Dispatches from a Digital Nomad in Nova Scotia
14 July 2025
A Digital Dispatch by Marcus Wilson, Director
Marcus Wilson, co-Director of Pooka & Co, shares reflections from a remote working trip to Digby, Nova Scotia — exploring community, creativity and the roots of a purpose-driven digital agency.
Although I’ve worked in tech for over 15 years, I’ve never truly embraced the life of a digital nomad. But recently, I’ve rekindled my love for travel with home exchanges — and with it, a sense of adventure.
This month finds me in Digby, a picturesque little fishing town on the west coast of Nova Scotia. I’m here looking after a beautiful home — and a black-and-white cat — for a Canadian couple. In turn, they’re staying in our home back in Leith, Scotland, watching over our own tuxedoed feline. It’s a fair swap, and with pet care and accommodation covered, we can afford to stay longer and settle in more deeply.
Of course, work carries on. I’m aiming to keep things to half-days for the next few weeks, saving time at the end of our stay to properly explore Nova Scotia. I’ve had a long-standing love affair with Canada ever since spending a summer in Toronto after college — its music, its baseball, and above all, its people.
I’ve always been a morning person. I like to work while my mind is still fresh and alert. I usually dive in early, work intensely, and fizzle out by mid-afternoon. Being in the Atlantic time zone — four hours behind the UK — suits me perfectly. I rise early, work alongside the Pooka team in Europe, and clock off just as they do. That leaves my afternoons and evenings free to explore, relax, and soak up our temporary home.
What’s striking about being somewhere new — not as a tourist, but as a short-term resident — is how different the experience becomes. You fall into a rhythm, a routine. You start to see how the town ticks. And I have to say, Digby might be the friendliest place I’ve ever landed. It’s the kind of town where people greet you like an old friend, even if it’s your first time through the door.
Already, I’ve met RJ the taxi driver; Sarah the museum curator; the guy in the gift shop who emigrated from Somerset and now runs the town fireworks; our neighbour Shelley, who lends us her car for groceries and talks baseball like a true Toronto Blue Jays lifer; and Finley, a four-foot-tall Newfoundland dog who plays postmaster behind the counter at the local post office.
It all feels like something straight out of one of those old black-and-white postwar films — the kind Frank Capra might have directed, starring Jimmy Stewart or Donna Reed. While I’m no George Bailey and Pooka & Co isn’t the “ole’ Building and Loan”, I like to think we share something of that same spirit. We help good people doing good things. We charge fairly. We care deeply. And we always try to go the extra mile.
That simple approach has worked. For many years, we didn’t do any real promotion at all — just word of mouth, fueled by the trust and goodwill of our clients. That quiet growth helped us build Pooka into the agency it is today.
The spirit of that golden era still runs through our brand. Even our mascot — an invisible six-foot rabbit — comes straight from Harvey, the Jimmy Stewart classic (if you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favour and seek it out!).
The Long Road to Pooka
My love of travel started long before Pooka did. Back in 2000, after two whirlwind years in event management and theatre marketing in central London, I landed a dream job — to escape to the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. I’d spend a few months at a time living and working with galleries and museums, helping them with audience development and marketing.
Over those years, I lived and worked across Orkney, Skye, Shetland, Mull, the Outer Hebrides, and throughout Argyll, Caithness, Sutherland and Ross-shire.
Back then, I truly was a digital nomad — long before the tech was really up to the job. Mobile signals were patchy at best. I lugged around a heavy laptop, tethered to a brick of a Nokia phone. If I parked at just the right angle on the top of a hill, I might — just might — get a GPRS signal strong enough to send or receive a few emails.
As tech improved, so did the work. By 2008, I was building websites and CRM systems using WordPress and CiviCRM. We launched Northings, an online arts journal for the Highlands and Islands, and built a virtual box office system that even the smallest village hall could use to reach new audiences. It was all about leveling the playing field — helping rural promoters match the reach and tools of their big-city counterparts.
Then came autumn 2008. The financial crash was underway, and it became clear that arts organisations couldn’t rely on public funding forever. I applied for a bursary from the Scottish Arts Council (now Creative Scotland) and flew to rural Arizona to see how arts organisations survived — and even thrived — without subsidies. Read the research report here.
That trip changed everything.
I found makers, artists, writers, and promoters showing incredible creativity and drive. Their spirit of entrepreneurship was infectious. I arrived in Phoenix on the eve of Barack Obama’s election victory — a time full of hope and possibility, even in the midst of crisis. It’s hard to believe now, but there was real optimism in the air.
It was that optimism — that roll-up-your-sleeves energy of those creative folk— that inspired me to start Pooka in 2010. I wanted to help arts organisations and non-profits back home thrive through those new digital tools that were becoming ever more available.
Full Circle
Now, fifteen years later, I find myself back in North America — a more divided place, perhaps, but there’s still evidence of that same small-town warmth and values I first fell for in those old films.
At Pooka & Co, those values still guide us: honesty, community, hard work, and kindness. It’s a joy to see the business growing, supported by an amazing team who share that spirit.
Being here in Nova Scotia, waking up early to work with a team I trust, and then heading out into a welcoming little town full of stories and smiles — it’s a reminder of why I started all this in the first place.
We’re not saving Bedford Falls. But we are doing our part, one project at a time, helping good people make good things happen.
And that, as Capra might say, is a pretty wonderful life.
