As my father, a nearshore sedimentologist, conducted field work on the Great Lakes over the 1970s, our family spent part of each summer in one provincial park or another.

Some of my strongest childhood summer memories are of park wardens, dressed just like those in Forest Rangers, and their interpretive programs. They showed The Rise and Fall of the Great Lakes at night in the park amphitheaters, and, during the day, they taught us kids about salamanders and lake pollution and clouds and species of trees.

They were also responsible for managing the parks, checking people in and out, and dealing with any issues that arose (loud campers, low toilet paper, broken teeter-totters).

While the provincial park wardens were in charge of “park security,” they never seemed like security guards to me, and they seemed to spend as much or more of their time helping as they did hindering. They were, as a rule, amiable, engaged people who left you with an impression that the core of their role was to help uncover a tiny bit of the natural world for all who passed through their gates.

I’ve been thinking a lot about provincial park wardens of late, especially in regard to what I might generally call “public access user interfaces.”

When Premier Wade MacLauchlan took office in 2015, one of his first actions was to address senior directors in the provincial public service. In his speech he described “ten lenses” through which he intended to make decisions as Premier; in the preamble to discussion of these lenses he touched on the larger general issue of “openness and engagement”:

I have spent the past three years studying and writing about the time in office of our longest-serving premier, Alex B. Campbell, who was well-known for seeing people in his office and for reaching out to the public, including by picking up hitchhikers. For reasons that most of us consider regrettable, including basic personal and public safety, some of the openness of an earlier day has had to go by the wayside as we introduce more security-minded cautions and procedures. As you know, my first week in office included threats on my life that have led to criminal charges. This is not a business for the feint of heart.

While adding security precautions imposes regrettable restrictions on the habitual openness of our premiers, these are measures that can be considered and implemented according to our best judgment and our ability to learn from practices in other jurisdictions. The more nuanced questions of judgment or personal style come when we consider how to strike a balance between openness or accessibility and the availability of time, which is the scarcest resource when it comes to governing. These questions get at the core of how the premier and the entire public administration strike a necessary balance between delegation and coherence.

The “security precautions” he spoke about are ones that have sprung up over the last 16 years since 9/11, and have involved a dramatic limiting of public access to the Shaw, Sullivan and Jones buildings that form the heart of the public service office complex in Charlottetown. Every government employee was issued an electronic ID card, access gates and elevator limitations were added and security guards installed in each building to control access and register visitors.

The end effect of this means, for example, that to visit the Government Services Library in the Jones Building one must now register with a security guard, provide photo identification, and wear a visitor name tag during the visit.

The “habitual openness” the Premier spoke about (which was a feature both of premiers and of the public service in general) was how things were before all this: almost completely unfettered public access to the entire government complex. I used to joke that it was possible for any citizen to walk into the Shaw Building, get in the elevator and go up to the 5th floor, walk into the office of the Minister of Labour and sit in their desk, feet up, without anyone asking the time of day. And that wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

While the force of security officers that person these new posts are generally not unfriendly, the prevailing sense visitors are left with, from the way the officers present themselves, and the way they are positioned physically,  is you don’t belong here.

These security officers are, in other words, the opposite of my childhood park wardens: their help-to-hinder ratio is flipped and they in no way serve the role I think they should be playing, that of a friendly, helpful front door to government.

While the Premier, and the post-9/11 security establishment in general, are never going to win me over to the “more security-minded cautions and procedures” movement – I feel that, more often than not, action on the perceived need for more security begets little but a greater perceived need for more security – I think one thing we can take action on without trying to decide the larger “regrettable-but-necessary-security” issue, is what we might call the “interface design” of government complex access.

It is in our collective best interests that government operates – and is perceived to operate – as by, for, and of the people. The quality of the relationship between citizens and our public servants is key to this goal, and the more roadblocks, real and perceptual, that we put between them, the more we place the quality of this relationship in jeopardy.

