Public meetings can be visually dull, so instead here’s a photo I took years ago showing the industrial scene at Blubber Bay, which in this case can serve as a rather loose, rocky (ahem!) analogy for how efficiently the PRRD directors ran through their agenda last night at Gillies Bay. Besides, I forgot to bring my camera to the meeting.

Not a typo, the title of this piece means that Texada Island’s main local government body, the Powell River Regional District Board of Directors, actually convened in all its glory on Texada yesterday for its monthly Directors’ meeting. This made it a physically local, local government for the first time in anyone’s memory, according to a few longtime Texadans I spoke to. Usually, the directors gather in Powell River, not especially accessible for Texadans who want to keep an eye on the local politicians.

The Texada local government tour came about mainly through efforts of our own Electoral Area Director, Dave Murphy. Dave got to show off our island’s impressive range of public and community facilities to his political colleagues, driving everyone around in the Texada Island Inn’s 13-passenger van. The assembled dignitaries then dined at the Tree Frog Bistro.  And then everyone got down to business at the Texada Community Hall in Gillies Bay.

The meeting started a few minutes after 7:00 pm, with probably around 80 to 90 people in the audience. That’s an extraordinary level of attendance for a local government meeting on an island summer evening, in my experience. Why so much interest? Answer: most likely, Lehigh’s proposed South Texada Quarry at Davie Bay, virtually the only controversial item on the night’s agenda. That item drew speakers pro and con for about 20 minutes, while the directors silently listened.

No fireworks erupted, no discussion ensued, no decision occurred. That’s set for next month in Powell River, of course (fireworks optional). No, in Gillies Bay last night the meeting rather lacked entertainment value after each side had had its say, because Chairman Colin Palmer (representing Electoral Area C, “south of town”) closed the meeting to further public comment so the Board could get on with its business. Indeed, from that point on, the directors moved swiftly through their agenda like limestone dropping from a conveyor onto a barge.

Thus, much of the audience departed shortly after public comments ended. It was, after all, a pleasant summer evening.

But those of us who stayed got to applaud as several distinguished islanders received much-deserved public recognition for their decades of volunteer efforts. We witnessed the founding of the Texada Island Heritage Commission, a new public service on our island that emerged through the efforts of the Texada Heritage Society. Plus, we got a subtle lesson in local government: all the real work happens in committees; the monthly directors’ meeting merely ratifies decisions made earlier in the process. The whole thing lasted only about an hour and twenty minutes.

Finally, the directors, their two staffers and a lone newspaper reporter all adjourned to the Texada Island Inn’s pub in Van Anda for a bit of libation and conversation before heading back to Powell River, the true seat of Texada’s not-so-local, local government.

Visiting family members Barry, Kayla, Alex and Ethan at my favourite glacial boulder, in a long-abandoned farm field off the High Road.

Off and on over the last few weeks I’ve been reading a short history of Roman Britain, by I. A. Richmond, published by Penguin Books in 1955.  I’ve enjoyed reading history almost since I first could read, and having English roots (paternal side only) has given me an ongoing curiosity about ancient Britain.  How all this might relate to Texada Island I’ll get to in a moment; please bear with me a little longer.

The blending of Celtic and Roman cultures in Britain 2,000 years ago fascinates me in many ways, but one that Roman Britain especially brings into focus is the discovery of ancient temples dedicated to both local Celtic and Imperial Roman deities, even in small rural communities. The locals had been conquered by Roman legions, and were required to display loyalty to their new masters by literal worship of living Roman emperors. But to avoid violent uprisings, the Romans tolerated local traditions as well, within certain limits. For example, Roman authorities disliked Druid tendencies toward human sacrifice (perhaps a waste of good slaves?), thus reinforcing greater reliance on sacred trees, rocks, and sculpture rather than the spilling of blood in local religious practices.

Flash forward a few thousand years and halfway across the globe, and I find a few local echoes of that Romano-British past on our own Texada Island. Today it is widely held that we live in a consumer culture, dominated by the almighty dollar. That’s our equivalent of the Roman Empire and its deities. This invasive culture of endless consumption holds sway over our economics, politics, entertainments and now supposedly even defines our basic assumptions about “the good life.”

But the grip of consumption is not total; some of us still feel an unexplained emotional closeness to particular natural places or features. You know what I mean if you would prefer to go into the forest to climb atop a glacial boulder for quiet contemplation rather than buy a new DVD. Without quite knowing why, I have found myself actually hugging a big old Douglas Fir, or issuing a verbal “thank you” to an abandoned apple orchard for enjoyment of its bounty, or even seeking out a glacial boulder as a special place to Just Be. Lacking any formal religious affiliation, perhaps this is my atavistic connection to a good life that doesn’t emphasize buying and selling (necessary as such activities may be today).

