Author: Helen Polishuk

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

The last week of October is very busy. It begins with the weekend and brings a huge number of events to the city.Diwali take place at Nathan Phillips Square,Howloween The Bentway (dogs parage) and DIA DE LOS MUERTOS at Evergreen Brick Works.

And the culprit behind all this is the Moon—yes, the full moon. The unique nature of these events is linked precisely to the Moon. For those who might disagree: I am not a scientist or an expert. This is simply what I think and feel—it is my own perspective. It represents the transition from a flourishing life cycle toward a decline—an inevitable part of our existence. And rather than viewing this process with depression and retreating into solitude, this celebration emerged, filled with vibrant dances, parades, and songs.

The Day of the Dead is a Mexican holiday dedicated to the memory of deceased relatives and friends. It is observed annually on November 1st and 2nd (with preparations beginning on October 31st).

According to belief, during these days the souls of the departed return to earth to visit their families. It is not a day of mourning, but rather a vibrant and joyful celebration that honors life and the memory of one’s ancestors.

Indoor or outdoor altars that families decorate with photographs of the deceased, candles, and the deceased’s favorite foods.

I’m showing how a ceremonial altar—featuring photos of loved ones—was decorated for the celebration in Scarborough.

I was surprised to discover that my favorite marigolds (Cempasúchil,чорнобривці,бархатцы) are used as a traditional decoration for a holiday. As a Ukrainian, I grow them myself—we hold them in high regard, sing songs about them, and consider them a flower deeply rooted in our own traditions. And yet, I found that they are also a traditional floral element for the Day of the Dead, where their bright orange color, scent, and petals are said to guide souls back home. Historians and scholars should look into this further; I’m simply highlighting the topic—it’s genuinely fascinating to me! This year, I even came across posts on social media suggesting that they are edible. They are toxic, it’s true, but some claim they can cleanse the liver. I’m not advocating for this, nor do I necessarily consider such claims to be reliable—but I do find it intriguing that these are associated with connecting to the souls of the departed, specifically because of their color, scent, and petals. Isn’t that truly interesting?

There, on the altar ( Ofrenda), there is coffee, corn kernels, and much more.

Symbolic skulls ( Calaveras) made from sugar or clay, often with the name of the deceased inscribed on the forehead.To be honest, I never really understood the skulls or the designs painted on them. I’ve traveled to Mexico many times and would see them sold as souvenirs, but I never stopped to wonder why there were so many, or why they were decorated and sold. Only now do I understand—it’s their way of honoring the memory of the deceased.

Traditional sweet pastries that are placed on the altar and eaten by the whole family (Pan de muerto).

Unfortunately, I have neither seen nor experienced it myself. One would have to be present at a traditional Mexican or Peruvian ritual to witness such a thing. However, I recall a conversation I once had with a museum staff member in a small town—I believe it was in Midland, Ontario, a place I’m quite fond of. They mentioned that, according to the beliefs of certain tribes in Ontario, there is a specific day each year when families or entire communities come together to commemorate those who have passed away over the course of that calendar year. They honor their memory through various acts: making offerings, presenting gifts, and lighting a ceremonial fire.

The popular image of an elegant skeleton lady in a hat, which has become the main symbol of the holiday-La Calavera Catrina.Between 1910 and 1913, the Mexican artist and engraver José Guadalupe Posada created a zinc etching depicting a grinning skull wearing an elaborate French hat adorned with feathers. The artist originally titled it “La Calavera Garbancera.” At that time, the term garbancera was used to describe people of indigenous (Indian) descent who were ashamed of their roots; they would heavily whiten their skin with powder and dress in European fashion, attempting to pass as wealthy aristocrats. Through his caricature, Posada mocked this snobbery, reminding everyone: “Death is absolutely democratic. Regardless of wealth or social class, in the end, we will all become skeletons.”

The figure gained worldwide fame thanks to the renowned Mexican muralist Diego Rivera. In 1947, he depicted her as a full-length figure in an elegant dress in his monumental mural, “Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Alameda Park.” It was Rivera who gave her the name “Catrina” (in the Mexican slang of the time, catrín meant a “dandy” or “fop,” while catrina referred to a “wealthy, sophisticated lady”).As you can see, all these symbols have developed only within the last century, evolving into dance processions, parades, and carnivals. This particular celebration kicks off a series of carnivals that take place across Latin America in its wake. And what’s especially wonderful is that, finally, we get to see it here in Toronto, too.

What are the differences and similarities between the Day of the Dead and Halloween?
The main distinction lies in the very essence of these holidays: Halloween is rooted in a fear of malevolent spirits and the mystical, whereas the Day of the Dead (Día de los Muertos) is a joyful celebration of love, respect, and the remembrance of one’s ancestors.

