ON THE EDGE
My hometown in Newfoundland, Canada
Life holds on by a thread in a rural inlet with no connection to normal. A town of a couple hundred, maybe. From here, it’s an hour’s trip into The World, down a winding road where potholes thrive, plowed perhaps only by uncles and cousins, and used only in much disdain.
The ebb and flow of life is felt especially in coastal towns tucked away. Reliance here is on community. But lately, these families dwindle. Life and death but mostly death. Elders who founded this harbour are long gone. Newborns have hopeful eyes set on the mainland, far, far away.
And now, this town is a ghost, haunting those who choose to stay every morning and every afternoon.
They drive by houses they’ve seen built and burned. They drive by wharfs washed away. They drive by where the old school once held the youngsters, where the old church was filled to the brim on Sundays, where the old couple on the hill used to sit on their porch. Things that used to be and no longer are.
The World moves so quickly. But here, everything is stuck in slow motion, haunted by the past.
Every absence is felt like a crater. Who is left to chop the wood, to tend the vegetable garden, to dry the wet, snowy clothes? Who is there left to care?
The World told us we should not catch our own fish, hunt our own game, chop our own trees. They replaced the very essence of our livelihood. They said we should not steer our own boats—the very boat my grandmother took to school every morning and every afternoon.
Because The World does not care about potlucks or kitchen parties. The World does not care about youth groups or bonfires. The World does not care about 50th anniversaries at the legion or first Christmases at the cabin. The culture, the traditions, the once thriving community is of no importance to The World; it was left to rot.
And so we left.
Somehow, The World took everything from us. They promised to give, but they only ever took.
And so we left.
The World has moved fast. In the shadows, there remains life on the edge. Holding on by a thread to their denied way of life. They fight against The World just to survive. But they know they have already lost.
And so they will leave.
And what will remain?
