Early Emancipation Day celebration held in Dartmouth
Emancipation Day is quickly approaching, but an early celebration took place in Dartmouth, N.S., over the weekend.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CBC
44 minutes ago
- CBC
Historian wants to return WWII medals to family of N.B. veteran George Mann
A Saskatchewan author and historian wants to return a set of Second World War medals to a New Brunswick veteran's family. John Brady McDonald said the medals belonged to George Mann, who was born in Liverpool, England, in 1905 and moved to Canada after the war. Mann served in the Royal Fleet Auxiliary, which McDonald said was "kind of like the supply chain aspect of the Royal Navy." Mann immigrated to Canada after the war and then married Alice Margaret in Saint John. McDonald's research doesn't say exactly where Mann resided but that he lived in New Brunswick. McDonald has been searching for Mann's relatives since April. He said Mann received the 1939-1945 Star, the Atlantic Star for specific service in the Atlantic Ocean, and the Africa Star for being a part of the campaign in Africa. McDonald said duty in the Atlantic Ocean meant "dodging German submarines and German aircraft trying to take out the convoys that were feeding Britain at the time." Returning veterans' possessions is a project McDonald began in 2022 as a way of honouring military veterans. "That's my way of saying thank you to these veterans and it's something that's very important to me to be able to ensure that our history is not forgotten any more than it already has been," said McDonald, who even covers the cost of framing and shipping the medals. He has returned six sets of medals, a veteran's headstone and a family ration book. But to date, he has never returned anything to family in Atlantic Canada. McDonald got the idea of returning veterans' memorabilia when he learned more about his late grandfather's service. He wants to give families that same experience. "So many times when I've returned medals, not only did they not know that their grandfather served in the Second World War, they don't know what he did." McDonald is a civilian instructor with the Royal Canadian Sea Cadet Corps and he wants to ensure the stories of sacrifices made by veterans are shared. "We need to understand those ancestors of ours, those grandfathers, those great uncles, those fathers who stood up to fascism, who stood up to oppression, who stood up to the ultimate hatred that we had in the world at the time." He is also concerned about medals being sold as antiques in pawn shops or estate sales. "I wanted to make sure that, you know, our veterans' sacrifices weren't in vain," he said. McDonald said the majority of the medals he receives are sent to him by people who stumble across them. The process of finding relatives can be as quick as days or more than a year. He starts with a name and uses online searches and social media to try and track people down. A lot of his "cold" calls go unanswered, which he understands. But when there is an answer, McDonald said relatives have "immense gratitude and appreciation" for his work.
CBC
44 minutes ago
- CBC
N.S. SPCA cancels some municipal bylaw contracts amid staff burnout, rising costs
The Nova Scotia SPCA has cancelled half of its municipal contracts for bylaw enforcement or kennel services, saying it must focus resources on handling the rising number of surrendered animals across the province. In March, the SPCA wrote to eight of the 16 municipalities where it provides either animal bylaw enforcement, kennel space or both, to say it would be ending those contracts. The end date for most towns or regions was late June, while the Municipality of East Hants was given until March 2026. Heather Woodin, chief of animal operations for the SPCA, said their special constables across the province were dealing with "burnout" as they juggled bylaw calls alongside animal protection work, such as neglected or abused animals. "They have to choose to prioritize which case to go to first, if they have multiple priorities pulling them in different directions," Woodin said Tuesday. "We don't necessarily want to be the service provider that is looked to, to enforce animal-related bylaws." Animal control or dog bylaws vary by municipality across Nova Scotia, but enforcement often means responding to complaints of barking, aggressive or stray dogs, or picking up dog poop. Woodin said the animal protection workload has increased, as the SPCA is seeing more surrendered pets from Nova Scotians who can no longer afford to care for them. "The cost of living overall is affecting the SPCA, it's affecting the community members as well," Woodin said. The charity is also experiencing its own rising bills, Woodin said, and more animals coming into shelters means it's hard to keep a kennel free for stray dogs picked up under bylaw enforcement. Financial statements from the SPCA's annual reports show their budgets have more than doubled in the past few years. In 2024, expenses hit $11.5 million with shelter operations costing $4.8 million. Back in 2020, shelter operations cost $1.9 million out of the $5.1 million total expenses. Woodin said cancelling the municipal contracts was a "cost neutral" move to the SPCA, which helped them come to their decision. She said the overtime pay, and mileage for staff to respond to bylaw duties, added up to the point where they were not bringing in surplus revenue from the contracts. The eight affected units are the towns of Stewiacke, Wolfville and Yarmouth, and municipalities of Pictou County, District of Argyle, District of Clare, District of Yarmouth and East Hants. These were chosen based on an evaluation of the staff and physical resources within the six SPCA shelters across the province, Woodin said. The impact of the change has varied across the province, with some municipalities already moving on with solutions, while others need more time. Wolfville already has compliance staff with animal-control training, and is using a local dog rescue group for kennels as needed. But Argyle Warden Nicole Albright said that approach is difficult for them, and they are still exploring their options. "[In] small rural municipalities, our staff are already so overworked and you know, it's hard to throw [them] something else," Albright said. The SPCA is supporting municipalities through the transition, Woodin said. If municipal staff need training or support from an experienced animal handler on a call, they can pay for the bylaw enforcement service as long as resources are available. Stewiacke took this approach, as the town council decided in July to budget about $8,000 to cover the SPCA expenses until March 2026. By then, staff said, they hope to have found a solution with neighbouring East Hants. "There are not many options out there. We will continue to look," Marc Seguin, chief administrative officer, said during the council meeting. The eight remaining contracts are with the Halifax Regional Municipality, Cape Breton Regional Municipality, District of Antigonish, Membertou First Nation, Town of Truro, and the municipalities of Barrington, Colchester and Kings. As of now, the SPCA has enough resources to deliver those contracts, Woodin said, and they don't have "current plans" to end them. But, she said, they will monitor the situation to see if changes are needed in the future.
