they aren’t the only ones partaking in the activity. Icy winter dips have become increasingly popular in recent years, in part thanks to Wim Hof, an athlete from the Netherlands who has popularized cold-water therapy worldwide. His selfproclaimed Wim Hof Method of plunging into ice-cold water daily can — supposedly — boost the immune system, improve athletic performance, and relieve a host of ailments, such as arthritis, stress, and insomnia.
“I don’t know the scIence,” she says, “but I know how It makes me feel.”
Elli, for one, is quick to brush it off. “I know there’s all these immune benefits and that it can stimulate the circulation and fight inflammation, but that’s not why I do it!” She’s firm but excited. “I do it because it wakes me up to gratitude.”
Lori agrees. “I don’t know the science,” she says, “but I know how it makes me feel.” Both women describe the balance between a deep calm and an even brighter positivity that they experience immediately after jumping in. “The serenity soaks in really quickly,” Lori says. “It’s so grounding.”
Both Lori and Elli sidestep the popular reasoning and Instagram-worthy splash photos that ‘polar bear dips’ usually entail. “My reason for doing it changes constantly, just like the water flow,” Lori says happily.
But regardless of what moves these women to the water, both share an affinity for the words alive, vibrant, and grateful: three terms that weave repeatedly throughout their individual explanations. Certainly not a bad way to feel, I laugh to myself, as I watch Elli’s blue eyes light up with excitement.
“I am building resiliency,” she says, emphatic. “It teaches me, over and over again, that I can do things that I originally thought I couldn’t.” She grabs her towel and snuggles into her down jacket. She flashes me a smile. “Should we head to the creek?”
