My Watermark is Farmhouse Creek on the West River of Pictou, Nova Scotia.

When I was young at the creek I dipped my fingers in the water, with my two cousins and father. I sat there excited, thinking about Nova Scotia and the days I'll be here, not noticing the mosquitos around me. We built forts and played tag and swung on the hammock.

When I was young at the creek, although I was little and small the creek felt like ten times smaller. Compared to the farmhouse and the flat plains we had. Just a few meters away from the entrance there laid a fence filled with cows and sheep and little piggies. It was little in length, but quite big in width as the water trailed off farther and farther away.

When I was young at the creek, in the hot summer days. There was cool air and shade around the tall, sturdy trees circling the creek. As the days darkened and the nights approached, none dared to enter the creek as you could hear the coyotes howling, but then once daylight hits the noises disappear.

As the days flew by more and more stories of the creek and the farmhouse came across. It’s been more than a hundred years since the house has been built and we had more acres, but as the family grew each one took their share of acres. And over the years, my dad grew to love the creek. With the tall grown trees, used as shade and the cooled lake I can see why because I love the creek too.