CBC
2 hours ago
- CBC
I learned to confront difficult truths about life by photographing Dad's last days and hunting
Social Sharing This First Person column is the experience of Josh Neufeld, who lives in Vancouver. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. The rabbit stood still in the middle of the road. I raised the .22-calibre rifle, aligning my eye with the rabbit. I exhaled slowly, searching for stillness. "Take the shot," my hunting partner said. I pulled the trigger and the rifle let out a modest crack, gently kicking back into my shoulder. The bullet sped through the air and disappeared into the distance. The startled rabbit leapt off the road and into the bush. I missed. We crept forward with a keen eye on the edge of the bush where the rabbit fled. As we approached, he stood outside of any cover, curiously looking back. Again, I raised the rifle. A voice inside my head called to the creature. Run rabbit, run! Don't you know you're in danger!?! He stared, not daring to move a muscle, testing my commitment. I hesitated. He remained motionless. I took the shot. Before I was even aware, the bullet had passed through the back of his neck and exited. As quick as the crack of the rifle, the rabbit had left this world. When I approached, it twitched — its synapses making one last defiant plea to death, one last plea for life. Oh crap. Did I really just do that? A sadness overcame me. I stroked its soft fur. Its body still radiated warmth. I sat hunched over it for a few more moments. The rabbit's blood slowly stilled. My blood quickened, carrying mixed emotions. Death stared me straight in the face on a cold mountain road. I started hunting after my dad died in 2015. Although he never expressed interest in hunting, my dad always had time to listen to my interests. We used to sit on his back patio — him with a scotch in hand, warming by the fire — and chat about the little and big things life threw our way. He was as much a friend as he was a father to me. Death took my dad rather quickly. When they found the cancer, it had already taken up residence in his pancreas and spread to his liver. Photographing the last days of his life forced me to face the difficult reality of losing him directly. I was apprehensive about even taking the camera into his hospital room at first. He was a fiercely private and independent man, and the idea of preserving some of his most vulnerable moments in photographs was not a decision I made lightly. But Dad and I talked at length about it, and when he jumped in with both feet, so did I. Everyone processes grief differently. I've come to believe it is not something to move on from, but something to move forward with. I've tried to build a home for this grief in my heart and to carry the love forward. I've always found that life's greatest gifts are found when opening yourself to the riches in the raw, and unearthing the light in the dark. For the same reason, I decided to start hunting. It called me to act and adopt responsibility for the difficult truths of life. Eating is to receive life. But it also means to take life. It is a necessary and uncomfortable exchange with the world around you. I didn't grow up on a farm. A chicken's breast on my plate was completely divorced from its life. Taken out of sight and out of mind. Hunting allows me to engage with this ever-changing, never-ending tension delicately balancing on Earth and to participate in the tide of its breathing. It helps me explore questions such as: What does it take to nourish oneself? Can we really participate in life without death? I didn't want my dad to die, but I chose to participate in it by photographing, sharing it and creating a space for others to do the same. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of killing anything, but to eat is to participate in the cycle of life and death. I think there is something to be gained from participating in something that you may find difficult. For me, time in the backcountry can't be understated in terms of processing my grief. There's a necessary stillness in hunting that invites you deeper into matters of the heart. That rabbit was my first kill. However, this was the first time an animal transitioned from life to flesh to food by my own hands. I felt deeply humbled at being a part of the process, and to receive a truth in impermanence in this furry little form. Since then, I've continued to move toward the places I feel tension in life. When I finally got my first deer, my heart still raced with the gravity of what it means to sustain myself. And my heart still yearns for the sustenance of fireside conversations that one can only have with a close parent and friend. But whether out in the mountains waiting on the whims of the winds or at home in quiet kinship, I'm grateful for what it means to feel human.
