Every summer from 1927 to 1968, Toronto conservationist Charles Sauriol and his family moved from their city home to a rustic cottage just a few kilometres away, within the urban wilderness of Toronto’s Don River Valley. In his years as a cottager, Sauriol saw the valley change from a picturesque setting of rural farms and woodlands to an increasingly threatened corridor of urban green space. His intimate familiarity with the valley led to a lifelong quest to protect it. This paper explores the history of conservation in the Don River Valley through Sauriol’s experiences. Changes in the approaches to protecting urban nature, I argue, are reflected in Sauriol’s personal experience – the strategies he employed, the language he used, and the losses he suffered as a result of urban planning policies. Over the course of Sauriol’s career as a conservationist, from the 1940s to the 1990s, the river increasingly became a symbol of urban health – specifically, the health of the relationship between urban residents and the natural environment upon which they depend. Drawing from a rich range of sources, including diary entries, published memoirs, and unpublished manuscripts and correspondence, this paper reflects upon the ways that biography can inform histories of place and better our understanding of individual responses to changing landscapes.

In the 1930s, sanatorium directors and medical bureaucrats warned of the threat to Canadian society of "Indian tuberculosis." Long-standing government policy aimed to isolate Aboriginal people on reserves and in residential schools, while their access to medical care was limited by government parsimony and community prejudice. Characterized as "racially careless" concerning their own health, Aboriginal bodies were seen as a menace to their neighbours and a danger to the nation. By the 1940s state-run racially segregated Indian hospitals institutionalized Aboriginal people who were not welcome in provincial sanatoria or in the modernizing community hospitals. The opening of the Charles Camsell Indian Hospital in Edmonton in 1946, one of the first acts of the newly created department of National Health and Welfare, was a very public demonstration of the state's commitment to define and promote "national health" by isolating and institutionalizing Aboriginal people.

War is an inherently traumatizing experience, and during the First World War more than 15,000 Canadian soldiers were diagnosed with some form of war-related psychological wounds. Many more went unrecognized. Yet the very act of seeking an escape from the battlefield or applying for a postwar pension for psychological traumas transgressed masculine norms that required men to be aggressive, self-reliant, and un-emotional. Using newly available archival records, contemporary medical periodicals, doctors' notes, and patient interview transcripts, this paper examines two crises that arose from this conflict between idealized masculinity and the emotional reality of war trauma. The first came on the battlefield in 1916 when, in some cases, almost half the soldiers evacuated from the front were said to be suffering from emotional breakdowns. The second came later, during the Great Depression, when a significant number of veterans began to seek compensation for their psychological injuries. In both crises, doctors working in the service of the state constructed trauma as evidence of deviance, in order to parry a larger challenge to masculine ideals. In creating this link between war trauma and deviance, they reinforced a residual conception of welfare that used tests of morals and means to determine who was deserving or undeserving of state assistance. At a time when the Canadian welfare state was being transformed in response to the needs of veterans and their families, doctors' denial that "real men" could legitimately exhibit psychosomatic symptoms in combat meant that thousands of legitimately traumatized veterans were left uncompensated by the state and were constructed as inferior, feminized men.

The nutrition programs that developed in Montreal Protestant schools during the 1970s attest to a deepening awareness of child and adolescent welfare. The combination of grassroots activism and government support that brought about these initiatives took place in the context of post-Quiet Revolution Quebec, when Montrealers were grappling with the role that the newly activist state should play in social life. At the same time, school nutrition reform was part of a broader ongoing renegotiation of state responsibility. Both in Canada and the United States, governments were steadily assuming a mantle of responsibility for expanded liberal rights.

Student mental health services were created at many American universities during the interwar years in association with the mental hygiene movement of that era. In Canada, psychologists and psychiatrists became focused on the well-being of schoolchildren during this period, but services for university students were minimal or non-existent at most institutions until well after the Second World War. Influenced by American trends and in tune with rising public concern over the problems students were experiencing on Canada's burgeoning campuses, student organizations, in co-operation with the Canadian Mental Health Association, began a concerted campaign for improved services in the early 1960s. Through conferences, seminars, and surveys, they revealed the extent of student distress, and by 1965 their efforts were attracting increasing media attention and having a direct impact on university student health policies. Their campaign then entered a new phase, transformed by the same radicalization that infused the wider student movement in the wake of the Berkeley free speech protests. Dissatisfied with the institutional response and distrustful of the motives behind the services now provided, activists questioned the very meaning of 'mental health' in the context of their deeper critique of the university and society. By the end of the decade, the student mental health movement had run its course, but it left a lasting legacy in the ongoing reform of university health services and in attitudes towards student mental health.

How did the rat-control program, launched by the Government of Alberta in 1950, become associated with the identity and heritage of the province? The authors answer this question by undertaking close visual analyses of the anti-rat posters and pamphlets that were distributed by the government throughout the 1950s. Using a visual methodology inspired by semiotics, they argue that the early rat-control program ambitiously promoted Alberta as a unified, clean province that was both distinct from its prairie neighbours and for the most part populated with vigilant, hardworking citizens eager to remove unwanted intruders.

Between the 1890s and 1930s, anglophone politicians, journalists, novelists, and other commentators living in western, central, and eastern Canada drew upon established connections among greed, luxury, hysteria, and femininity to describe women who went shopping as irrational. Their motivations for doing so included their desires to assuage feelings of guilt about increased abundance; articulate anger caused by spousal conflicts over money; assert the legitimacy of male authority; and assign blame for the decline of small communities’ sustainability, the degradation of labour standards, and the erosion of independent shopkeeping. By calling upon stock stereotypes of femininity, and by repositioning them to fit the current capitalist moment, English-Canadian commentators constructed disempowering representations of women to alleviate their anxieties about what they perceived as the ills of modernization.

This article explores the work of the Calgary Birth Control Association with a particular focus on their referral service to help Albertan women obtain abortions in Seattle. The fact that Canadian women were travelling to the United States for abortions highlights the shortcomings of the Canadian health-care system and the legal changes in the 1969 omnibus bill. Cross-border travel is also compelling evidence for the argument that reproductive rights are an international issue. More particularly, this study demonstrates the tensions that reproductive-rights activists faced in addressing the needs of individual women vs the long-term objective of changing the laws and improving accessibility.