Letter from the Editor
This is an absolute pleasure to write. The municipal campaigns are over, the dust has settled, and somehow we’re all still here. Thank God, goodness, or whoever you pray to!
This edition is about strength, courage and ordinary people who continually show up for something greater than themselves, regardless of the sacrifice. It is about freedom, democracy, community and celebration.
Sometimes I don’t feel I’ve given enough space in these pages to the people who deserve to have their stories told. It is truly a privilege and an honour to witness your work, your commitment and the sacrifices you make for the communities you love.
I started this edition trying to cover municipal politics, and I’ve been on a high ever since.
The Springwater election meeting is a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I’ll undoubtedly cover it in greater detail in my memoir. The only other memory that comes close in energy was when my university won the annual Panda Game with a Hail Mary pass in the final seconds, sending students flooding onto the field.
That same electricity filled the room when Brad Thompson announced that all seven had gotten in.
As a reporter who was supposed to be taking pictures, I managed about 10 seconds of photography before being swept up by the crowd, almost like a beach ball at a music festival, into the embraces of a community. Some familiar faces, some complete strangers, but all sharing an incredible feeling of love, connection and celebration.
As I’ve probably said too many times by now, are you sick of hearing it yet? My goal is to honour my mother and her legacy, continuing the mission of community connection she dedicated herself to. I know that if there’s a bar in heaven, my mother and Don Allen had the television tuned into that election and were celebrating just as hard, if not harder, than everyone here.
That moment represented something much bigger than an election result. It reflected the hopes of residents, businesses and organizations throughout Springwater for a different future. Credit belongs to the candidates who stepped forward, the volunteers, the community supporters, the thousands of kilometres collectively travelled and, ultimately, the voters who showed up. Yes, I’m talking about you.
Democracy is more than casting a ballot. It requires people willing to participate, question, challenge, volunteer, lead and sometimes stand up when doing so comes at a personal cost. You make me proud to serve this community.
The second part of this edition carries that same spirit through a very different lens.
Over the past week, I’ve been speaking with veterans and Legion members, listening to personal stories of service, sacrifice, loss and remembrance. I’ve barely scratched one per cent of what there is to learn, and my brain and heart are both struggling to process everything I’ve heard.
You are remarkable. This group of people is a living history exhibit. Together, you create a local picture of the experiences, sacrifices and mindsets behind service. Every conversation reveals another piece of history and another reminder of what people have given so that others could live with freedom and opportunity.
Perhaps this is where I owe you a little of my own story.
For those who knew me before this writing venture, you may remember a time when I was largely immobile and trying to understand what was happening to me. I live with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) and Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), following years of personal trauma, domestic violence, loss, difficult experiences in long-term care and the challenges of rebuilding a life for my children and myself.
After a year and a half of mobility challenges, I finally received my FND diagnosis. The condition affects how the brain communicates with the body and can cause very real physical symptoms, including weakness, tremors and mobility difficulties. It has been a long road of learning, adapting and trying to understand a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
Three days after my diagnosis, I found my mother unresponsive following a heart attack. Adrenaline took over, and I went into action. I sometimes think part of me is still running. I’m not entirely sure when I’ll finally feel like I can catch my breath and go paralyzed again.
I carry questions about what I could have done differently, mourn the losses and often wonder what more I could have given. Perhaps that is why the conversations I’ve had this week have affected me so deeply.
There was a common theme running through so many of the stories. A question that seemed to sit beneath the words, whether spoken aloud or not: What more could we have given?
What more could you have given? Your time? Your health? Your families? Your youth? Your peace of mind? In some cases, your lives?
I want to tell you something. You gave everything you had. You showed up, you served, you sacrificed, and you carried things that many of us will never fully understand. You should be proud of that. You should never feel that what you gave wasn’t enough.
Perhaps the question shouldn’t be what more you could have given, but what more we can give back to you.
We can listen. We can remember. We can make room for your stories, support our veterans and their families, stand beside those who continue to carry the consequences of their service and make sure that remembrance extends beyond a ceremony or a wreath once a year.
You stood up for us. You protected the freedoms and opportunities we enjoy today. It is our turn to stand up for you.
That responsibility doesn’t end with veterans. It carries into our communities, our municipal governments, our neighbourhoods and our everyday lives. Democracy and freedom are not simply things we inherit. They are things people have fought for, sacrificed for and continue to work to protect.
Whether through military service, public office, volunteering, caregiving, community advocacy or simply showing up when a neighbour needs help, the greater good is built by ordinary people willing to put something of themselves into it.
That is what I hope this edition captures.
This newspaper will always have space for those people. You inspire me, motivate me and remind me why this little newspaper matters.
Thank you for your service, your courage, your purpose and your commitment to the communities you love. Thank you to the readers who participate, ask questions, vote, volunteer and continue showing up for one another.
I may have started this edition trying to cover an election, but I’ve ended it with a much greater appreciation for the people behind the stories.
It is an honour to share these pages with you.