This never used to happen to me when I lived in the city. It now happens sporadically for me here on Texada Island. Transformation happens.

Centennial Service, not a mere commodity seller, but a key part of our island's local economy

Centennial Service has the best commercial location on Texada Island. Its prominent spot at the corner of Blubber Bay Rd and Gillies Bay Rd greets traffic flows coming in from the ferry, or travelling between Van Anda and Gillies Bay, making this a true corner gas station. Even the greenest first-time visitor just can’t miss it.

The owners, John and Linda, have lived on Texada much of their adult lives. I’ve observed the way they conduct business during my nine years living here, and I’d like to point out a few realities that visitors and Texadans alike should consider about our only local gas station.

Let’s start by getting one thing clear: Centennial is not really a commodity-selling business, like gas stops in the cities. For example, if you ask the city gas station attendant for directions, you might get a very brief, often uninformed answer, as in “I don’t live anywhere near here, sorry” while they shift their focus back to the long line-up waiting to buy junk food. Note that it’s an “attendant” you’re usually talking to, not an “owner” or someone who thinks and acts like an owner.

But if you ask John or Linda or Ian (whom I consider an honorary owner, given his dedication) for help, you get real, well-informed, interested help. This could include detailed directions (with a local map) if you’re lost, being a trusted drop-off point for an envelope or package for pickup by someone else later, or having the station opened up after hours so you can get gas if you’ve run out. That’s service, not commodity-selling.

Speaking of after-hours service, consider that in last winter’s snowfalls, our local gas station owners came in to work very early and stayed very late so that our intrepid highway maintenance guys, Al and Sy, could refuel the island’s snowplow/sand truck as often as needed to keep our roads open.

Yet this is a business where volume is everything. If you don’t sell “x” amount of gas each month, you’ll end up paying a higher wholesale rate than your competitors, who will eventually drive you out of business if people choose to buy their gas solely on the basis of price. Our Texada station really can’t offer the lowest prices in the region. It must contend with being off the beaten path for fuel distribution, so the owners often must pay more to bring gas and diesel here. Thus, we “regulars” typically pay a bit more per litre than the city people across the water do. But that’s ok for a loyal customer, because we know that the price spread on fuel between island and mainland isn’t price gouging, it’s just necessary to stay in business. And, believe me, this community really doesn’t want to lose this particular business.

Conclusion: there is just no way this gas station can survive without the loyal support of local people. My understanding is that Texada’s Centennial Service has about 75 such loyal customers who are keeping the station afloat, sometimes just barely. So where are all the other hundreds of vehicle owners who live on Texada buying their gas? Ah, here’s where the $5 customer comes in, pulling up to the pumps right now: “I’ll take $5 worth,” says the polite lady in the nice car, who has lived here a decade or two. “I just need enough to get to Powell River,” where, obviously, she will buy her fill of gas.

Does this hurt? Of course it does, especially for local business people who pride themselves on giving the community superb service that would be unheard of in a city. Local business people who care about their customers are treasures, the very foundation of our local economy.

Rob Diggon, of the Texada Salmon Society, shows a group of Texada kids how to check a fish-trap as part of monitoring salmon populations on island creeks. This photo was taken last August during the Kids Saving Earth Eco Day Camp (see Tom’s Texada Journal for August 2008).

As I mentioned in a previous post, “On becoming a localist,” it’s becoming clearer to many of us that economic, energy and environmental “issues” are converging into an ever-tightening squeeze on the whole world, including our idyllic island; now is the time for personal and community preparations. This post sets out a few basic assumptions about why Texadans, as individuals and as a community, should plan to adapt to a future that may look quite different from the present.

Here on Texada Island, we see unmistakable warnings of rising economic stress — another round of quarry layoffs, pricier cost-of-living, falling real estate prices, investment portfolio losses affecting many folks including those who thought they had “retired.” We’re uneasy about the unprecedented volatility in oil and gas prices, wondering when, not if, the cost of gasoline, diesel, heating oil, propane and even firewood will shoot up again. And the weather: extremes are becoming the new “normal” everywhere — including our recent local bout with excessive snow and cold, the likes of which Texadans hadn’t seen since 1964. My shorthand name for this multi-pronged predicament is “Triple-E,” for simultaneous Economic, Energy and Environmental challenges.

