Falling in love with Canada, from afar

I think I first truly fell in love with Canada when I was living far from it.

I’d always appreciated my home country — proud to say I was Canadian, proud of the vast skies and the clean air, the sense of quiet safety. But growing up surrounded by it, I took it for granted. Canada, to me, was familiar. Beautiful, yes — but maybe a little boring. Predictable. Ordinary. It was all I’d ever known.

That changed when I moved abroad.

I was living in Switzerland — a country that seems drawn from a fairytale, all alpine peaks, tidy villages, and clocks that run with uncanny precision. I adored it. Every few miles down the train line, you’d tumble into another postcard-perfect town, and I loved the order, the charm, the way it all fit together like a handcrafted music box.

But when people found out I was from Canada, their eyes would widen. Especially the children. To them, it wasn’t just a country. It was a legend. A vast, wild frontier where moose and bears roamed free — animals they spoke of with reverence, as though straight out of a fable. Canada, to them, was untamed. Grand. Mysterious.

I began to see it that way, too.

Flying home, crossing the continent from above, I’d look out the plane window with new eyes. The little towns I used to pass without thought now seemed curious and ancient, their Indigenous names whispering of histories I didn’t yet understand. The forests stretched endlessly — dark, dense, primal. There are still places here no human has ever stepped. That realization hit me like a revelation: you could be the first. The land itself holds its breath, waiting to tell its story.

I live in Canada again now. But the awe has never left me.

In fact, it’s grown deeper. I want to see more. Learn more. I want to map this place — not just its geography, but its heart. The places that shape us. The landscapes that teach us who we are.

The true north, strong and free.

Canada continues to take my breath away.