By Heather Camlot
Creating illustrated books is kind of funny if you think about it. An author and illustrator share a vision and credit, but they don’t usually meet or speak—never mind work together. Their messages to each other are funnelled through an editor and art director. And those messages tend to be one-directional—an author commenting on the art, rather than an illustrator commenting on the text.
With My Street Remembers, author Karen Krossing, illustrator Cathie Jamieson, and Groundwood Books publisher Karen Li tossed convention aside. “I suggested to Karen Li that, for this project, Cathie and I might need a more collaborative process than usual,” says Krossing. “That even though my manuscript had been edited, revised, and reviewed by Indigenous readers who were in community, we could open it up to Cathie for feedback through her lens.”
Jamieson’s lens in this case is Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee. Krossing calls her own lens white colonial settler. My Street Remembers takes a look at the history of one Canadian street, going back 14,000 years. We’re talking mammoths and mastodons, First Peoples, European settlers, treaties, the creation of Canada, immigration, apologies, even baby Cathie and baby Karen (look closely through the illustrations). That’s quite the history to look back on, for one street to remember.
IT'S ABOUT TIME
Have you ever paid much attention to the street you live on? Have you sat at the window or on the front porch and watched the people, the cyclists, the wildlife, the cars, the gardens, the pavement?
The world constantly feels like it’s speeding by. We constantly feel like we need to keep up. Sitting and watching and paying attention? That takes time. For Krossing, it’s time well spent.
“I like to watch the trees changing over the seasons, the storm clouds rising and fading, the raccoons invading the green bins, the dog walkers strolling, the crossing guard walking the kids across the street to school, and the traffic moving in and out of the city,” she says. “I watch the communities of life interact.”
Interaction is lively and steady along Danforth Avenue, Krossing’s busy street in downtown Toronto. Jamieson also once lived along the street. Today, the iconic street is lined with an eclectic mix of neighbourhoods, restaurants and shops. Greektown on the Danforth is the largest Greek neighbourhood in North America and hosted the country’s largest street festival, Taste of the Danforth, for more than 25 years.
Although My Street Remembers is based on Danforth Avenue, it really speaks to what Krossing calls a “universal relationship between us and the land that is now North America.” That relationship crosses street, land and time.
FEEDBACK LOOP
But history can be skewed. After Jamieson reviewed the text, her first question centred on perspective. “Was it a person, was it a place on Danforth Avenue, was it the passage of time seen by the land, or was it the voice of the author?” says Jamieson.
She noted that fewer pages were dedicated to the years pre-settlement than post-settlement. That 1650 to the present are mere centuries compared to the thousands upon thousands of years the First Peoples were stewards of the land. “I shared that there is much more richness of historical, cultural, and traditional knowledge that has occurred in the space that is overlooked,” she says.
Jamieson made clear that First Peoples’ stories, histories and visuals are often omitted from Western history because they aren’t transcribed from a First Nations perspective or because knowledge is lost in translation. Revelations like these are exactly why Krossing asked to work together. “Cathie’s feedback was a gift,” she says. “A way to see how the research I do influences the manuscript I write.” Krossing recognized that recorded history weighs more heavily on post-Contact history and that the texts she turned to are “settler-biased,” which affected the story’s pacing.
“I’m an author of White settler heritage and, frankly, any heritage comes with cultural blinders,” she says. Krossing had considered whether she should take on the story, whether it was hers to write. “In the end, I’d decided that everyone who lives on this land has a role to play in conversations about reconciliation with the land and our collective past. This role should not be left up to Indigenous creators alone.”
The result of Jamieson’s initial feedback? The book’s length grew by three spreads.
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
My Street Remembers is Jamieson’s first book. While collaboration like hers and Krossing’s may be rare in the book world, it is how the artist has long worked, whether for park and trail projects, theatre works, museums, galleries, or other designs. “My process for being a creative always follows a relationship-building practice. If the project has shared experiences in the beginning, then I know that the end product will be more enriched by this infusion.”
That said, Jamieson wasn’t prepared for all the feedback that goes into illustrating children’s books. Every hand-drawn page, except one, was returned with comments. (For the curious, that page is timestamped 2015 and involves the Truth and Reconciliation Commission moment of reflection.) “At first, I questioned my contributions going forward and wondered if I would continuously be asked to greatly change the illustrations draft by draft,” she said. Certain pages went back and forth numerous times.
“During that meeting, I was so deeply moved by Cathie’s stories about her art,” says Krossing. “And I cried. I was embarrassed, but Nan [Froman, Groundwood’s editorial director] told me it was the best reaction I could have had.”
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Drawing on her own historical research and the extensive background materials Krossing had supplied, Jamieson’s composition process for My Street Remembers began with the general focus figure. She then outwardly filled each page with foreground and background activity rich with meaning, detail and nuance.
Depending on the age and background of the reader, some elements will pop more than others, like the colour red. Its use is significant throughout the book. It appears as a band crossing entire spreads, for example, to represent “the ancestral tethering that keeps our minds, bodies and spirits rooted to place,” and as a visual foot stomp, “in reaction to the life First Peoples keep in every step taken with the land,” Jamieson explains.
There are also a number of cowrie shells, “a symbol of connection to spirit for guidance and the cultural context of where life can live on the land and waters.” Circles, which, according to Anishinaabe ways of being, represent spirit, also swirl across pages. “The circle speaks about continuity, the cycles of life that will always exist until it has no more life to fuel the next cycle.”
And then there’s the snapping turtle, known as Msheekehn, which only appears on the front cover and in the back matter. “I decided that this book cover would recognize how we have come to make our paths and our roads. The First Peoples acknowledge our natural path makers of the turtles,” explains Jamieson. “First Peoples would watch the pattern of migration of turtles. Many of the traditional trail systems follow the inhabiting trails of where the turtles left their marks on the land.” Learning that the turtle is secretly moving from cover to cover—creating the book’s path, creating Danforth Avenue—is fascinating.
These symbols only scratch the surface. Readers will see dragonflies and water lilies, pictographs and other visual forms of communication, symbols as navigational markers and as identifiers on clothing and body. Even the dreaded gutter becomes part of the visual story rather than something to avoid. For Jamieson, those missing millimetres represent what we don’t know, what isn’t seen. As readers, however, we’re given enough contextual information to fill in the gaps. “By showing that some pieces of information may be lost in the gutter in this book or in life, that it is also up to all of us to uncover those bits of information for a better understanding of the whole,” she says.
Nowhere is this more telling than on the spread between 1805 and 1851, which reads: “My street will never forget the conflicts, suffering and people who were turned away.” Centred over the gutter, split in two, is a male figure in front of a residential school. To the left, he is in traditional dress, long hair braided, a red strip of cloth in hand. To the right, he wears contemporary clothing, hair short, a faded red strip of cloth bound around his wrist. As readers, we might imagine the child’s spirit, culture and identity forever lost in that gutter.
“The meaning and symbolism sink in gradually,” says Krossing of the book as a whole. “Each read will bring new details to discover and ponder. I had never imagined such depth of detail and meaning. It’s incredibly impactful.”
SPREADING OUT
Also impactful are the four spreads with no text at all, save a timestamp. Li and Krossing added one of these spreads during text revisions—the street celebration with signs for Greektown and Every Child Matters—as a way to reintroduce modern society. The other three spreads came from Jamieson’s previously mentioned feedback. Despite the pages having no text, Krossing spent hours researching what these pre-Contact pages should reflect. She also went back to her reviewers for their take.
She settled on depictions of life 5,000 years ago, 1,000 years ago and 500 years ago, based on major changes in technology and tools. “I hoped that the absence of words on those pages would be an important act of silence,” Krossing explains. “It would leave more space for Cathie to illustrate how the Indigenous Peoples lived in harmony with the land for many, many generations.”
