| The series of special articles
to follow is printed with the kind permission of Eastern Shore
author and publisher Marike Finlay-de Monchy. |
 To
Leave A Light Burning
Dateline: February
2007
5th in the "Inroads" Series
By: Marike Finlay - de Monchy
It is mid-August and there is a nip of crisp cool autumn in the
air at night. Soon it will be time for the summer residents of
Guysborough - Sheet Harbour area to begin their migrations home.
When we first arrived in West Newdy Quoddy seven years ago, the
permanent residents here asked us, hesitantly, "You're just
here for the summers then?" They seemed pleasantly surprised
when we told them that Quoddy was our permanent year-round home.
These days, I understand that surprise. There is always a hint
of bitterness in the air when summer residents pack up and vacate
their houses, to leave them dark through the long, lonely winter
nights. Still the divide between permanent and temporary residents
runs a little deeper than a faint fall turn in the air.
Some of the bitterness seems to center around the question, "Just
what do these summer residents contribute to our communities after
all?" Nay-sayers quip that the only "benefit" temporary
residents bring are raising property values and the ensuing property
tax hikes for us all. (This is not quite true since people who
have owned property in Nova Scotia prior to 2000 may apply for
a property tax cap.) Economically, of course, temporary residents
have brought capital expenditures, construction, jobs, property
tax bases, and consumer dollars to the area.
Nevertheless there is much more to life here in Guysborough -
Sheet Harbour than the almighty dollar. (And, by the way, it is
certainly not necessarily the case that all of our summer residents
are loaded with dollars. Many make quite significant financial
sacrifices to be able to live the dream of a place in our communities.
Of course, that's easy to forget when ice covers the roads and
the power and phone lines are down and you feel trapped and forgotten
out here.)
Last week when I was in Iona, a Cape Bretoner explained to me
why sometimes a gulf opens up between locals and non-locals. "Oh
people come from away and purport to bring the next big miracle
project--and then when it goes bust they take off and leave us
to face the ruin and disappointment of it all."
I recall speaking to an Austrian neighbour about my own environmental
concerns around the regular dumping of bilge water full of foreign
organisms by ships entering Sheet Harbour. He laughed at my worries
and said, "Why should I care about that? I just want to have
my place here and be in peace." I tried to suggest that "his"
waterfront might be compromised if more of us didn't care, but
he merely shrugged.
In defense of the summer residents, it must be said that many
have come here from busy, crowded, city lives, precisely to have
their peace and tranquility. This surely deserves to be respected;
peace and tranquility are among the gifts of this shore. And yet,
there may be ways that we need temporary residents to make real
and substantial contributions to our shrinking communities, ways
that none of us have yet imagined or formulated, ways that do
not, strictly speaking, have to do with money. After all, our
communities consist of more than just attractively priced for
elsewhere real estate. We live in communities with significant
human needs in regard to our inhabitants--just like all communities,
including the communities in which our temporary inhabitants reside
permanently.
The Austrian neighbour I mentioned before built his house on
the top of a high hill overlooking the Bay of Isles. Before then,
no one could look out from that hill over the whole Bay - a splendid
sight that many a local has climbed up to see. An artistic photographer,
my neighbour believes that he has enabled all of us to "SEE"
the beauty of this land with new, more appreciative eyes. Perhaps
he is right.
There are many other human contributions that temporary residents
make. One woman from Kentucky teaches a very popular Yoga course
at Sheet Harbour. Another shares her rare perennials. Still another
takes a lonely divorcée out and about. A photographer gives
everyone in her neighbourhood a calendar, illustrated with her
photographs of beautiful spots in the world, many of which are
right here.
A friend of mine likes to tend to the houses of several "temporaries"
because they bring such interesting stories and gifts from the
outside world. A whiff of fresh air, so to speak. And when they
are gone, they phone him regularly for a chat or send him strange
and unique things from away.
A professional musician with many contacts brought a famous children's
choir for a free concert at Sheet Harbour ; she also leads a choral
group in Mushaboom.
Another family from upstate New York invites the local playmate
of their daughter to visit them in New York, so that she too may
experience another place and country.
These are but a few examples of the many delicate exchanges that
take place in our communities. There are and could still be many
more. It is not for me to prescribe what these exchanges might
be. I can but recognize them, and encourage both permanent and
temporary residents to engage each other in exploring, in their
own manners, the nature of a give and take that helps to makes
their co-habitation mutually rewarding.
A successful business person could advise the chamber of commerce
on economic matters or even establish a business. A professional
writer could be invited to give public readings or writing workshops
in the schools.
The possibilities are limitless and, of course, consist of varying
degrees of commitment. What is crucial is that the divide be crossed,
that the possibilities be explored by both groups in ways that
feel comfortable. It is certainly not the case that all resident
Nova Scotians have to offer on their part is affordable oceanfront
real estate and fresh seafood-this is something I will elaborate
upon in a future column.
For now, I will end with a story I heard a few years ago. A nearby
motel regularly closed in the late fall while its German immigrant
owners wintered in Montreal. After a few years, the widow who
lived across the road from this seasonal business told the owners
how sad she was each year, when they left, to look out at the
dark motel building. The owners decided, from then on, to leave
a light burning in the kitchen for her.
To be sure, a "conservationist objector" might upbraid
me (of all people!): we know that it is wasteful to leave a light
on in an empty house night after night. Perhaps. But no one should
underestimate the energy value that warming the hearts of others
may bring on this shore-especially during the long lonely winters,
when so much of the landscape goes dark.
Read Installments - 1,
2, 3,
4,
Coming in March - "Think Globally"
Marike Finlay - de Monchy taught Communications at McGill University
and abroad, practiced psychoanalysis, carried out development
work in Latin America, and managed an organic farm in Quebec.
Marike sailed to the Eastern Shore and loved it
so much that she has since settled in West Quoddy where she runs
a small writing, editing and publishing business.
Marike and Karin Cope are co-authors of "Casting a Legend
- The Story of the Lunenburg Foundry".
"Casting a Legend - The Story of the Lunenburg Foundry"
Buy the Book Now!
Buy Karin Cope's book
"Passionate Collaborations: Learning to Live With Gertrude
Stein"
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