Islanders know about being prepared to meet our own needs in an emergency. For example, Texada’s official emergency preparedness plan merely states the obvious when it informs us that rural households should expect to be on their own for awhile when a regional emergency occurs. This “everybody for himself” emergency plan merely reflects the reality that our local government lacks the resources to provide relief during a widespread emergency. Meanwhile, the provincial and federal governments would surely have other priorities during a widespread emergency, such as helping major population centres grapple with meeting their basic needs. It’s the same with the Triple-E situation: we’re on our own.

Fortunately, the Triple-E predicament isn’t an immediate disaster like an earthquake, so there’s no panic about it — yet. Relatively few Texadans have lost their incomes so far, but based on conversations I’ve had with many friends and neighbours, there are growing concerns about the future economic and social well-being of our island community. Could such concerns translate into organized local preparations for coping with economic contraction, energy instability and climate change? Perhaps, but first we would have to overcome the inertia of business-as-usual and its stultifying twin, the mystical hope that global economic recovery will magically begin in a matter of months, or at the very latest sometime next year.

For now, the economic recovery delusion seems driven by a massive media spotlight on Canadian, US and other governments’ economic stimulus spending plans. What happens, I wonder, if the unlikely miracle of economic stimulus plans doesn’t work?

Not to overdo the gloom and doom thing, but it’s just common sense to realize that there really is no “solution” to global economic contraction, or unstable energy prices based ultimately on finite resources, or accelerating global climate change, let alone all three happening at the same time. We can only adapt to these changing situations.

Thus, it’s up to us as individual households, as informal networks of friends and neighbours, and as a small rural island community, to decide how we will best meet our own basic needs. It won’t happen because of some consultant-driven, top-down “regional sustainability plan,” or a change in the balance of power in Victoria, Ottawa or Washington, DC. Instead, we should have faith in ourselves, and start talking more openly about how we can help each other survive the unfolding Triple-E crisis.

In some ways we’ve already started to do this on Texada. Texadans are becoming more involved in gardening, animal husbandry, beekeeping and learning about our island’s history and ecology. There’s even more carpooling and mutual aid among extended families and neighbours. Without formal announcement or fanfare, quiet networks of islanders seem to be evolving in response to the worrisome news from beyond our shores. At the moment I don’t have charts and graphs of hard data to back up these statements, but I can think of many examples. For me, it all adds up to a gut feeling that we’ve got ourselves a healthy trend toward increasing local self-reliance.

In future posts I’ll take a closer look at how Texada is beginning to evolve toward greater sustainability, and imagine different scenarios that could hold real promise for successful local adaptation to the uncertain times ahead.

Low tide reveals old pier posts made of African Mahogany at Shelter Point. Texada farmers cooperatively built the pier in 1913 to facilitate their exports of agricultural goods. Unfortunately, World War I turned many of the farmers into soldiers, and Texada's agricultural activity fell into a long decline.

Some people are nationalists, fervent embracers of flag and anthem; some folks are regionalists (think Alberta) and some of us have realized that we are localists. Yes, it’s a made-up word, but to me, “localist” best describes my political, economic and social loyalties. One of my favourite writers, Wendell Berry, once summed up the localist perspective with a seemingly simple sentence: “I stand for what I stand on.” In my case, the ground I stand on is Texada Island, and I stand for (am in favour of) what is best for this island and its residents.

Well-defined geographic boundaries make being a localist easier. Texada is surrounded by enough ocean that, by choice or necessity, we localists find ourselves meeting many of our needs on the island — especially in rough weather. Trips to Powell River or further afield cost us in time and money, so in the course of daily living we gradually compile a “Powell River list” of things to do or buy that are best addressed on the mainland. Then, about twice a month or so, we travel across the water, list in one hand and open wallet in the other.

Localists feel dismay when Texada suffers losses, such as when families leave the island seeking more diverse economic or educational opportunities, or when jobs here are filled by commuters coming from Powell River, or when corporations and governments impose urban-style regulations on our rural backwater. My pet peeve at the moment is Canada Post’s new requirement that I must show personal identification every time I pick up a package. I’m told by friends and neighbours who work at the post office that this new policy is somehow related to preventing terrorism. From a localist perspective it is an absurd policy for a rural island.

There’s a long-standing yearning for more local autonomy stirring within many Texadans, I suspect, but accepting our resource-colony status quo is, for now, the path of least resistance. Rather than despair about this situation, I find comfort in an old truism: “change is the only constant.” As the global economy contracts, as supplies of fossil fuels start to run down, as weather extremes hit harder year after year, the pace of change in the world, and on Texada, will accelerate. The need for living more locally will become increasingly obvious. That’s worth further thought, and a future post, on how our community might prepare itself.