
I went to camp for one week when I was nine. I didn't expect it would lead to many more summers — with no end in sight
I was about nine years old when I decided I wanted to go to sleepaway summer camp for the first time — even though I still crawled into my mom's bed most nights.
The idea came up during a Girl Guide meeting. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I remember making up my mind that I was going.
Having been a Spark, a Brownie, and then a Girl Guide, camping wasn't new to me. But I'd only ever gone for a weekend at most — and my mom, one of our group leaders, was always by my side.
This time would be different. Our leaders didn't come to summer camp with us, which meant I'd be going it alone. Still, I'd had so much fun during our weekend getaways that I pushed my worries aside and signed up.
My mom really committed by sticking me on the coach bus from Yorkdale Shopping Centre to camp two-and-a-half hours away instead of driving me up. Amazingly, neither of us cried.
That first week away from home — filled with lake swims, rock climbing, hikes, campfires, games, skits, dancing, and endless off-tune singing (literally: This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on, my friend …) — opened me up to a world I'd only dipped my toe in before.
One night, our counsellors told us we were going on a stealth mission. We put on dark clothes and snuck our way to the mess hall at the centre of the camp's grounds, crouching and crawling along until we made it to the basement entrance. The counsellors went inside while we waited and came back with an ice cream sandwich for each of us. We sat under the stars, grinning and swearing to keep our not-quite-midnight snack a secret.
Looking back, I'm sure the whole thing was planned. But at the time, sitting there with my cabin-mates, it felt thrilling and real — like we'd pulled off something big together.
Fresh Air Fund
I drove my family to Drake's Bridle Path Mansion in a desperate bid to distract them. Turns out, the real attraction was nearby
Sunnybrook Park became a refuge for editor-in-chief Nicole MacIntyre's family, rekindling their
The next summer, I had so much fun that I called my parents asking to stay an extra week — the longest I'd ever been away from home. I kept returning, summer after summer. Some years, I even chose camp over a birthday party with friends at home.
One of my most vivid camp memories is from my last summer there, on the night of a camp-wide game. A pickup truck was hidden somewhere on site, and whoever found it first would win. Counsellors were scattered across camp, ready to 'penalize' us if they caught us, which added to the excitement.
I'm usually not one to take these games seriously — I never expect to win — but that night I found myself army-crawling through the dark again. I'd lost the friend I came to camp with at some point in the night and my jeans were ruined with mud and grass stains, but I found the truck nestled in the trees separating two fields. I climbed in and laid on the horn while I hooted and hollered, signalling that the game was over. I hadn't won anything but bragging rights, but the way I felt in that moment was unmatched.
With fond memories of my summers at camp, I got my first job as a day camp counsellor the summer I turned 16, spending every day with the youngest kids of the group, trying to recreate the experiences that were so formative for me.
I returned to that camp when I was in university, this time as a photographer, because I couldn't think of a more fun and rewarding way to spend summer, even if it meant long-days in the hot sun and humidity — and that first summer back, frequent sanitizing and tan lines from my face mask.
Serena's camp site set up from a trip to Balsam Lake Provincial Park last summer.
Serena Austin / Toronto Star
Though I've aged out of the summer camp environment, I still love camping: the challenges that come with trying to pack without forgetting anything (which I've never accomplished), pitching a tent, starting a fire and cooking in the dark, the silliness you can get up to once freed from internet access and the beauty of nature.
Coming from a Black family where being outdoorsy isn't the norm and getting dirty was to be avoided, I'm the only one that's tried camping and can say it's something I truly enjoy doing, but my early introduction to the activity broadened my perspective and has given me an appreciation for the outdoors that's still with me and that I want to share.
One day, I hope I'll be able convince my family to come camping with me. In the meantime though, I've gone camping each summer over the last three years, challenging myself to visit more campsites with more friends and loved ones each year.
This summer, I'm especially excited to introduce a group of high school friends to camping for the first time — and I hope they'll fall for it the way I did.
Summer camp gave me so much more than just a place to play — it gave me friendships, confidence, and a sense of independence.
Every year, thousands of kids in Toronto have the chance to experience that feeling, thanks to programs like the Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund. If you can, supporting those efforts helps make sure more kids get to find their own special place away from home — just like I did.
DONATE NOW
The Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund
How to donate:
Online:
To donate by Visa, Mastercard or Amex using our secure form.
By cheque:
Mail to The Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund, 8 Spadina Ave., Toronto, ON M5V 0S8
By phone: Call 647-250-8282
Tax receipts will be issued.
FOLLOW US ON SOCIAL:
Instagram: @torontostarchildrenscharities
Facebook: @thetorontostarchildrenscharities
X: @TStarCharities
LinkedIn: The Toronto Star Children's Charities
TikTok: @torstarchildrenscharity
#StarFreshAirFund

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Toronto Star
24-05-2025
- Toronto Star
I went to camp for one week when I was nine. I didn't expect it would lead to many more summers — with no end in sight
I was about nine years old when I decided I wanted to go to sleepaway summer camp for the first time — even though I still crawled into my mom's bed most nights. The idea came up during a Girl Guide meeting. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I remember making up my mind that I was going. Having been a Spark, a Brownie, and then a Girl Guide, camping wasn't new to me. But I'd only ever gone for a weekend at most — and my mom, one of our group leaders, was always by my side. This time would be different. Our leaders didn't come to summer camp with us, which meant I'd be going it alone. Still, I'd had so much fun during our weekend getaways that I pushed my worries aside and signed up. My mom really committed by sticking me on the coach bus from Yorkdale Shopping Centre to camp two-and-a-half hours away instead of driving me up. Amazingly, neither of us cried. That first week away from home — filled with lake swims, rock climbing, hikes, campfires, games, skits, dancing, and endless off-tune singing (literally: This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on, my friend …) — opened me up to a world I'd only dipped my toe in before. One night, our counsellors told us we were going on a stealth mission. We put on dark clothes and snuck our way to the mess hall at the centre of the camp's grounds, crouching and crawling along until we made it to the basement entrance. The counsellors went inside while we waited and came back with an ice cream sandwich for each of us. We sat under the stars, grinning and swearing to keep our not-quite-midnight snack a secret. Looking back, I'm sure the whole thing was planned. But at the time, sitting there with my cabin-mates, it felt thrilling and real — like we'd pulled off something big together. Fresh Air Fund I drove my family to Drake's Bridle Path Mansion in a desperate bid to distract them. Turns out, the real attraction was nearby Sunnybrook Park became a refuge for editor-in-chief Nicole MacIntyre's family, rekindling their The next summer, I had so much fun that I called my parents asking to stay an extra week — the longest I'd ever been away from home. I kept returning, summer after summer. Some years, I even chose camp over a birthday party with friends at home. One of my most vivid camp memories is from my last summer there, on the night of a camp-wide game. A pickup truck was hidden somewhere on site, and whoever found it first would win. Counsellors were scattered across camp, ready to 'penalize' us if they caught us, which added to the excitement. I'm usually not one to take these games seriously — I never expect to win — but that night I found myself army-crawling through the dark again. I'd lost the friend I came to camp with at some point in the night and my jeans were ruined with mud and grass stains, but I found the truck nestled in the trees separating two fields. I climbed in and laid on the horn while I hooted and hollered, signalling that the game was over. I hadn't won anything but bragging rights, but the way I felt in that moment was unmatched. With fond memories of my summers at camp, I got my first job as a day camp counsellor the summer I turned 16, spending every day with the youngest kids of the group, trying to recreate the experiences that were so formative for me. I returned to that camp when I was in university, this time as a photographer, because I couldn't think of a more fun and rewarding way to spend summer, even if it meant long-days in the hot sun and humidity — and that first summer back, frequent sanitizing and tan lines from my face mask. Serena's camp site set up from a trip to Balsam Lake Provincial Park last summer. Serena Austin / Toronto Star Though I've aged out of the summer camp environment, I still love camping: the challenges that come with trying to pack without forgetting anything (which I've never accomplished), pitching a tent, starting a fire and cooking in the dark, the silliness you can get up to