Before visiting Churchill, I expected to find a town known for polar bears and belugas. I didn’t expect to find a town that seemed shaped by them.
The wildlife wasn’t confined to the tundra or the water’s edge. It appeared throughout the town in murals, sculptures and public art. Belugas swam across walls, polar bears watched over streets, and everywhere I looked there were reminders of the animals that had become part of Churchill’s identity.
Of course, tourism plays an important role here. People travel from all over the world hoping to witness these remarkable species, and that supports the local community. But what stayed with me wasn’t simply the economic relationship. It was the sense of respect.
The animals didn’t feel like attractions. They felt like neighbours.
There was an understanding that life in Churchill is shared with wildlife, and with that comes a responsibility to protect it. The murals felt less like decorations and more like acknowledgements, small reminders that these animals have shaped not only the landscape, but the community itself.
It made me wonder what our own towns might look like if we celebrated the species that live alongside us. What stories would we choose to tell? What would we protect? And would we begin to see the natural world as something woven into our everyday lives, rather than something that exists somewhere else?
Churchill reminded me that conservation doesn’t always begin with science or policy. Sometimes it begins with identity. When a community sees wildlife as part of its story, protecting it becomes part of the culture.
Before visiting Churchill, I expected to find a town known for polar bears and belugas. I didn’t expect to find a town that seemed shaped by them.
The wildlife wasn’t confined to the tundra or the water’s edge. It appeared throughout the town in murals, sculptures and public art. Belugas swam across walls, polar bears watched over streets, and everywhere I looked there were reminders of the animals that had become part of Churchill’s identity.
Of course, tourism plays an important role here. People travel from all over the world hoping to witness these remarkable species, and that supports the local community. But what stayed with me wasn’t simply the economic relationship. It was the sense of respect.
The animals didn’t feel like attractions. They felt like neighbours.
There was an understanding that life in Churchill is shared with wildlife, and with that comes a responsibility to protect it. The murals felt less like decorations and more like acknowledgements, small reminders that these animals have shaped not only the landscape, but the community itself.
It made me wonder what our own towns might look like if we celebrated the species that live alongside us. What stories would we choose to tell? What would we protect? And would we begin to see the natural world as something woven into our everyday lives, rather than something that exists somewhere else?
Churchill reminded me that conservation doesn’t always begin with science or policy. Sometimes it begins with identity. When a community sees wildlife as part of its story, protecting it becomes part of the culture.
Before visiting Churchill, I expected to find a town known for polar bears and belugas. I didn’t expect to find a town that seemed shaped by them.
The wildlife wasn’t confined to the tundra or the water’s edge. It appeared throughout the town in murals, sculptures and public art. Belugas swam across walls, polar bears watched over streets, and everywhere I looked there were reminders of the animals that had become part of Churchill’s identity.
Of course, tourism plays an important role here. People travel from all over the world hoping to witness these remarkable species, and that supports the local community. But what stayed with me wasn’t simply the economic relationship. It was the sense of respect.
The animals didn’t feel like attractions. They felt like neighbours.
There was an understanding that life in Churchill is shared with wildlife, and with that comes a responsibility to protect it. The murals felt less like decorations and more like acknowledgements, small reminders that these animals have shaped not only the landscape, but the community itself.
It made me wonder what our own towns might look like if we celebrated the species that live alongside us. What stories would we choose to tell? What would we protect? And would we begin to see the natural world as something woven into our everyday lives, rather than something that exists somewhere else?
Churchill reminded me that conservation doesn’t always begin with science or policy. Sometimes it begins with identity. When a community sees wildlife as part of its story, protecting it becomes part of the culture.
Field Reflection
What if every town celebrated the wildlife that shared its home?
Perhaps we’d realise that nature isn’t separate from where we live. It’s already part of our neighbourhoods, our stories, and our sense of place.
What wildlife shares your own neighbourhood?
Field Photographs