There are some people who are really, really good hosts of dinner parties. They greet you at the door with open arms. They take your coat. They make introductions. They offer you a glass of wine. They recognize the inherent tensions of the setting, and do everything they can to mitigate them. Like provincial park wardens, they optimize for help not hinder.

This is what we need standing between us and the public service: rather than security officers, we need government wardens.

Government Wardens would be part concierge, part data analyst, part party host, part telephone operator, part counselor. They could certainly control access, if access control is needed, but the people in the role, and the physical systems supporting them, would be about enabling access, not preventing access. The message they would convey to the citizen visiting their government is you do belong here and, further, that this place is your place; of you, for you, by you.

Fortunately this is not something we need invent from scratch: think of that really great dinner party host, or the front desk staff at the best hotel you’ve ever stayed at, and you’ll understand the role. There are people who are inherently good at this; we just need to cast them. And we know a lot about how to build approachable spaces that we didn’t know in the 1960s when the government complex was planned; we can reconfigure physical spaces to be more comfortable, more useful, more engaging. And, indeed, more secure.

Wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing to walk into the new Public Engagement Atrium, built, Reichstag Dome-like, around the existing government buildings, and be greeted by a helpful, smiling warden who would help answer questions, find the right public servant, or service, or application form for you. You could have a coffee. Browse the Internet. Use the library. Renew your driver’s license. Learn how to access open data feeds. Organize a meeting in one of the light-filled democracy incubator spaces freely available. You could even learn about salamanders.

I think we can realize this goal, and I think the long-term affects on how we view ourselves and our government will be profound. Lens number four in the Premier’s address to the public service was titled “an engagement lens” and he said, in part:

Governments everywhere must continuously seek better ways to serve people and engage them. Government must be open and transparent, and take full advantage of modern technologies and media platforms to facilitate access to information and knowledge of government programs and services.

Job one in this regard, I hold, is re-configuring government’s front door, replacing security guards with wardens and changing “move along now” with “how can we help you?”

I stand ready to help.

From Warren Ellis, Finding the System that Works for You; in part:

I’m aiming for an unbroken two-month stint on MORNING COMPUTER. I have a hand-drawn grid for it on the wall, above the whiteboard, that takes me up to October 2, and I intend to put crosses in every box on that grid. (The Seinfeld Chain.)

The key pull-quote from that is not “don’t break the chain.” but “skipping one day makes it easier to skip the next day.”

I know what works for me in terms of productivity. Like “don’t for fuck’s sake put Netflix on the big screen.”  I will produce a lot less every day if I let a tv show run on Netflix. Sometimes it works as background noise, but often it draws my eye too much – video claims too much attention. What works better is throwing up a nature documentary or an art film, something slow, and mute the window, and then put music on.

This conversation-while-fishing between authors Thomas McGuane and Callan Wink covers some of the same ground. For example:

McGuane: I’m just thinking about writing.

Wink: Are you on the everyday program right now?

McGuane: Not really, uh, pretty good.

Wink: Yah, I feel like when I have a good stint of doing it a lot then it all just becomes easier, you know?

McGuane: That’s absolutely right.

Wink: Taking a month off, like I basically do, for guiding – even a couple of months – then it’s just a tortuous process to get back anything in shape for writing.

McGuane: That is the best reason for having regular work hours, is to not beat yourself up when you try to start up again.

And then the fish start to bite, and off they go. Their conversation on this and other topics is fascinating, in part because they are both masters of a craft (writing for McGuane, guiding for Wink) who can appreciate (and, indeed, practice) the craft of the other.

In my experience these are some of the best relationships to forge, and I’ve been lucky over my life to have been able to teleport my digital skills into conversations with smart, experienced people in all manner of other domains: because we each end up being a tiny bit in awe of the others’ seemingly magical abilities, we remain humble and that’s a good place to start a relationship.

I’ve now written more blog posts in the space year-to-date than I’ve written in an entire year since 2009. Mostly that’s because I decided that this was going to be the place I focused my pith, rather than scattering it among the social media fields.