once freed from internet access and the beauty of nature. Coming from a Black family where being outdoorsy isn't the norm and getting dirty was to be avoided, I'm the only one that's tried camping and can say it's something I truly enjoy doing, but my early introduction to the activity broadened my perspective and has given me an appreciation for the outdoors that's still with me and that I want to share. One day, I hope I'll be able convince my family to come camping with me. In the meantime though, I've gone camping each summer over the last three years, challenging myself to visit more campsites with more friends and loved ones each year. This summer, I'm especially excited to introduce a group of high school friends to camping for the first time — and I hope they'll fall for it the way I did. Summer camp gave me so much more than just a place to play — it gave me friendships, confidence, and a sense of independence. Every year, thousands of kids in Toronto have the chance to experience that feeling, thanks to programs like the Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund. If you can, supporting those efforts helps make sure more kids get to find their own special place away from home — just like I did. DONATE NOW The Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund How to donate: Online: To donate by Visa, Mastercard or Amex using our secure form. By cheque: Mail to The Toronto Star Fresh Air Fund, 8 Spadina Ave., Toronto, ON M5V 0S8 By phone: Call 647-250-8282 Tax receipts will be issued. FOLLOW US ON SOCIAL: Instagram: @torontostarchildrenscharities Facebook: @thetorontostarchildrenscharities X: @TStarCharities LinkedIn: The Toronto Star Children's Charities TikTok: @torstarchildrenscharity #StarFreshAirFund


CBC
10-02-2025
- CBC
Hamilton author honours Miss Lou, 'one of the giants of Jamaican culture,' in new book
Hamilton performer, teacher and author Tania Hernandez first came across Miss Lou as a child on her native island of Jamaica, when she used to see the local icon on her black-and-white TV. "Miss Lou was like everybody's mother," Hernandez said. "That's why she's called mother of Jamaican culture." Miss Lou, whose off-stage name was Louise Bennett-Coverley, was a performer, poet and folklorist who helped popularize the Jamaican language worldwide. She also inspired Hernandez, also known as Tania Lou, who "always admired" Miss Lou. She honours the Jamaican icon through her performance and now, through her writing in her new book, Ay Ya Yai! Miss Lou: Voice of the Jamaican People. "I'm like a student of her works, and so I read a lot about her. I read her poems and I perform them and I sing her folk songs," Hernandez said in a recent interview with CBC's Fresh Air. She started the book as a way to occupy herself at a time when she was recovering from an illness that made her unable to walk or speak. Getting to know the 'real' Miss Lou Miss Lou died in 2006 in Toronto, but before that, she educated many around the world with her teachings about the Jamaican language of Patois and the local folklore. "She left a legacy of culture," said Hernandez. Hernandez said she wanted to make sure that, in her book, Miss Lou's work would be well-documented, but also that those who knew her had a say. "There's a section called Remembering Miss Lou, and you will hear from people who knew her," said Hernandez. "She was the same on stage and off. Sweet, humble, loved people." She also did translations of Miss Lou's poems from Patois into English so that everyone could read them. But most of all, she wanted to get to know the "real Miss Lou inside." Hernandez talks about a video she watched of Miss Lou and the struggles of becoming the idol she's remembered as. "Naysayers … were telling her that Patois is not the way to go. That is for uneducated people," she said. "I wanted to say how she challenged the status quo … to empower our Jamaican people to reclaim and celebrate our unique cultural identity." A 'giant' of Jamaican culture Today, Miss Lou's work is preserved in archives at McMaster University and the National Library of Jamaica. Phil Vassell, executive director of the Canada Black Music Archives, said Miss Lou spent a good portion of her life in Canada and had a "lasting influence here amongst not just Jamaicans, but to Caribbean people also." "She's one of the giants of Jamaican culture," he told CBC Hamilton. "When you look at her body of work and her influence, I don't think anybody else comes close." Musicians like Bob Marley, the legendary Jamaican reggae artist, were inspired by Miss Lou, said Vassell. Marley's lyrics like "them belly full, but we hungry," were taken "straight from" Miss Lou, according to him. "She had a significant influence on him as well as a number of other people in the music industry, people in theater, people who were writing books," said Vassell. He said Miss Lou talked about Patois as "nation language," and is responsible for making the language "respectable." "I don't think you could find anyone else in the history of Jamaican culture that really pushed that point and made [Patois] a thing that Jamaicans could be proud of," he said.