The spread that follows the trio of wordless ones is Krossing’s favourite. Picture a serene landscape with mountains, evergreens, multicoloured flowers, a dirt path and a body of water with lilies floating on its surface. On the left side stands a person, seen waist down, moccasins on the ground surrounded by a multi-pointed red stomp. The text reads: “[My street] remembers how their descendants stepped in harmony with this land for thousands of years.” Says Krossing, “I like its acknowledgement of the past harmony and a path of hope for the future.”
Jamieson’s favourite spread is the second one in the book. It comes right after a modern-day scene along the Danforth. Imagine the top third as a road, cutting down across the spread. On the road stands a person, seen knees down, pale legs, white shoes. Below the road, on the left side, is a figure sitting in an offset cave, braided sweetgrass directing the eye to a closeup of the same figure, back to the reader, surrounded by symbols of life and time. For Jamieson, the spread is a reflection of her own artistic practice.
“I sit alone in thought, I create, and eventually the symbols of my artistic creations are seen or slowly become more and more revealed,” she explains. “I take direction from connecting to spirit, asking myself the question ‘Who am I?’ To always stay honest to self, and to always honour the ancestral ties I have to place from my Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee blood lines.”
ROAD TO RECOVERY
For any author, witnessing an illustrator’s interpretation of their words is a magical moment. My Street Remembers was no exception. “It’s always delightful and astounding,” said Krossing, “like I’m seeing inside someone else’s mind to how they view the world.”
Viewing the world is, in a sense, the aim of the book. Not only does My Street Remembers reach back through history via one Canadian street and attempt to deepen readers’ relationship with the land beneath their feet, but it paves the way for discussion about Truth and Reconciliation. These are heavy topics for the target age, three to six. But they have been tackled before, such as in Every Child Matters by Phyllis Webstad, When We Were Alone by David A. Robertson and Shi-shi-etko by Nicola I. Campbell.
“All children are born not knowing colonial history, and yet we all experience it through the structures and systems that unfortunately remain part of our society,” explains Krossing. “We may not recognize these systems because we were born into them—cultural blinders—but young readers can recognize their impact if the text and illustrations remain child-centred.”
And that’s what the collaborators have done. The main text is short and lyrical, inviting readers to wonder about their own street and to take notice of its sights, sounds, smells, feelings and memories. The illustrations provide a visual guide, a jumping-off point to encourage their imagination and journey.
More information for adults, teachers or older children appears in the back matter. Krossing also suggests web resources like Whose.Land and Native-Land.ca to learn about the land upon which readers live. Jamieson adds reaching out to a local First Nation for more about their culture, languages, histories and teachings.
HIDE AND SEEK
Here may be a good time to share cultural anthropologist Edward T. Hall’s words on those cultural blinders Krossing mentioned. “Culture equips each of us with built-in blinders, hidden and unstated assumptions that control our thoughts and block the unravelling of cultural processes.”
Krossing recognized her blinders and was prepared to see beyond them. “I was willing to enter into difficult conversations about my heritage, acknowledge laws that benefitted my ancestors while harming Indigenous Peoples, acknowledge the advantages I’ve had as a result, and discuss how we can build a better future together,” she shares. “I was hoping that the process of creating this book could embrace cross-cultural collaboration.”
And it does. Relationships and connections are at the heart of My Street Remembers, through its marriage of words and illustrations and through the teamwork of the author and illustrator. “Relationship is understanding your direct connection to another,” says Jamieson. “It is most important to ensure that every relationship you have in life aims to be positive and healthy, as it will greatly impact your experiences you go through in life.”
My Street Remembers is the result of distinct cultural identities and the sharing of perspectives. The book ends with the line, “What does your street remember?” But the question is really an introduction, an invitation to readers to discover the diverse communities of their neighbourhood—past, present and future.
Heather Camlot is a journalist and editor, and the author of Becoming Bionic and Other Ways Science is Making Us Super and the forthcoming One Goal: How Soccer Can Help Save the Planet from Groundwood Books in 2026.