Both holidays are rooted in an ancient belief that, on these days, the boundary between the world of the living and the spirit world becomes as thin as possible.

They are celebrated on the same days in autumn and are closely linked to the Catholic All Saints’ Day (November 1).

In both cases, people use makeup and dress up in costumes. For Halloween, they choose scary or pop-culture-inspired looks, while for the Day of the Dead, they apply elaborate skull-themed makeup (Catrina) and wear vibrant outfits.

Sweets play an important role in both holidays, whether it’s candy for children on Halloween or sugar skulls and “bread of the dead” for Día de los Muertos.On October 25, this celebration took place in Toronto for the fourth year in a row. The host mentioned that it was the most successful year yet in terms of the number of attendees. Indeed, there was a very large crowd.

Vibrant, fun, and delicious—that’s how I’d describe the event. It gave me a boost that lasted the whole week. We even caught a performance by musicians from Mexico!

The renowned group México Amigo Mariachi performed on stage at the Good Mourning Festival at Evergreen Brick Works (their concert took place from 1:00 PM to 2:00 PM).I, along with everyone else present, was dancing.


Do you know what I am grateful to these people for in my life? For their temperament, charisma, melodiousness, and cheerful nature.

I admire these four performers for the way they fire up the audience; I sing their praises and wish them good health. They are over 70, yet they remain cheerful, full of life, and high-spirited.

After their performance, a parade took place, in which a lady in a black dress La Calavera Catrina brought up the rear.

We all managed to get some photos taken with them. It turned out they were a dance troupe that had come from Mexico, and the next event was a dance performance about Frida.

The performance about Frida Kahlo was performed at the festival by the dance group The Mexicans Folk Ballet.

This is a well-known Mexican folk ballet company in Toronto that annually prepares special drama and dance performances for the Day of the Dead. Their festive program traditionally includes theatrical dances inspired by the image of Frida Kahlo, as well as the famous “living” skeletons Katrina and the Mexican epic.

The figure of Frida Kahlo is central to this festival (and to the Day of the Dead as a whole) for several profound cultural, historical, and personal reasons. She is not merely a celebrated artist, but the perfect embodiment of the very philosophy behind the holiday:

Frida’s whole life was a struggle with severe physical suffering (after a serious accident). In Mexican culture, death is perceived not as an ending, but as a continuation of life. Frida reflected this in her art: she often painted herself surrounded by skeletons, skulls, and traditional Day of the Dead symbols. She was not afraid of death, but mocked it and glorified it, which perfectly coincides with the spirit of Día de los Muertos.

During her lifetime, Frida Kahlo did an immense amount to popularize indigenous Mexican culture. She made a point of wearing traditional dresses from the Tehuantepec region, weaving bright flowers—marigolds—into her hair, and collecting Mexican folk art. For the Mexican Folk Ballet and the musicians performing at a festival in Toronto, Frida serves as the primary visual symbol of Mexico.

In Mexico, in the famous “Blue House” of Frida Kahlo in Coyoacan, one of the most beautiful and large-scale altars (ofrendas) in the country is built every year. This tradition firmly connected her name with the holiday. People all over the world are inspired by her style when creating Katrina’s holiday makeup and costumes.

As the Evergreen Brick Works hosts the Good Mourning Festival, a festival dedicated to the theme of grief, loss and healing, the story of Frida Kahlo fits perfectly here. She is the world’s symbol of resilience, a woman who turned her personal tragedy, pain and near death into great, immortal art.

Finally, I saw alpaca-wool items and clothing in Toronto—and they were even cheaper than in Peru! I was also delighted to come across a young woman from Colombia doing beadwork.

I took her business card; I’d love to invite her to the Ukrainian community center to showcase her craft to the Ukrainian women there. To top it all off, I waited in line for a Colombian latte topped with a croissant—it cost $8, and they actually have a café here in Toronto. But the real highlight was the taste of the Colombian coffee itself; the quality is superb.


The day was a success in every way. Instead of waiting in line for a free shuttle to the subway station or hailing an Uber or Lyft, we decided to walk—uphill! We must have covered about 6 kilometers, but it didn’t feel difficult at all. I’m left with a positive vibe that will last all week; I’m writing this on Monday, still happily reflecting on the event.
Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part: there were so many Chihuahuas there with their owners, each one clearly proud to have such a dog.For the ancient inhabitants of the Andes, dogs held a truly sacred significance—they were revered as guides for souls into the afterlife (psychopomps) and were sometimes sacrificed to the gods.