I’ve never enjoyed writing more, and my experience mirrors Wink’s: when I have “a good stint of doing it” it does, indeed, “just become easier.”

Your midsummer reminder of what’s coming up in six months. Enjoy the summer. Go to the beach. Eat outside. Go for a walk. Breath deeply.

Last Saturday I tweeted out a couple of screen shots showing the photo used in a CBC Prince Edward Island news story about a new Youth Advisory Council. The first showed the photo as it was used in the story itself, as it appeared in the CBC News mobile app on my phone:

The second screen shot showed how the same photo also appeared on a Dutch website advertising farewell gifts for employees:

I found the second example because the people in the photo the CBC used didn’t look familiar, and I was curious to know if they were actually “Island teens and youth” or not.

So I fed the first screen shot into the TinEye.com reverse image search and it led me to the original source of the image, a stock photo from the Shutterstock agency that has the title “People in our company get on together very well.”

On the same Shutterstock page you can find the same models engaged in all manner of other activities, from Great team is basic of success in business to Interesting idea of my colleague:

The next day, CBC broadcaster (and friend) Karen Mair commented on Twitter “wish I understood the gravity of your posts.”

A valid question for her to raise: was I merely being “gotcha!” flippant in my tweet, or is there something I’m really concerned about?

There is something I’m really concerned about.

CBC News is in the truth business; it says so right in its Journalistic Standards and Practices (emphasis mine):

We seek out the truth in all matters of public interest. We invest our time and our skills to learn, understand and clearly explain the facts to our audience. The production techniques we use serve to present the content in a clear and accessible manner.

What bothers me about the use of stock photography is that it isn’t the truth.

The five people pictured above the headline “Teens and young adults can apply to new youth advisory council” are, in fact, not real people in a position to do this: they are paid models, acting in generic scenes.

Photography is journalism just as much as words are, and in the same way that it would be unacceptable for a CBC journalist to pull generic text from a generic text agency, it’s simply disingenuous to illustrate a news story with generic photos of generic people who are not, in fact, the subject of the story.

When I consume reporting from CBC News, whether it’s online, on the radio, or on television, I want to be able to rely on the veracity of what I’m reading or hearing or watching. I don’t want to have to wonder “is that a photo of a real car accident, or one they pulled off a stock photo site?”

The fact that a stock photo was used was disclosed, both on the mobile app (if you tap on the info icon over the photo) and on the web, in the photo credit:

But this isn’t, for me, a question of disclosure-or-not, it’s a question of the proper role of illustrative photography in CBC journalism.

The same Journalistic Standards and Practices document has a section on Production Principles that touches more closely on this use of generic or simulated media:

A reenactment of an event must match the reality as closely as possible. When a reenactment is necessary for a proper understanding of the subject, we take care to be factually accurate, using transcriptions, minutes or official documents. We may use a transcript word for word or set the reenactment in the location where the actual scene occurred. To eliminate any risk that the audience will confuse the reenactment with the reality, we will ensure that the audience can clearly identify the reenacted scenes.

Other methods of illustrating a subject may attempt to describe a situation in general terms without pretending to be a precisely accurate rendering of reality. Such methods can be used, subject to certain conditions.

A simulated scene aims to evoke or give an impression of an event, its protagonists, their actions and the place where the event occurred. A simulated scene is produced and presented in a way that makes clear it is an evocation rather than a precise depiction of reality. If a risk of confusion remains, we advise the audience that the scene is simulated not real.

Generic scenes are commonly used in audiovisual production. These are often everyday actions like walking, answering the phone, looking at a document, closing a door. These scenes clearly serve as general illustration and in no way pretend to describe real facts precisely.

I don’t think the use of generic stock agency models standing in for real Prince Edward Island teens and young adults meets this standard: these models are not a reasonable facsimile of Island teens and young adults, their inclusion is not an accurate depiction of what the Youth Advisory Council will look like or how it will operate (which is largely unknown at this point), and its inclusion is not necessary for the proper understanding of the story.

