The Small Moments That Shape the Land we Love

I was standing at Two Jack Lake last summer, packing up my kayak.

It was the height of busy season—people everywhere. Paddleboards lining the shore, families moving in and out of the water, that familiar energy of a place people love.

As I was cleaning my kayak before packing it away, I overheard someone say:

“Yeah… but no one ever checks.”

They were talking about not cleaning their paddleboard.

And I remember thinking…we all say this place is beautiful—breathtaking even—so why aren’t we treating it that way?

The Moment That Stayed

I could feel the frustration building in my body. I wanted to say something.

But I also knew I wasn’t in a place to respond in a way that would actually help. I was overwhelmed. Emotional. And part of that, for me, comes from being neurodivergent—I feel things deeply, and often all at once.

So instead, I stayed quiet.

But that moment didn’t leave me.

Because it wasn’t really about them.

It was about something much bigger.

My Relationship with the Land Changed Before This

A few years ago, I was coming out of one of the hardest chapters of my life.

I used to say I “blew up my life”—but in truth, I was rebuilding it.

And one of the biggest tools I found in that process… was nature.

It became a place where I could slow down.

Where my nervous system could finally settle.

Where I could think clearly again.

Over time, I started to notice something:

The more I respected the land, the more it gave back to me.

Not in some abstract way—but in real, felt experiences.

Clarity. Creativity. Stillness.

A sense of coming back to myself.

The Day That Changed Everything

I’ll never forget the first time I kayaked on Lake Minnewanka.

It was one of those perfect days—warm, calm, endless blue sky.

I spent four hours out there. I had packed everything I needed—water, food, sunscreen—and for the first time in a long time, I felt completely free.

Fully present. Fully in my body.

That day wasn’t just about kayaking.

It was about rediscovering who I was.

And now, when I think about places like that…I feel something I didn’t expect.

Grief.

Because I’ve started to realize how fragile those experiences actually are.

More Than Just a Beautiful Place

Places like this don’t just give us something to look at.

They give us a sense of belonging.

A place to come back to ourselves.

To feel grounded. To feel okay again.

And if we truly belong to these places…then how we show up in them matters.

The Part That's Hard to Admit

It’s easy to point at moments like the one I overheard.

But if I’m honest, I’ve had my own.

Idling my car longer than I need to.

Grabbing a plastic bottle when I could have used my reusable one.

Small choices.

The kind that feel insignificant.

But they’re not.

Because those are the moments that add up.

A Different Way of Seeing It

We often think protecting the environment requires big, overwhelming action.

But what I’m starting to understand is this:

We don’t lose places like this all at once.

We lose them in the moments we choose convenience over care.

And if these are the places where we come to feel like we belong…then maybe it’s time we start showing up like we do.