I even met a little black beauty who looked exactly like my own dog, Mimi. Without a second thought, I suggested they meet—but the owner replied that her dog had been spayed. Why are we so harsh toward our beloved pets? My dogs get to live their own natural, “doggy” lives—and that is the most important and valuable thing I could ever give them.

The Cathedral Church of the St.James

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

It is difficult to describe my impressions of visiting the church itself, but I will collect my thoughts and share with you a few minutes of a wonderful story about this relic.

This Anglican church was built in the mid-19th century. It is a true cultural hub in Toronto.

The church is unique because it is the tallest Anglican cathedral in Toronto and the second-largest in the Americas. As you can hear in the video, it features a distinctive set of 12 bells—themselves unique, as they were crafted for traditional English-style bell ringing. (change ringing).

If you are familiar with the design of Anglican churches, you will notice—in this cathedral, as in other similar churches—beautiful stained-glass windows; the entire history and all significant dates are reflected in the imagery of these windows. Many of the windows in this church were created by the renowned Canadian artist Stuart Reid.

A beautiful park with fountains surrounds the church—this is also a classic example of English church design, as the park was where the people and parishioners spent their daily lives. And today, the park, near the fountain, is filled with children with their parents, lovers, and ordinary citizens. It’s a place for relax.

The park also takes its name from the church- St.James Park.

St. James Cathedral serves as the mother church and principal cathedral of the Anglican Diocese of Toronto; it houses the synod of the Anglican Diocese and the synod’s administrative offices.

The history of this church is closely linked to the founding of Toronto and the arrival of migrants from Britain. When Toronto was first established, it was a settlement known as York. It was on this very site that the first parishioners held Anglican services as early as 1793—out in the open, on the land itself. Later, in 1807, a wooden church was built there. During the War of 1812, American forces looted the building and used the church itself as a hospital.

In 1833, a stone structure in the neoclassical style was built to replace the original wooden one. However, fires—which ruthlessly destroyed everything in their path—consumed it. The year 1839 brought two significant events that shaped the history and development of the church: it burned down completely, yet it was also granted the official status of a cathedral. After being restored and rebuilt, the church was destroyed once again in 1849 by a massive fire that swept through all of Toronto. Miraculously, a marble baptismal font survived; it can still be seen in the church today, located on the right-hand side as you enter through the main entrance.

In 1853, the church was restored and opened in the form in which it exists today. It was designed by the architect Frederick William Cumberland—a renowned and highly influential figure of the Victorian era. He was responsible for creating many of Toronto’s unique structures, including—in collaboration with Thomas Ridout and William George Storm—University College (1856–1859), Osgoode Hall, the Old Toronto Post Office, the York County Courthouse, Cumberland’s own residence, the Magnetic Observatory, and this magnificent cathedral.

The church took several decades to build, and in 1875, the construction of its spire was completed. At that time, the cathedral was the tallest building in all of Canada.
I can imagine how the townspeople must have rejoiced and taken pride in this structure. It is truly impressive, and you can really sense that spirit the moment you step inside the cathedral itself.

Today, the sound of an organ constantly resonates beneath the vaults of this magnificent Cathedral—a sign that the sanctuary is alive. In celebration of music’s triumph over darkness, the beautiful compositions of Bach, John ireland,Thomas Tomkins,George Thalben-Ball,Herbert Murrill,Orlando Gibbson and Charles Villiers Stanford ring out within these walls.

Music transcends time. Both it and this cathedral are remarkably contemporary. In November, the cathedral will host a multisensory light show ,,Celestia”; beginning at sunset, it will combine organ music with light projections—depicting the history of the cathedral and life in Toronto—cast upon the cathedral’s arches. This spectacular event will conclude on January 31, 2027.
Currently, the Cathedral is open to visitors free of charge: Monday through Saturday from 10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., and on Sunday from 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.

Matisse or Picasso

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

Today’s post is exactly packed only with information. Why? Well, I’ve started planning out my days and hours because my various responsibilities simply don’t leave me any time to relax. I’m learning—learning how to manage myself, my instincts, and my moods. So, according to my schedule, it’s time for a walk with my dog. But before that—and since the weather outside is absolutely wonderful—I’m going to write a short story about love to submit to a contest. I’ll also put together this post to share some very interesting information with you, keeping you close to what’s going on in my life.
Let’s get started!

The title of my post is “Matisse or Picasso”—and for good reason.
Both were artists. What brought them together, and what set them apart? They lived during the same era, both hailed from Spain, and both were associated with movements like Impressionism, Cubism, and abstract art. As for what separated them—they had different approaches, which resulted in entirely different bodies of work. Picasso leaned more toward Cubism, while Matisse focused on decorative elements and an exploration of color.


