On the Importance of Community

Fifty years have flown past since I carved an opening in the woods by the shore and built my cabin at Big Bras d’Or using handsaw and hammer. In the half-century since 1971 I had never felt anything but wholehearted about returning to Boularderie Island. Not until this year, the second year of the pandemic. Cape Bretoners have enjoyed a relatively easy time with the corona virus. News reports suggested that some of them might be inclined to say that the come-from-away summer folks should stay away, and thus help keep Cape Breton Island relatively free of Covid-19. When Cousin Louise called two days before our departure from Victoria to report that she and her twin—neither having yet had their second vaccine shot—were too scared to collect us at the Sydney airport, my initial impulse was to cancel our flights and forgo ‘Bigador’ for a second straight summer. I changed my mind.

It is a measure of my antiquity that I have known five generations of the Squires family. Jack Squires begat Ted Squires, who begat Stuart and Kevin Squires. Their four sons and daughters have produced four members of the fifth generation. My friend Darcy, who I have known since he was born, turned 43 the other day. Most of the houses on Lakeview Drive are occupied by people named Squires. For that reason, I have an alternate name for Lakeview: ‘Squiresville”. Fifty years ago it was Ted Squires who lent me the ‘cat’s-paw’ tool I used to dismantle the derelict house that stood on the land. It was Ted who taught me the rudiments of how to frame my 20’ x 16’ cabin in the woods. When I had finished my little building, and installed a watertight roof over it, it was Ted’s approval I most wanted—and most valued when it was given.

Kevin was just 17 when I began pulling every nail and spike out of the old house. At age 24 I was much older. We became friends after crossing paths in our travels along Old Route 5 and have remained friends throughout the years. It is on Kevin’s land that ‘Leo’, my old Dodge Ram, spends the winter. So of course it was to Kevin I turned for alternative transport from the airport to Big Bras d’Or. He had no hesitation.

Jan and I soon discovered that we needn’t have fretted that Boularderie Islanders would be loath to have us back. In Victoria, most of our Ontario Street neighbours are strangers. Here, at an early gathering of people we have known for years, old friends were more welcoming than ever. I felt glad not to have aborted the flights.

After an absence of close to two years we found that ‘Bigador’ was not just as we had left it. Four-foot aspen saplings grew in the middle of the road. The ‘lawn’ by the cabin had turned into a tall-grass prairie. The propane-powered fridge refused to start. The 50-year-old range leaked fuel and took 15 minutes to boil water for morning tea and coffee. After two years of neglect the solar batteries functioned feebly. One by one we managed to remedy the problems. Then an even bigger infrastructure problem erupted. Driving to North Sydney for a dinner date at the Lobster Pound, the check-engine light flashed on Leo’s dash. Simultaneously the truck suffered a massive power loss. I pulled to the side of Highway 105. What to do? Well, the answer was clear. What else, call Kevin Squires. He came to the rescue, lent us his own Ram pickup, assured us he wouldn’t need it for several days.

Two weeks later, Leo is still in truck hospital. We are told the truck needs a new electronic control module but the repair folks say they can find no replacement, new or used, anywhere in North America. Once again it is a Squires who comes to the rescue. Stuart knows someone who can find me a new ECM. We now have confidence that Leo will get the necessary surgery, perhaps before we depart. In the meantime we are driving yet another Dodge Ram—Stuart’s.

I count many blessings here in the cabin on the margin of the Great Bras d’Or. The quiet is sublime. Robins provide entertainment as they feed on the berries of the mountain-ash just beyond our windows. The trail to Dalem Lake has never looked better. But perhaps even more important than all that, we feel part of a community and have friends we can count on when circumstance obliges us to call for help.