Just returned. A month on the East Coast. Quite a thing. Interesting to consider the Quebec identity issue coming out of this experience. Can’t help but feel geography plays a large part. In the Maritimes, it feeds into notions of community and belonging. The sea and ragged coastline demand a blend of self-reliance and cooperation.
Our Greek family members were utterly blown away. Interesting that folks who come from what is essentially Europe’s vacay Disneyland, responded so overwhelmingly to a place they would never have heard of, much less considered, had it not been for our urging. We told them so few in Canada have any sense of exactly what a gift this region is to the nation. Various folks from away who discovered the place, and moved there, share this perspective with us. An ex-Concordia design teacher, living in Lunenburg, said that her students from NS and NFLD always wished to return; her students from Calgary never expressed a similar sentiment. When speaking of Quebec, I don’t know if it is important to talk about numbers of those who want to return, or about who actually comes back and what do they look for in the return?
The sea and highly variegated shoreline also made it easy for communities to nestle into remarkable settings. They built to last, and built with a strong sense of where they were: the sea demands humility. We met folks from all over the place who have, or want, a piece of this. As a consequence, there are locally inspired, cultured cosmopolitan pockets in the most obscure places that speak to a diversity of visitors and residents. The locals are gentle, generous and far from insecure or rancourous.
In speaking with locals about my affection for the people and place, they responded with a cheery wink, grateful that not all folks from central Canada regarded them in the same way as Harper: lazy, with no desire to be productive. Folks from away, including many French Canadians, easily sense this generosity of spirit, and many are drawn to it.
On our trip home, timing had it that we had to find some town on the south shore of the St-Lawrence in Quebec to eat lunch. An internet search did not present the kind of easy going, community venues we had been used to finding in NB and NS. We tried St-Jean-Port-Joli. The contrast could hardly be more striking.
Unlike NS, much of the remaining heritage infrastructure had been mangled, replaced by shoddy, eclectic and idiosyncratic structures. It was Sunday, and remarkably, it seemed like the whole town was out having brunch. Charmingly, young and old strolled around and sat at the local restos. It appeared that life was complete for these folks. A clear sense of community pervaded, but it was one that appeared to be self-contained, with no interest in the world beyond to either receive nor communicate — share — ideas, experiences etc.
For me, Lise Ravary’s article/argument reflects and promotes this latter type of community: vibrant, but closed; pleased with itself to a point of disinterest in the world. As opposed to a gentle, at times self-deprecating openness that others wish to engage, it is a cultivated, exclusivity that is not necessarily hostile, but indifferent to any outside interlocutor/influence. Ravary arrogantly, with rancorous undertones, promotes this exclusivity. In contrast, Maritimers are infectiously upbeat and gregarious. The upshot for me is, I don’t really want to have anything much to do with Ravary’s little culture. Far from petitioning for a place, if I was an immigrant, I would want to leave it asap. I would wish for my world to be as large and inclusive as possible, and I would want to share the joy of it.
In NS, there is a fine tradition of folk art. Self-consciously primitive, and cheekily expressive, a sample follows below. In St-Jean Port Joli, we came across this sculpture I call “What-the-fuck?” Jesus. No irony or self-deprecation here; merely didactic, humourless idiosyncrasy.
Sounds like somebody is looking at little houses down east.
Sure. I am speaking with an agenda. Yet, after a week in NFLD, some other interesting impressions emerged.
Newfoundlanders are well known for their delightful biting humour, and if your going to live in such a “terrible, marvellous place”, this makes a lot of sense. Facing the world and receiving cfa’s are also inflected by this disposition. My contact with locals was often dry, neither interested nor disinterested. Not so much putting up with visitors, but lacking in any curiosity, without much effort to please.
Also, NFLD, similar to Québec, but for different reasons, has a more self-satisfied and less optimistically open culture. There are shared good reasons for both these tendencies, it seems to me: exclusion and prejudice from mainlanders/ROC. NFLD also has the harshness and isolation to contend with. No judgement, really; accident of geography plays one part again. It still makes NS an interesting counterpoint.
Your observations of people and place got me to thinking. The closest I have ever come to Newfoundland is through having known individuals from there over the years. One person I have known the longest has some odd traits that I have learned to accommodate. The terms are that we engage in enthusiastic conversations when we see each other but this must be always by chance on the street in passing. One must never pre arrange a meeting. Unannounced visits are o.k. We dig into film, gender politics and US politics, and neighbourhood gossip, peppering it with dark humour. Many are the times I have gone to his apt. with something he had asked to borrow because he never drops by to get it. On randomly unexpected occasions he answers the door and invites me up for a chat. In the past he has been a great help with some heavy duty repair or moving chore around our house. He then will accept a meal and a drink with us. We have invited him to dinners but he will not attend unless the guests are someone he already knows and likes. He has generously offered on many occasions to drop off a rare film on CD from his collection but he never delivers. He has never answered an e-mail and rarely a phone message. In his mind Island people are different than mainlanders. He has confided much to me over the years about his relationship with his family back home, mutual friends and romantic interests and workplace stresses in Montreal and his general philosophy of life none of which is at all concerned with conventional bourgeois preoccupations. He does not see himself as special or eccentric. He lives alone (he warns that coupling-up is slow suicide) and has devised a lifestyle in which he answers only to his feelings or whims of the moment whenever possible. He is a very sensitive and emotional person and he protects himself accordingly which I think explains some of his skepticism about the intentions of others. He is humble and self effacing and yet proud and unbending. He carries Newfoundland inside himself like a rock. He has always found the islands barren ruggedness chillingly unfriendly and is amazed tourists flock there and are enchanted with the place. He returns there each summer to see family and friends and tries to ignore the rest.
In his mind Island people are a breed apart from the mainlanders. He is sure that this principal holds true the world over. He carries Newfoundland inside himself like a rock and it makes him both as transparent and inscrutable as it must be.
Ya, that’s the nub, isn’t it? The visit there is essential, in my view. You’ll get it. The monstrous nature of the geography and how it demands so much from people, not just in simple hardships, but because it manifests so strongly with no care for human scale or sensitivities. And it’s far and on the edge of the planet and for so many years has been taken to be an afterthought by the country that it fell into.
As a result, local communities are tight, sharing deep bonds and with a common sense that mainlanders could never get them, not unlike the Quebecois. Whereas, the latter have no need to communicate/share if they do not wish, for Nflders, there are just no positive expectations. Hence the dryness/indifference among a good few, in my view, making for interesting characters.
Gentle, n’est-ce pas?