But that’s not all.


People who study their work have concluded that, throughout their careers, they frequently “borrowed” ideas from one another—or, to use modern terminology, they infringed upon each other’s copyright. Some readers might argue that copyright grants an author exclusive rights to their ideas, imagery, and work—and I agree.


Yet, in the world of art, it is nearly impossible to find someone who hasn’t been inspired by the ideas of a competitor, a rival, or even a friend—and subsequently incorporated those ideas into their own work.
One could point to instances where artists have spent decades in court, alleging that someone stole or pilfered their ideas.


But in this case, we have an inimitable example of creative rivalry between two of the greatest artists of the last century—a rivalry that ultimately proved just how beautiful art can be. Consider the moment someone asked Picasso, “Don’t you think your work bears a striking resemblance to this painting by Matisse?”
With a smile, he replied, “If that’s what you think, that’s wonderful. But that is a work by Matisse—and this is mine. Picasso.”

And this is what conveyed to us in excellent form this past Sunday, during his magnificent lecture Jeff Fortinsky in Nelson Park Centre.

A unique study has demonstrated that, over the course of many years—beginning during the height of their creative careers—Matisse and Picasso both produced works centered on the same themes: portraits of women, scenes of dance, gatherings in a garden, and self-portraits. Furthermore, each artist created his respective pieces in close temporal proximity to the other.

And as Picasso used to say, their unique personal style was always evident.
After all, remember—in those days, there were no mobile phones. The only way they could see another artist’s work was by gathering with friends in a café to look through a newspaper or magazine. Later, photographs became available, and they would sometimes create works based on similar themes, inspired by those images.


When Matisse passed away in the 1950s, Picasso could no longer continue this wonderful creative relay.
Their relationship was defined by a warm, friendly rivalry—never hostile. Each created in his own distinct style and manner: Matisse with a greater emphasis on the decorative, and Picasso with a sharper, more angular approach—through Cubism.
In this way, the creative journeys of these remarkable artists became a lasting part of the history of the last century.

Interesting, isn’t it?

Reflections

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

Could it be the weather? It’s damp and rainy, and I’m longing for warmth… No. Could it be the news? The increasingly alarming reports pouring in from defenseless Ukraine, where people live under constant bombardment every day?..
Could it be a sudden wave of memories?.. Yes. I had a dream—let me tell you about it. I hadn’t had a dream like this in over twenty years. How time flies. I don’t know why, but I found myself in a setting I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
In the dream, I was somewhere in the Middle East; my large family and I had moved to a different city and into a spacious apartment with many rooms, yet my own home felt empty. As always—that’s just my nature—I didn’t give in to despair. I got to know some wonderful neighbors—a large Arab family with plenty of children, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. I would visit them every day to lend a hand, cook a meal, or share a cup of coffee.

One day, the landlord—an elderly Arab man, about our age—called me over. He was a man who had seen it all and lived a full life; he was content and at peace with everything. He was sitting on his large sofa, drinking coffee, and asked if there was anything he could do to help me. Naturally, I declined—it’s in my nature to refuse; I’d say everything was fine and I didn’t need anything. We had just moved in, and his wife had mentioned that our rooms were empty—no furniture, nothing.
He smiled, called up his friends, relatives, and acquaintances, and started asking what furniture they had available—prices, condition—explaining that there were people here who needed help. We found a beautiful living room set and some rugs—all affordable and practical. He was pleased, and so was I. I woke up today in that same mood and rushed to tell my husband about the dream. I hadn’t had a dream like that in over twenty years. Yet, that is how I lived in Jordan; that is the kind of people who surrounded me—people thanks to whom I raised my three children. I have been grateful to them my whole life for teaching me generosity, humanity, and the value of simple, genuine relationships.
Twenty years…
This summer, I attended a presentation for a book by John Paul II.

It was a wonderful presentation at Lviv’s oldest church, and an opportunity to meet the book’s author, Yulia Kurtash-Karp.

The book signed by him holds a place of honor in my home. Do you know what name John Paul II used when writing poetry?
Did you even know that our beloved Pope wrote poetry? He used the name Karol Wojtyła.
I am holding a volume of his selected works in my hands right now—reading it thanks to the translation by Ms. Yulia.

I open his book, and the first page reads: “Be the first to love.”


That is all.
It is what fills my very being. Is it hard to live this way? I do not know—but be the first to reach out, to help, to listen, to share your wisdom. Listen, then offer counsel. Life is made up of tiny droplets of wisdom; we must find them, see them, and help others see them too.
Perhaps then there will be less evil, less misery, and less death.

