July, 1970

The province, in a controversial act, decided to drag the province “kicking and screaming” into what was then the 20th century. The idea involved offering incentives (initially this meant money) to families to move from their small villages to larger towns in an attempt to streamline and centralise services. This resettlement plan, taking place over two decades, involved the ghosting of 200 towns and villages and the forced move of 50,000 people. Predictably, the resettlement plan did not go as smoothly as the government had hoped. After several years they realised that people were in no hurry to leave their homes and way of life and, in an absolutist move, the government closed all essential services like ferries and mail finally forcing the holdouts away from their towns and homes. In a family outing from which my older brother and sister opted out of, we are going to take the boat to visit one of these ghost towns.

This outing was going to be different in one key way - my mother would be piloting the boat for the first time with passengers. After we were all aboard, my father untied the stern and bow of the boat. After tossing the rope onto the aft deck, my father kept one foot on the wharf and with the other he kicked the stern of the boat away from the dock. Making his way to the bow of the boat, my father hopped on as my mother pulled back on the gearshift lever causing the engine roar into life. With the water churning at the rear, the boat slowly pulled sternway away from the wharf. With a quick turn in the harbour, we were on our way around the steep rocky point that marked the entrance to Bay Roche.

On a clear warm midsummer afternoon the sea is a deep sapphire blue. The colour of the ocean fades slightly as it comes close to the rocky cliffs where waves break in soft white folds over fallen rocks worn smooth by millennia of waves and wind. My mother holds the boat close to shore as my father keeps an eye on any hidden dangers like sudden shoals this close to land. After about an hour, my mother pulls the boat into gap in the cliffs to reveal a rocky beach. At the center of this beach there is an old wooden wharf supported hundreds of spindly legs. Just beyond this wharf are grassy slopes on these gentle hills were the abandoned houses in various states of dilapidation. Some looked as if they were lived in only yesterday while others leaned at such precarious angles it felt like one might actually catch the moment when the house would loose its battle with the physical laws and fall in a flattened pile of broken glass and shingles. Some houses were gone completely with just the stone and mortar foundations remaining. These were houses the owners could not leave behind. These homes were literally lifted from their bases and floated to their new town and it was not an uncommon sight in the 1960’s to see a two story house floating by, being towed to its new town.

My mother rather expertly pulls the boat up to the old wharf and my father tends to the mooring. Moments later we are running on abandoned paths and wooden walkways. My mother has packed a lunch and a short time later we are sitting on blankets eating sandwiches and sipping Kool Aid next to an old cemetery filled with graves now only visited by occasional strangers on warm summer afternoons. Eventually the houses, walkways and even the wharf will be consumed by rot and time but these lonely ghosts will remain.

From July of 1970
Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum