“WHAT’S THAT?” someone says nearby, pointing upwards at the Fundy night sky. “That’s the Milky Way,” I whisper to myself, resolutely like my father would have. I’m bundled up to spend about an hour here; if it weren’t winter, I’d probably be lying comfortably on a blanket.

The Milky Way stretches across the sky, splitting the constellations I know into halves. Orion’s Belt is on one side, and on the other, the Big Dipper is almost vertical, with the pot handle facing down. I’m straining to locate the Little Dipper. Why can’t I remember how my father said to find it?

My father was an extremely bright individual, and I often felt like I couldn’t measure up. Case in point, our chess games would never last more than a few moves before he’d say, “Checkmate.” I worry that he would be a bit disappointed to know that I have forgotten this knowledge of the constellations he’d imparted, even if it has been decades.

New Brunswick is 85 per cent forested, sparsely populated and blessed with low light pollution, creating a prime location to admire the stars, if clouds don’t roll in. The waters of the Bay of Fundy prevent any development to the south, making for an expansive night sky and one of the darkest skies on the southern coast, says Dan Sinclair, an interpreter for Fundy National Park.

As one of 13 dark-sky preserves managed by Parks Canada, the Fundy preserve was created to protect ecosystems from light pollution and educate visitors and neighbouring communities on the importance of dark skies. Aside from providing stargazers with pristine viewing conditions, dark-sky preserves help wildlife by giving nocturnal animals the conditions they need to forage, breed and navigate. Birds, for example, can be confused by light pollution and change their migration patterns.

“WHEN [VISITORS] see the Milky Way for the first time, they freeze in awe,” says Sinclair. “They usually say: ‘I didn’t know that’s what the night sky is supposed to look like.’ Every time, someone isn’t prepared for what they are experiencing. You hear a lot of sniffles and quivering voices in the dark.”

Picard refers to a 2016 study published in Science Advances that says nearly 80 per cent of Americans and 60 per cent of Canadians can’t see the Milky Way from where they live. “With light pollution doubling every 10 years, it’s no wonder there’s been a big increase in astro-tourism,” says Picard.

To look to the night sky for the answers to life’s big and small questions is almost primal in our genes, Sinclair says. “Whether [we] are hoping to commune with ancestors, understand their lives, want help with navigation or for cues for agriculture and hunting… we always look up.”

The Bay of Fundy is defined by having the highest tides in the world. In the afternoon at low tide, we walk the ocean floor, our boots sinking into soft sand. Sinclair talks with zeal about balance: between conservation and tourism, between forest and sea, high and low tide, and day and night. By nightfall, that balance feels personal. We also ski-shoe and toboggan, unlocking vivid childhood memories.

The darkness is hiding my tears as I think about how quickly life goes. One day, I’m pushing my straight-A report card across the table, hoping for my father to say he’s proud of me. Now, I reassure him that he is not a burden when he sits with me while Adele gets some respite. My father was a brilliant engineer, designing ship radio communication systems, and now he’s unaware that he’s been filling out the same beginner Ken-Ken puzzle reprinted for him daily for more than a year. 

FUNDY IS FAMOUS for its tides but may also soon be known for the world’s greatest concentration of certified dark-sky destinations, thanks to Picard’s championing.

As of June 2026, there are four dark-sky preserves in New Brunswick. But Picard is targeting 12 by the end of 2027.

The dark-sky corridor would include six sites along the south shore of New Brunswick from Hopewell Rocks Provincial Park to New River Beach Provincial Park.

Picard is also working with Indigenous communities, including the Huu-ay-aht First Nations in B.C. and the Neqotkuk First Nation in New Brunswick, to secure dark-sky designations for what he hopes will be the first dark-sky Indigenous communities in Canada.

At low tide, I admire the rivulets carving temporary patterns in the sand that will soon disappear beneath returning water, reflecting the rhythm and flow of life and aging. Here in Fundy National Park, the tides come and go. The stars rotate above the forest. That is the way, and we are not in control.

“Visitors who do night programming tend to leave more connected not only to the stories of the stars but to each other,” says Sinclair. “The night sky connects us all, across cultures and across time.”

Time. Indeed.

SADLY, I DIDN’T LISTEN closely enough when my father rattled on about the stars, planets, galaxies and nebulae. I am carrying forward only a tiny portion of what he knew. Each constellation I pick out for myself is a small act of defiance against forgetting. Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, or “the W,” I say to myself.

“It’s a therapeutic thing that happens,” says Picard. “When you’re looking outwardly at the biggest show in the universe, and then you’re bringing it back to yourself. The night sky taps into people’s curiosity and imagination and can also leave them in awe and pensive.”