Fall

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

Ha-ha, we’ve finally put on our warm autumn jackets.

The leaves have finally turned yellow, and the season of beautiful Ontario scenery has begun.

We’ve finally fully embraced autumn.

It spoiled us with warmth for a long time this year, but its arrival was inevitable.

And here we are again in that wonderful season of nature’s red, yellow, and brown palette.


I have a watermelon harvest! Don’t laugh—it’s still ripening; it’s 10 cm in diameter, and I’m keeping a close eye on it. It started growing in mid-August. I mean, really? According to the Canadian calendar, September brings night frosts that simply kill off everything sunny and summery. Yet, it just kept growing. The birds, the rabbit, and the mice scurrying through the garden didn’t touch it. And look, it made it. For me, this is a record—both in terms of timing (thanks to the weather) and the plant itself (watermelons don’t usually grow in Ontario). Although, as you can see, there are exceptions. The Mexicans—they set the standard here.
In Ontario, watermelons are usually imported from Mexico and the southern US.


I also have amazing tomatoes this year. They put out their blossoms in late July, and they are still blooming vigorously on strong stalks right now. They’re growing straight out of the ground. The spot where they grow is sheltered from the wind and direct sunlight. There are two bushes of them, growing right out of the earth. And they are blooming. Well then. It’s getting colder, and I’m preparing for winter; the last mushrooms of the season—honey fungi—have appeared in the woods, a sure sign that late autumn is here. For now, though, I’m still being treated to these flowers in my garden. Tomato blossoms.
Some might find that funny—especially those who bask in the warm, sultry summer sun all year round.
It was warm here this past year, but sunshine was a rarity—it was just… sunless. That happens sometimes.

And it was extremely humid—something that sets our climate apart from previous years. I don’t recall a summer like this during my entire time in Canada.
One also has to appreciate the wonders of our natural world.

Marigolds bring a special vibrancy and beauty to this season.

Mine have been blooming for two years now. I’ve seen so many varieties in the city—small ones, bushy ones, and huge, multicolored ones. Mine are the traditional Ukrainian kind. Of course, they aren’t quite like the ones in Chicago—I saw a photo from friends showing a bush as tall as a person. Mine are more modest. But they are bright. And I share this beauty with you, my readers.
As the season of falling leaves approaches…
I want to give thanks for all the gifts this year has brought me. Thank you for the changes in my life; I am a student again, pursuing my beloved profession of psychology.
Thank you for the knowledge I’ve gathered into a small book for children. I wrote several new stories and submitted them to contests just yesterday. Thank you for the knowledge of Petrykivka painting; I am preparing for the winter season and painting on wood once more. Thank you for everything around me, for those who live nearby and help me, and for the moments of joy I experience every day.
Thank you.

New children book

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

Anyone reading this page of my blog likely knows that I am an artist and skilled illustrator whose collections can be found in Europe, the Middle East, and the Americas, and who actively exhibits her work across Canada.
However, few are aware that since 2020, in addition to producing short films, I has published several children’s books and actively participates in competitions.

Olena Polishchuk participates in competitions and has her work published in Ukrainian magazines and anthologies.
A new series of her stories for children was released quite recently.
The author has developed a unique way of connecting with her readers: she records her stories and posts them on social media as short films.
This appeals to young children, as well as to adults who want their little ones to drift off to a lovely children’s story in Ukrainian or watch a film that helps them fall asleep peacefully.

What are her stories about?
Today, I will talk about her latest work: The Foundling.
It is a touching sketch about a grandfather and his granddaughter sharing a cozy evening as winter approaches. An exhausted kitten, discovered in a corner of the yard, melts the old man’s gruff heart, transforming a cold, snowy evening into a celebration of kindness and love.

Below, I am providing a link where you can watch and listen to this wise, kind, and beautiful story.
Enjoy watching!

The Aga Khan Museum again

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

What do you do when it’s raining outside, when you want to take your mind off things, change your mood, and explore art?It is difficult for me to hear your answers. I am going to a museum. I am going to enjoy art, because it is within me—because I live it and create it.

And so, right around the turn of September and October, I visited this magnificent museum. I parked my car in the lot—there are plenty of spaces—and paid the $10 daily fee online. I bought a ticket, also for $10, and entered the largest hall, which houses the permanent exhibition.

There have been many changes. It seems to me that everything here has stood still since its founder passed away last year. At the entrance, there is a plaque bearing his portrait that recounts his life, his dates of birth and death, and his crowning achievement—the creation of this museum.

The museum houses more than 1,000 rare artifacts spanning thousands of years of history, from exquisite Andalusian pottery to opulent Mughal-era manuscripts.

