The Birchdale Letter February 2026

February at Birchdale

Henry David Thoreau wrote: “I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.”

I love this. Not because it’s clever (though it is) but because it tells you everything you need to know about a place. One chair. Two chairs. Three chairs. Solitude. Friendship. Society. No one tells you which chair to choose. The house just has all three.

I’ve been thinking about this because I’ve been thinking about access.

Not access in the basic (and super important) sense with ramps, needs and compliance forms, but access in the deeper sense. Who feels welcome somewhere? Who feels like a place is for them? What does it take for someone arriving from away, carrying whatever they’re carrying, to set down their bag and feel like they’ve come to a place that was somehow expecting them?

This is the question Birchdale keeps asking us, and it has been asking it for over a hundred years.

When the Guides and “Sports” were here, access looked like this: you arrived by steamer from Boston, you were met at Yarmouth, and someone who knew every trail and waterway in the Tobeatic led you into the wilderness. The guide carried the knowledge. The guest carried the trust. The exchange between them was the whole thing. It didn’t matter if you were Greta Garbo or a banker from Connecticut or a Yarmouth area family making their annual trip—when you got to Birchdale, you were on the lake, you were in the woods, you were in the same chairs.

When the Carmelite monks were here, access looked different again. Nova Nada opened its doors to the public one Sunday a month. Come as you are. Sit in the silence. Or Dunk-A-Monk and laugh out loud. The monks understood something essential: that a remote place is not the same as an exclusive one. Remoteness is geography. Exclusivity is a choice.

Birchdale has always chosen openness.

And that brings us to Heritage Day weekend, and to a hike led by our intrepid guide and operations manager, Nicola Roberts-Fenton. In the midst of an historic winter of snow, our February event felt like such a great Birchdale thing to do.

Walking the Old Trails

Nicola carries something particular about Birchdale—a knowledge that is rooted in childhood memory and lived experience of this place. When she leads you through the forest, she isn’t performing heritage. She’s walking you home.

Heritage Day in Nova Scotia this year honours Joseph Willie Comeau—a proud Acadian from Clare, right here in Digby County, who spent nearly six decades in public life advocating for Acadian language, education, and culture. He was first elected in 1907—four years before Birchdale’s lodge was built. His whole life was a study in what it means to hold space for a community and to insist, quietly and persistently, that the door stays open.

There’s something in that.

When not on the trails we are laying down tracks for the warmer seasons ahead. March is our one month of real challenge. The road says “no”. Our dear and beloved Birchdale Road asks us all to spend the month (with most Canadians) anticipating spring but not touching it yet. It’s probably why I am thinking about access. How March is our annual equal opportunity “no-go” month at Birchdale.

So while we take a month away we are thinking about how to make things more welcoming. Offers to pick you up at the end of the road, tea and coffee when you arrive. Having bedding options available if you plan to stay. Doing our best to think about what might make your visit as special as possible. Not perfect (we sure can’t promise that!) but special!

These details matter. They are the access. The price is the price of participation, not a barrier to it. The offer to meet you at the road is a way of saying: we know the drive in can feel like a lot, especially if you’ve never been. We’ll come to you.

Three Chairs

Tracey, Nicola, and I talked a lot about this during our year-end planning retreat. We named five values to guide Birchdale in 2026—our year of Abundance—and one of the ones that keeps coming back to me is this:

Honour the past by caring for the present

Birchdale is remote. It’s eight miles down a dirt road with no consistent cell service. (I love this part!!!) That remoteness is part of what makes it what it is—the silence, the sky, the way the lake holds you. We would never trade that. But we also know that remoteness can feel like a closed door if you don’t already know how to find your way in.

So we think about this a lot! We think about the person who’s never been. We think about the family who’d love a day at the lake but isn’t sure it’s for them. We think about the person coming from away who needs the solitude of Birchdale the way you need water—and doesn’t yet know this place exists.

Thoreau built his whole cabin for $28.12. He was making a point about simplicity, about stripping life to its essentials to see what it actually is. Birchdale makes a similar argument, just by existing. You don’t need electricity to have light. You don’t need Wi-Fi to connect. You don’t need a fortune to find a place where you can hear yourself think.

You just need to know there’s a chair for you.

One for solitude. Two for friendship. Three for society.

Come sit, or walk, or paddle, or whatever it is you want or need.

As always, thanks for reading,

Sarah

Now…Here’s What’s Coming in 2026