Living in limbo: Why Gaultois should not be allowed to crumble into history
Isolated and remote communities are vulnerable. We ought to protect them
This column is an opinion by Martine Blue, a freelance writer and filmmaker. For more information about CBC's Opinion section, please see the FAQ.
Do you believe in place love at first sight? That a town can beguile you on so many levels that you to start fantasizing about moving there within minutes of arriving? I do — because it happened to me in Gaultois.
My partner and I visited the isolated island community on Newfoundland's south coast while shooting a video project.
As I walked off the ferry, I felt emotionally moved by the town's unique beauty. Gaultois is a painter's plein-air dream. Every corner is canvas-worthy.
Romantic visions of walking the town's hills and feeling wildly, creatively inspired haunted me.
Four days later, we bought a house.
We weren't so blinded by love that we neglected due diligence. We Googled Gaultois and quickly found the word "resettlement" (the province's ongoing program offering money to residents of remote communities to move to larger "growth centres").
Our new love was under threat, but we decided that not buying the house would be like not hooking up with your soul mate because a disorder runs in their family.
We vowed to stay either way.
Waiting for the big decision
Not having lived in Gaultois a year prior to the expression-of-interest vote and owning another rural home excludes us from voting on resettlement. Gaultois has a significant part-time population that gets no say in the fate of the town. Now, as the Newfoundland and Labrador government figures out who is qualified to make the final decision, all we can do is wait and hope for the best.
The part-timers to whom resettlement is a deal-breaker — those without the capacity to buy and run their own boat for the 20-minute trip from Hermitage — are living in limbo, wanting to keep working on their houses but unsure if they will have a ferry.
If resettlement goes ahead, officials say, the power would be cut.
We would lose all government services, the health clinic, library, town hall, school, post office, water filtration, garbage collection, street lights and infrastructure maintenance. Resettled residents would be allowed to keep their houses as cabins but would have to make significant investments to make their homes function off the grid.
The uncertainty must weigh heavily on full-time residents, but they don't discuss it much.
Resettlement has historically divided towns, especially when the voting threshold used to be 100 per cent buy-in from all residents. Resettlement is a deeply personal choice.
Isolated communities are challenging to live in. Weather and ferry mechanics can complicate travel plans. Access to medical facilities, employment options and opportunities for kids are important considerations. Residents have to factor in all the logistics with their historical connection to the town, to friends, family and their way of life. They are making these gut-wrenching decisions while staring at the most gorgeous views on Earth.
They are making these gut-wrenching decisions while staring at the most gorgeous views on Earth.
Gaultois was once a bustling town of 750 people, lured by steady work at the fish plant. The town had several stores, takeout restaurants, a bakery and a rocking bar with live bands. It was a town people resettled to from the smaller communities around Long Island; Raymond's Point, Stone Valley, Piccaire, etc. Most residents of Gaultois have already resettled once.
One of the province's most remote communities is a four-hour ferry ride west along the coast. Francois is grand and breathtaking. Magnificent fjords encircle the fishing village of vibrantly coloured homes and Instagram-ready views. Walking along Francois's boardwalks, admiring engineering that allows the community's many waterfalls to flow freely beneath homes and sheds, is spectacular.
Residents recently voted no to resettlement. I travelled there in search of its secret, to discover why their relocation movement didn't make it past the first vote. After speaking with people, I sensed an uneasiness. Even without the pressure of an impending vote, the worry of death by continued outmigration is palpable. Resettlement takes different forms.
What about the cultural loss?
Folks in favour of resettlement cite the costs of keeping remote communities running. I argue that shutting them down would inflict a huge cultural loss for the province, the country and the world. Isolated communities offer an utterly unique lifestyle that is worth preserving. These places speak to your soul in a way that's impossible to quantify.
Why not lean into the history of resettlement along Long Island as a thematic tourist draw? A boat tour to Whale Island (a significant archaeological site in Gaultois harbour) and neighbouring resettled communities, a hiking trail circling the island (like the East Coast Trail) with camp sites and historical plaques.
Turn the derelict fish plant or the Big Fish Store into a microbrewery. Offer adventure sports like kayaking and rock climbing. Create an artist residency with guests teaching courses in painting, photography, writing.
We have the Gaultois Inn and restaurant and Ronny's Groceries, so infrastructure already exists. I realize these could be complex and/or expensive endeavours, but they are worth discussing to start exploring the possibilities.
High-speed internet makes living and working from anywhere viable. With the current trend of outmigration from cities, remote places are experiencing a renaissance. I believe people would be attracted such a unique, visually stunning and safe town if more houses were available to buy. Several homes in Gaultois have been left to decay. The few houses that do become available are quickly snapped up, indicating a strong interest in the town.
Where does resettlement end? Isolated and remote communities are vulnerable. Will the only approved growth centres become amalgamated towns and cities? Will many of N.L.'s most charismatic communities be left to crumble into the sea, tearing a hole into the cultural fabric of the province?
I'm not the only one who became immediately smitten with Gaultois, as if immobilized by an aphrodisiac pitcher plant. One morning a visitor on the ferry repeated "I don't want to leave, I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE" as we chugged out of the harbour.
I know how she feels. I don't want to leave either.
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