A truly unique cultural center in Toronto (North York), it was the first museum in North America dedicated entirely to the art and civilizations of the Islamic world. The main building, designed by renowned architect Fumihiko Maki, is striking for its futuristic white architecture and abundance of natural light, while a picturesque park featuring reflecting pools spreads out around it. I missed the temporary exhibition, as they were just preparing to open the next one. I should mention right away that an immersive exhibition titled “SpaceMosque” is taking place this October: a visionary exhibition by artist Saks Afridi opens on October 24, 2026.

As I walked through the exhibition, I was once again struck by the exquisite, intricate craftsmanship of the woodcarvers who created this door—which is over 200 years old.

Simply magnificent.

In the hall near the entrance, opposite the café, music was playing, and a woman was singing a song by Fairuz. It all reminded me of the years long ago when I lived in the Middle East and that kind of atmosphere surrounded me. Today, I visit the museum to recapture that feeling and to enjoy that world.

The museum is located at 77 Wynford Dr. ,Toronto.

Tuesday to Sunday – from 10:00 to 17:30.

Monday – closed.

Omemee

Helen Polishuk Leave a comment

Autumn brings more than just a change in the colors of the trees and grass; it also brings changes within a person—especially when you are over sixty. A few years ago, I fell in love with traveling around Ontario. While I do travel beyond our province, driving across several provinces remains a dream of mine. I want to point out that traveling within Ontario is just as interesting as traveling elsewhere. For instance, this autumn began with me discovering the beauty and richness of our region, known as Kawartha Lakes.

I visited Peterborough—a hub of industry, culture, and agriculture, the center of life in the Kawartha Lakes region, and the gateway to the hill country with its charming parks and forests. Peterborough is delightful in any weather, but it is especially beautiful in the autumn. Not far away lies the small town of Omemee, where we stopped on our way back from Peterborough.Omemee is a community within the city of Kawartha Lakes, Ontario, Canada, formerly known as Victoria County. The community had a population of 1,247 in the Canada 2011 Census. It is located between the city of Peterborough and the community of Lindsay.The population there is probably even smaller now.
Situated along Highway 7 right on the Pigeon River, it is positioned about halfway between the community of Lindsay and the city of Peterborough. Derived from the Mississaugas Anishinaabemowin word o-mimi, which means “pigeon”, the town serves as a scenic gateway for travelers exploring the wider Kawartha Lakes region.”Pigeon”—it’s a beautiful name, isn’t it?
The river here is called Pigeon, and there’s a lake further up. A bridge separates the river from the lake. The scenery is truly picturesque.

This place has inspired—and continues to inspire—many who have visited it. A famous singer Neil Young was born and raised here.

If you enjoy hiking trails as much as I do, the longest trail runs nearby-The Kawartha Trans Canada Trail.

Emily Provincial Park-that’s a story in itself, and it’s so interesting that I highly recommend visiting it.

Located just outside the town center along the Pigeon River, this park is a popular hub for camping, canoeing, fishing, and fall-colour viewing.

Let’s return to this wonderful city—it truly makes you fall in love at first sight. I am actually very fond of the small towns in Ontario; they hold long, rich, and fascinating histories. It is because of stories and towns like these that you fall deeply in love with—and come to appreciate—this rugged and fascinating country, Canada.

A walk down Omemee’s main street highlights a beautiful 19th-century brick facade. You can check out the Omemee Cenotaph—which features a rare 1800s 9-pounder muzzle-loading gun—it is located at an intersection, right in the city center. And although it is small in size, the fact that it is authentic makes it valuable.

The history of Omemee, Ontario is a classic Canadian story of a 19th-century pioneer boomtown. It evolved from a vital riverside mill into a bustling railway hub, before transitioning into the quiet, heritage-focused community it is today.

It is wonderful to come and see historic buildings—over a century old—that have remained untouched by time.

Before European colonization, the area along the Pigeon River was a long-standing hunting and camping ground for a family of the Mississaugas Anishinaabeg.

In the 19th century, Irish immigrants built a mill and a sawmill here; the town stood at a crossroads. People hunted, trapped fur-bearing animals, and fished in the surrounding forests, while grain was grown on the nearby land—producing goods for trade and food for the growing population.

Interestingly, he had many names -Williamstown (1835),Metcalfe (1840s),Omemee (1857).Because “Williamstown” and “Metcalfe” were being used by other towns in Ontario, postal confusion arose. The town permanently adopted Omemee, derived from the Mississauga word for “pigeon”—a nod to the local indigenous camp and the vast flocks of passenger pigeons that used to migrate through the river valley.