Although the use of a stock photo is disclosed in the photo credit, the typical reader would, I hold, be left with the impression that this was a real photo taken on Prince Edward Island of something related to the new council.

In the end I propose a simple standard for the inclusion of photos in digital stories:

1. Does the inclusion of the photo help tell the story?
2. Is the photo a real photo of something actually related to the story?

Unless the answer to both questions is yes, leave the photo out.

Not a photo of me writing this blog post. Not a photo of me at all. Don’t know who it is. He could be playing music. He has a nice hat though.
(“Typing” by photographer Enric Fradera. Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license)

Next in the series (with torrential rain mixed with the plaintive sounds of Anne and Gilbert in the background):

1. Royal Pita Bakery in West Royalty (in behind Kent Building Supplies) has an amazing-to-watch pita-making-machine (the “blow the bread up like a balloon” phase is especially intriguing). As a result, you can stop in and buy pita bread fresher than you’ve likely ever had it. A 5-pack of the smaller size is only $2.25. Take the kids!
2. Angel’s Cheddar-Jalapeño Bread at the Charlottetown Farmer’s Market. It’s very, very good.
3. Starbucks Cold Brew at the West Royalty drive-thru. I dislike almost everything about Starbucks, but when we’re out and about at the edge of the city on a hot summer day, in our 17 year old air conditioning-free car, a quick dip into the drive-thru for a cold brew is just what I need.

Perhaps an homage to my friend Ann’s long-running One Good Thing column in The Buzz, and certainly influenced by the excellent weekly Cool Tools newsletter, here are three new things I’ve discovered in the last while.

1. Stranger Things on Netflix. I’ve never been a fan of the “there’s something odd going on in this town” genre, but this show is firing on all cylinders.
2. Sriracha Peas from Top Fresh Asian Market. They come in a pop-top can. They’re very pleasantly hot. Maybe too hot for some.
3. Buddha Bowl from Receiver Coffee. It’s my new favourite lunch thing.

That’s it.

I’ve lived in Charlottetown for 23 years, but I’ve never seen Charlottetown Harbour in a kayak. Until this morning.

With a free morning today, a morning pleasantly cool and free of wind, Oliver and I headed down to Paddles PEI at the Charlottetown Yacht Club and rented a double kayak for an hour for $35. It came with life jackets, paddles, and friendly service. We entered the kayak from an easy-access dock with rollers on it; we didn’t even need to get wet.

Over our hour on the water we paddled out of the Yacht Club and west toward Victoria Park, staying close to shore. We explored the basic in front of Government House, then paddled back around the old Coast Guard Wharf to check out the Charlottetown Tide Station from the water. Exiting and entering through the Yacht Club gave us a chance to see the three super-yachts (think “boats that carry their own jet skis”) up close.

It was a terrific way to spend a summer morning, and I recommend it to anyone.

The CBC is reporting P.E.I. premier wants 2nd ferry for Caribou-Wood Islands run. This is precisely the moment for which I equipped the Premier, upon his assuming office last year, with a pocket-sized handy reference to the Terms of Union by which Prince Edward Island and Canada joined in 1873. It’s time to unfurl the terms.

The millennials of Prince Edward Island excel at conjuring interesting events. One of these is The Island Fringe Festival, which runs this week. I’m a sponsor, both because I’m a fan and because of excellent urging skills of Josh Coles and Ann Thurlow.

By way of ensuring that more people attend, but really because if something isn’t on my calendar it might as well not be happening, I’ve distilled the festival’s calendar of shows into a handy digital form suitable for integration into your digital lifestyle:

• iCal Feed – subscribe with your desktop or mobile calendar app at this and, presto, you’re always up to date.
• iCal File – the raw calendar data should you wish to brew your own custom version of the schedule.
• HTML – just a regular old calendar

This year’s Fringe promises to be the best yet, and, armed with my trust calendar, I am planning to wring everything last morsel from it.

I finished printing the pages of my book of klischees today. And on the last page is this gem, the Arms of Canada. What a lost art it is, that of rendering texture in black and white. Next step: binding.