In the Middle of Somewhere

Labrador City is situated in the middle of this Google Map satellite image.

Growing up, there was never any concern about the religious beliefs of foreign countries, the possibility that a quiet twenty-something might take his frustrations out on innocent people, or the threat of being assaulted on your way home from school. Feeling safe and secure weren't even identified as benefits because we didn't know anything else. We were just growing up and enjoying life. Aside from the very real threat of frostbite and the occasional black bear wandering into city limits, there wasn't much for us kids to be concerned about growing up in the mining community of Labrador City, NL.

We appreciated the pristine, natural world that stretched out endlessly beyond our town boundaries and sought many of our leisure activities within: hiking, cross-country skiing, camping, skidooing, fishing... We instinctively took care of that massive expanse of spruce and rock and water long before it was socially and environmentally correct to do so.

But just as we respected the dry, frigid temperatures in winter and the relentless black flies in summer, we respected the power of fire. When your whole world is a 40 square kilometre settlement tucked within 295 square kilometres of forest, you tend to respect such natural threats.

I remember the impact a distant raging forest fire had on our community. I suppose it would be similar to those who live in other areas similarly at nature's mercy - the threat of flood waters drowning your world or of earthquakes shaking it to pieces. My Labrador City world was never devoured by fire, but it frequently knocked on our door, letting us know it was there, reminding us of its potential. I remember people in nearby communities being evacuated, and others refusing to accept such an order, opting instead to remain tenaciously aboard their ship, coating it with a steady stream of protective water from their garden hose. I know people who have lost cabins, Newfoundland's word for cottage, a universal family refuge from responsibility-laden houses and time-dependant routines.

There is a fire raging in Labrador right now, close to town. Labrador City's neighbouring community of Wabush was recently ordered to evacuate due not to the threat of being incinerated, but to the poor, smoke-infested quality of their air. Like any event that necessitates an evacuation, those residents in the safe zones opened up their houses, churches, and cultural establishments to the ones displaced. It's a tense, uncomfortable, unsettling situation, but one that illustrates the generosity of neighbours.

Nature's fury imposes her will all the time, anywhere she chooses, as powerfully and as relentlessly as she chooses. It's a common story populating the newsfeeds and Twittersphere. But when she threatens the very place where you innocently spent the first twenty years of your life, you pay close attention. You feel the trepidation of its current residents, even at 2000 kilometres away. You can picture the pillows of smoke that smother the clean blue sky and flow past their television screens on the local news. You can smell the burning wood and moss and lichen and you remember that a dampened version of that smell will linger eerily along the highway for weeks after it has been extinguished.

One can only hope that temporarily poisoning the town's air is as far as the fire's assault reaches in Wabush. At last review, residents were permitted to return to their homes even as the fire continues to burn and the potential for another evacuation order remains. Even so, I imagine there is a wave of relief to return to their unscathed homes. Because regardless of how long you've been away from your home, you never forget what it looked like the day you left.

What home would have looked like the day I left twenty years ago.

One Passion Captures Another

One Passion Captures Another

Some might argue that it's unnatural or even unsettling to find oneself underneath a bridge. After all, the main reason for a bridge's existence is to enable secure passage over water. But on Welland's recreational waterway, it's perfectly acceptable to pass underneath one - several of them, in fact. This one is the historic Main Street lift bridge that, aside from the spirits of historically-inclined individuals, no longer lifts at all. But it does add to the character of the canal, whether or not you appreciate its structural stature.

And while the bridge does safely transport motorists over the canal, there aren't any motors whirring beneath it. Only non-motorised vessels are permitted, providing a welcome calmness for those who like to glide along in their canoes and kayaks on a mellow summer evening.

I happened upon this eclectic team of rowers one evening while I was exploring the eastern edge of the waterway. It was rather exciting to encounter, actually: a refreshingly dynamic subject to photograph compared to the motionless lightposts and monochromatic brickwork along the shore. Not only that, but the lime green and violet and royal blue of the rowers' jackets were like drops of paint against the combined greyness of the cement canal walls, the steel bridge, and the rippled early evening water.

You don't need to be a part of a team to experience the water in this way. Anyone can indulge in their flatwater inclinations on the old canal thanks to the rental program at the Welland Recreational Canal Corporation.  It's a great way to perhaps try out a new activity and to see the bridges one drives over all the time from a completely different angle!