Roots in Newfoundland pt.1

Welcome Back to Moments That Shaped Me: A Glimpse Into My life living in Newfoundland 

I grew up in a little town in Newfoundland and Labrador called Bareneed—or, as the locals lovingly call it, "The Bay." From the moment I could walk, my life was all about our tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone—and everything about everyone, which I didn’t fully understand until much later (that’s a story for another day). I lived in Bareneed and grew up there, but I spent very little time in the house I called home.

With a politician in the family, you could say I was raised in a household that took pride in being Newfoundlanders through and through. With a father who is a fisherman and two grandfathers who shared a deep love for being on the water, you could say I spent a lot of my life out there too. I was your typical well-rounded Newfie kid, tagging along with Dad and my brother for early-morning cod jigging trips. We’d head out before dawn, the salty air waking us up better than any alarm clock. And when winter rolled around, you’d find me skating on the frozen pond down in Port de Grave, cheeks red from the cold but grinning ear to ear. Life was simple, full of fresh air and good times, and looking back, it was the kind of childhood that’s hard to beat

From the ripe age of two, my mom started taking me to the local rink, the Bay Arena, where she taught me how to skate. Growing up in small-town Newfoundland, where winters are long and the community is even tighter, skating wasn’t just a pastime—it was a way of life. Everyone in town seemed to have a pair of skates, and if you weren’t gliding on the local rink, you were out on a frozen pond somewhere. Now, I don’t mean to brag (and I can’t say I remember it myself), but apparently, I wasn’t exactly a "Bambi" on the ice. My love for skating took off almost immediately, and before long, my parents signed me up for CanSkate. Designed by Skate Canada, CanSkate teaches the fundamentals of skating—whether you’re dreaming of hockey, figure skating, or even speed skating, it’s the perfect starting point. For me, it was the beginning of a lifelong passion that started with wobbly steps and quickly turned into confident glides, all under the watchful eyes of our close-knit little town.

I started CanSkate at two and wrapped it up by age six, diving into competitive skating with the CBN Skating Club by the time I was seven. That’s when my real journey began, thanks to my incredible coach, Karen. She didn’t just teach me the technical skills of skating—she instilled in me a true love for the sport.

The CBN Skating Club, like many small-town organizations, was a completely parent-run volunteer club, and let me tell you, that could be as messy as a snowstorm in April. From organizing ice time to handling fundraisers, it was all on the parents, and things didn’t always go smoothly. There were debates over who got the best practice slots, whose kid got the flashiest costume, and, of course, the occasional clash of strong personalities. But despite the chaos (or maybe because of it), the club had a charm that only a small-town Newfoundland skating rink could offer.

At seven, I joined the synchro team as the youngest skater, skating alongside teammates approximately age 12-15. I was fast, strong, and (not to brag, but) pretty tall for my age, so I guess that’s why they took a chance on me. Of course, my rookie status showed at times—like the time I took a less-than-graceful tumble on the ice and cost the team a gold medal! But even with the occasional wipeout and the behind-the-scenes madness of a volunteer-run club, my passion for skating was already off the charts, and I was just getting started.

One day, Karen gathered all her skaters together and told us she was moving and wouldn’t be our coach anymore. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what it meant, but I could tell it was a big change. We were sad, of course—Karen had been such an important part of our skating foundation. But as much as I don’t like to admit it, everything does happen for a reason. Her leaving opened the door to new opportunities, new coaches, and new experiences that I never could have imagined at the time. It was a reminder that sometimes, change feels tough in the moment but can lead to something even bigger and better.

But then came Kevin. We were so lucky to meet him not long after Karen left. Kevin wasn’t just a coach—he was a steady, calming force who made you feel like you could tackle anything on or off the ice. His love for the sport was infectious, shining through in every practice, every correction, and every pep talk. Kevin had a way of making even the hardest days manageable, turning challenges into opportunities. He didn’t just teach me the technical side of skating; he instilled in me life lessons about perseverance, self-belief, and the importance of pushing through tough moments.

Kevin had this nickname for me—“a bull in a china shop.” And, to be fair, he wasn’t wrong! I had a habit of charging into things full steam ahead, maybe a bit too forcefully at times. But instead of trying to rein me in, Kevin helped me channel that energy into something productive. He helped refine my technique while encouraging my natural strength and drive to shine.

Kevin was the one who took me to my first competitive figure skating competition. I was nervous as anything, but he believed in me every step of the way. And guess what? I won! That victory wasn’t just mine—it was ours. It was a testament to his guidance, his belief in me, and the countless hours he poured into making me a better skater and a more confident person.

Sadly, Kevin passed away recently after a courageous battle with cancer, but his influence remains a constant in my life. Everything he taught me still guides me—on the ice and beyond. He left a legacy that will always be a part of who I am

You’re probably wondering, how does a 7-year-old go through all these emotions and life lessons? The answer: sports. They throw you into the deep end of life—discipline, pressure, perseverance—you name it, you face it. And let’s be real, it’s not just about winning shiny medals. It’s about the wipeouts, the stumbles, and figuring out how to get back up with some dignity (or at least trying to).

Figure skating didn’t just light a fire for the sport; it brought me some of my closest friendships and taught me lessons I didn’t even know I needed. Looking back, those moments on the ice shaped who I am today, and let’s just say, they still come in handy.

Stay tuned for more about my life in Newfoundland—where small-town living is a mix of charm and chaos. From unwavering support to quiet jealousy, and everything in between, small towns have a way of keeping life interesting. Trust me, these stories are worth sticking around for!