The greatest flourishing of industry and economy, which influenced the development of this city, like many other cities that have now almost disappeared, occurred in 1850-1870.However, industrialization and the concentration of industry in major cities led to an exodus of the local population; many factories closed, and the town’s population dwindled to just 467 people by 1920.

Today, it is a quiet town where pensioners lead a calm, unhurried life; people come for the summer cottage season, and there are also those who live there permanently while commuting to work in nearby cities.

I liked this little town right away, and I noticed that—even though it was early October and the trees were still green, so it didn’t quite feel like autumn yet given the weather this year—the residents were already getting ready for both Thanksgiving and Halloween.

Something tells me that this is simply our spirit, our character. If you’re ever in Ontario, pay a visit here. Remember: Pigeon. It’s a beautiful little town Omemee with an interesting history, located right on Highway 7.

Last Day of September 2026

Helen Polishuk

With the arrival of October, the calendar of events shifts lazily. Autumn, too, arrives at a leisurely pace.
It knows we aren’t going anywhere—that we’ll have to dress more warmly, spend more time indoors eating through the stores we gathered over the summer, and venture out less into the rain and snow.
It knows that the trees, however comfortable they may feel, must shed their leaves. And how tired I am of clearing away the neighbors’ leaves—leaves from their trees that fall not onto their own property, but right onto ours, thanks to the way the branches lean. Oh well; I’ll climb onto the roof again and trim back the neighbors’ branches that grow toward our side. The neighbors couldn’t care less. They won’t pay for such services, yet they pretend to be diligent about maintaining their landscaping. So, I’ll climb up and clear my roof to prevent rot—after all, I’m the one who would have to pay for the repairs if it were damaged.
Then I’ll gather everything lying on my property, rake the leaves into special bags, and set them out for trash collection. I’ll free my plants and ready them for winter: pruning the dead growth, mounding soil around the three fruit trees, and bundling the raspberry bushes in preparation for the coming snow.
And then I’ll head north. I’ll welcome the first day of October in the truly wild northern reaches of Ontario—amidst waterfalls, dense forests, winding trails, and rocky cliffs.
I plan to write a story about this and enter it into a competition; the call for submissions is already out, and the deadline is approaching. I’ll paint another autumn landscape based on this, and next time you’ll see it in person.
After that, I’ll celebrate all the family birthdays that fall during this period; I have a wonderful, large family with many birthdays around this time.
Then, I’ll start taking new psychology courses. Why do I need them? I’m familiar with the Soviet-era psychology of the 1980s. A lot has changed since then, and—with retirement just a year and a half away—I need to acquire new knowledge. After all, science and the thirst for learning haven’t gone anywhere. The previous courses were just the beginning; now comes the continuation.

The next step is preparing for the workshop. Right now, I’m in a bit of a holding pattern regarding this. The responsibility weighing on me involves several key questions: will people actually be interested in this? Can I effectively present it to the organization hosting the workshop? And what will I personally gain from the event? So, I’m diving into October with plans, fresh thoughts, and a host of interesting ideas.
Meanwhile, a Blue Jay has just swooped in outside my window, whistling and singing its distinctive song. This bird is a symbol of the local Ontario area; I love it for its feisty personality—it’s a predator that attacks, commanding fear and respect from other birds and even squirrels. Today, it’s perched near the bird feeder. This bird has become a regular visitor; it settled in the area over a year ago and frequently comes by to forage. I also have plenty of local squirrels and a small rabbit—born this year. If the neighbors don’t eat him, he’ll go on to have offspring of his own. I hope he’s craftier than my neighbors. And, of course, there are my three male Chihuahuas who keep watch over the place.

And me, too.))

Have a nice day,my friends

About Sushi

Helen Polishuk

The culinary phenomenon of sushi begin in Japan, but rather as an ancient fish preservation method in Southeast Asia along the Mekong River. It evolved over a thousand years from a pungent, fermented survival food into the fresh, fast-paced delicacy we recognize today.

The oldest form of sushi was as a method used in 2nd – 8th Century in Japan to preserve freshwater fish by packing it with salted, fermenting rice. The rice produced lactic acid to keep the fish from rotting. Crucially, the fermented rice was discarded because it turned mushy and foul-smelling—only the preserved fish was consumed.This is named Narezushi sushi and long history about this sushi I received from sources at the exhibition in Japanease Foundation this week.

Long before reaching Japan, the technique emerged in Southeast Asia—specifically along the Mekong River basin (modern-day Laos, Thailand, Cambodia) and Myanmar. Indigenous groups devised a way to scale, gut, salt, and pack freshwater river fish into barrels with cooked rice.

