When I was growing up, my family was lucky enough to have a summer cabin on a lake in Alberta. It was my mother’s favourite place to be, and she brought us children with her to the lake as often as she could. We kids would sail and swim and windsurf, and my mother and I would canoe through rushes, past loon nests, and have long conversations, or just comfortable long silences. The soundtrack of those summers was loon calls. Never spooky and haunting for us three kids– it was the sound of fun and peace and release. My mother died when I was in my 20s. This is a recent commemorative piece I made for my brothers and I.
(The scientist in me must point out that it is biologically inaccurate as loons usually only have 1-2 chicks, but such is the beauty of being an artist!)