A Decidely Canadian Colouring Book

Looking for stress relief? Sharpen up your pencils and get colouring!

With all of the horrible things we see in the news these days and the increasing levels of stress everyone faces in their daily lives, it seems that the simple act of colouring is helping a lot of people cope with it all—and have fun in the process. By now, there’s no doubt that adult colouring books have gone way beyond being a fad and have established themselves as a popular way for adults to decompress and relax. A huge cross section of books have flooded the retail market in the past year or so, but one in particular is of special interest to me—the Canadiana Collection Colouring Book. Admittedly I say that with a certain bias, as this most Canadian of colouring books was conceived, designed and published by yours truly, a resident of Irricana, Alta., and a graduate of the Alberta College of Art and Design in Calgary.

The whole idea sprang from a trip to High Level, Alta., where I accompanied my daughter, Rebecca Burrows, who had recently taken a teaching job just west of there in the Aboriginal community of Chateh. Heading back by myself involved a long and tedious ten-hour bus ride south to Edmonton, followed by a flight to Calgary. Boy, was I ever thankful for the colouring book I had been given at

Christmas to help pass the time on the long ride home. It was on this trip that the notion of creating a decidedly Canadian colouring book came to me and I decided to start designing one myself as soon as possible. The timing for such an undertaking was in my favour, as I would be “stuck” at home for at least another two months, helping to care for my husband, who had just had double knee-replacement surgery. Working on the colouring book was my solace during his prolonged recuperation. From this odd, almost random set of circumstances, the Canadiana Collection was born, complete with ducks, beavers, bears, Mounties, mountains, hockey sticks, maple-sugar buckets and everything else stereotypically Canadian I could think of.

My book is different from most others, in that it has an educational component on the back cover, where background information and fun facts about each of the 16 iconically Canadian images within the colouring book are presented. Also, I’ve hidden a tiny mouse—my personal trademark—on each page, just for some added fun!

I’m pleased to say that the book is doing really well. I essentially put it together on a whim for my personal satisfaction, and the fact that it has been so well received makes me feel really great. Canadians don’t always demonstrate their patriotism as vigorously as people in some other countries do, but this book, and its success so far, is a testament to how proud we actually are to be Canadian— beavers, canoes and all!

While completing the book, I realized it would be Canada’s 150th birthday in 2017—talk about great timing for a Canadiana colouring book! I hope you and your friends and family decide to sharpen up those coloured pencils and give it a try! ■

of grass abundant with specimens to supplement his diet, yet nightly, under the cloak of darkness, he navigates across the urban landscape to wreak havoc on my lawn. Spring and fall, as sure as the seasons change, I find evidence of his presence. The desecration of my tiny patch of grass resembles a World War II minefield. Perhaps with a “glass half full” mind set, this could be perceived as natural aerating—but it’s downright annoying. And so the battle with my clever and elusive adversary begins.

And it’s not just my lawn that Pew has affection for; every house on the street has been victimized. We all have prevention theories. Marlene covers her lawn with inflated balloons, while another neighbour read that dog feces and urine were surefire skunk deterrents. For a short time, they allowed their dog free range; it was not pleasing at all. Nicky, down the road, rigged up a motion-detector spotlight above her porch, which merely gave Pew a better view of his hunting grounds. Harry, my other neighbour, lined his perimeter with orange and lemon peels, as well as ammonia-soaked rags. Beside him, Stanley laid mothball-filled socks sporadically across his grass and kept a boom box outside playing Marilyn Manson all night! And then there was my brilliant theory—cayenne pepper. I sprinkled the potent spice nightly, but my efforts were in vain. For Pew, his subterranean delicacies just got a flavour upgrade to Cajun-style grub.

I think we had all gone certifiably crazy. None of our tactics worked. Except for Liz, who lives three doors down—she was the only one to outsmart Pew. The neighbourhood woke one morning to the sound of dump trucks and forklifts. She had her entire lawn replaced with artificial turf. A real head-scratcher for Pew! I thought it was cheating, though— I wanted to throw plastic grubs on her plastic lawn.

Growing up, I remember our house having a pristine lawn. Dad was meticulous, and his time and effort were reflected in our beautifully landscaped grounds. Playtime for us kids was spent in the neighbourhood park, where we could run amok, our own lawn never the worse for wear. I don’t recall Dad having a secret bag of tricks for creating the perfect lawn, but perhaps he did and I was too absorbed in a childhood world of makebelieve to take note.

Every year I try to achieve the appearance of a golf courselike lawn. A lawn so healthy and insectfree that Pew will snub it. My meagre 200- square-foot lawn is doused with enough grass seed and topsoil to cover a regulation football field. Every feathered friend in a ten-block radius flocks my way for the all-youcan-eat smorgasbord of seeds.

Then one day, the unimaginable occurred—delicate, hair-like specks of green sprouted amid the packed soil. Once again, a silent prayer of thanks was given to the seed gods. And still no sign of Pew. I heard the neighbours talking among themselves the other day about these Tomahawk spray-proof skunk traps you could order on the Internet. Could it really be that Pew was gone for good? No, I don’t believe it.

A sense of pride now swells as I inspect my lawn’s transformation—a meticulously manicured, pint-sized golf course stretches before me. There has been no evidence of Pew, no nocturnal forages for nightly chow and no fetid scent forcing me to close my windows. Perhaps he’s been relocated or he’s just waiting for the right moment to strike. I’m almost disappointed, though; Pew has become a worthy adversary.

There’s a smile on my face as I breathe in the smell of freshly cut grass, and I feel vindicated. My lawn looks amazing. I will patiently wait for someone from the Perfect Lawn Club to teach me the secret handshake. Pew has won many battles, but today I feel as though I have finally won the war.

I won’t raise the victory flag just yet, though, as there is always next year. n

Janice sends special thanks to the Boreal Lights Writers Club.