CBC
20-11-2024
- CBC
King Cruff's vibey collab with Skip Marley, and 5 more songs you need to hear this week
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The uplifting track came together during their very first studio session, the two cousins swapping verses over the hip-hop beat spruced up with some island drums. It feels both true to where they come from, and where they're headed.— Kelsey Adams 'Encore,' Caroline Savoie Crawling through November is tough: it's cold, the daylight is interminably short and the holidays are still five weeks away (sorry). Thankfully, though, Caroline Savoie dropped a '90s pop-inspired disco banger to warm us up and make us question all our tired habits. " Implore le renouveau/ mais comment s'y rendre?/ Je me cherche encore et encore et encore et encore," Savoie sings on the chorus, searching for renewal — and herself — without entirely knowing where to start. The vibrant violin, played by Marie-Andrée Gaudet, and flute solo, played by Miguel Dumaine, give the song as much life as Savoie's voice does, which means you'll be hitting repeat on this song all day. 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The track is a shimmering ode to building relationships and being vulnerable with others as Thompson-Hannant sings, "Come on, baby, I know we can tender the spark," her voice elevating into the heavens. — Melody Lau 'Nights Like This,' Planet Giza A bubbling blend of hip-hop and R&B is right in Planet Giza's wheelhouse, and the latest single from the Montreal trio shows that they've perfected their organic combination of sounds. On "Nights Like This," aspirational lyrics about fame pop against a hum of backing vocals: "Most of my nights I don't be sleeping, because how I'm finna get to my dreams if I'm dreaming," raps Tony Stone, before adding, "I wanna be remembered for my goals and my achievements, 100 years later, face on skyscrapers." It's a blizzard of ambition, determination and hope, tied together by production that neatly emphasizes Stone's hungry delivery. 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It is the sound of new horizons and familiar skies, the bittersweet warmth of longing and friendship, love and regret, uncertainty but (still and always) community, a perfect evocation of the record's origins as a collaborative piece of art made in multiple locations, across time and space, before and during the ongoing pandemic. — Andrea Warner 'Lonely Hearts,' Claudia Bouvette Let go of the tension, Loosen your grip, Be there in the moment, And get out of your head. Gotta switch dimensions, Captain of the ship, Not captive of this feeling, Gotta turn around, keep it moving. Sometimes we need a severe jolt to end our wallowing. Post-breakup, or major let down of any kind, simmering in our own self-pity can be enticing. The inertia often only subsides when a trusted friend comes by and shakes some sense back into us. On "Lonely Hearts," Claudia Bouvette is that friend. The jazzy-pop number appears on the Montreal artist's recently released sophomore album, the aptly titled Diary for the Lonely Hearts. CBC Music previously covered the moody, glitchy single "Silver Lining," and the entire record is an absolute treat. "Lonely Hearts" is its thesis, a reminder that there's always a new horizon after heartbreak. It's also a late addition to the list of best sing-along choruses of 2024: Bouvette sings with full abandon and a tasteful hint of horn rounds out the magic. — KA