As the mixture sat, natural lactic acid bacteria consumed the rice carbohydrates. The resulting lactic acid acted as a heavy chemical shield, preventing standard decomposition bacteria from rotting the meat.

By the 2nd to 4th century CE, the method spread into southern China, where it reached peak popularity during the Song Dynasty. It migrated to Western Japan around the Yayoi Period and in appearance, it bore no resemblance whatsoever to our concept of sushi as such. It was the great-grandfather of our modern method of preparing sushi.The exhibition featured models of the earliest sushi and screened a film about its history.

Modern sushi is all about fresh, delicate seafood and eating the vinegared rice. Original narezushi was the complete opposite.Unlike the light taste of a modern roll, narezushi is notoriously pungent and incredibly sour. Scientifically, its odor profile has been measured as one of the most intense food smells in the world (often compared to an intensely sharp, aged blue cheese).

While modern nigiri dominates global cuisine, you can still eat authentic, ancient-style narezushi in a few historic pockets of Japan.

This technology has now been improved and is used in some dishes with certain types of fish. For example, for mackerel-boasting an 800-year history, mackerel is packed with rice and wrapped tightly in leaves. Because it’s only fermented for a few days, the rice is intentionally eaten alongside the fish.

For wild carp-aged up to 2–3 years. The fish bones completely soften, and the local delicacy is thinly sliced—often prized for its orange, cheese-like roe—and paired with sake.

As the practice spread to Japan, the Japanese fundamentally transformed it. Because rice was incredibly precious, people shortened the fermentation time to a month or two. This left the fish partially raw and the rice tangy but edible, creating the first version where both the fish and the rice were eaten together.

That is how they came into being Hamanare and Nama-narezushi in 14th – 15th Century in Japan.

With the widespread commercial production of rice vinegar, chefs discovered they could entirely bypass the lengthy fermentation process. By mixing vinegar directly into fresh rice, they could instantly mimic the sour taste of fermented sushi, inventing “fast sushi” and that is how they came into being Hayazushi (17th – 18th Century).

Later,in around 1820-s,a creative street-food peddler named Hanaya Yohei revolutionized the dish in the bustling city of Edo (modern-day Tokyo). To feed busy workers quickly, he began shaping small oblongs of seasoned rice by hand and topping them with fresh, raw slices of local fish caught straight from Tokyo Bay. This became the literal blueprint for modern sushi and for today in Tokyo we are have street Sushi Avenue,along which samurai transported prepared sushi.Nigiri sushi remains the most popular sushi in Japan to this day.

The history of using tuna in sushi making is interesting.Today, bluefin tuna (maguro) is the undisputed king of the sushi world, but it was historically despised in Japan. For centuries, tuna was considered an unlucky, low-class “garbage fish” (gezakana).

In ancient Japan, aristocratic diners strictly avoided tuna for three reasons: the old Japanese word for tuna was shibi. This was homophonous with the phrase shibi meaning “day of the dead,” making it highly taboo and bad luck to serve; tuna is a warm-blooded, highly metallic migratory fish and without refrigeration, its dark red meat oxidized and turned a repulsive, foul-smelling brown almost immediately after being caught; and when peasants had no choice but to eat it, they would sometimes bury the meat in the ground for four days to let it ferment, just to mask the bloody taste.

The true golden age of tuna didn’t arrive until after World War II, fueled by two massive shifts.

During the post-WWII American occupation, the Japanese diet rapidly shifted toward Westernized preferences for higher fat contents, beef, and dairy. Suddenly, the rich, buttery texture of toro went from greasy to luxurious.

By the 1960s and 70s, the invention of specialized electric flash-freezers (-60°C) and commercial air freight allowed global airlines like Japan Airlines (JAL) to transport perfectly preserved fresh bluefin from places like Atlantic Canada directly to Tokyo’s markets overnight.

Today the cuisine has evolved into a massive $18.28 billion global industry that blends strict Japanese tradition with high-tech automation and modern lifestyle values (The Businesse Research Canada).

Ironically, the ancient history of narezushi has come full circle. Some avant-garde chefs are now experimenting with using traditional Japanese koji (fermentation starter) to add intense, aged umami depth to contemporary seafood and fatty tuna (toro) dishes.

Here are the top local sushi spots right here in Etobicoke, grouped by style and budget:

IKKOI SUSHI&RAMEN at 5084 Dundas St.W.,(20-30 $ per dish),KIBO SUSHI at 4925 Dundas St.,W.,(20-30 $),SUSHI RUN at 3351 BLOOR ST.,W.,and very popular ,,all you can eat” K&B SUSHI at 1184 The Queensway.

Photo and video made by Helen Polishuk&Astra Production 2026.