4. Neighbours
Islanders responded in every possible way to the arrival of these new, exotic neighbours. Back-to-the-landers speak of being met with suspicion, friendliness, xenophobia, empathy, pity, derision, open curiosity, and open arms. Mark Arnold can’t forget how helpful people were, but neither can he forget that both of his dogs were shot. Laurel Smyth was an out-and-out hippie, who had gone from being "a teenaged bride, the first divorced person I knew, and a failed analyst of Noxema Chemical Company of Canada, all by the age of twenty-one," to a puppeteer. Two of her first Island homes were a school bus and (when pregnant, and having become obsessed with all things aboriginal) a tepee on Panmure Island. She always found it easy to hitchhike, because people were friendly, and it was a way for them to find out about her.
'Oh, what's your name? Oh, Smyth? Well, that's not an Island name. ... How long have you been home?' They all knew you're not from here but they still called this 'home', and they still called you 'dear.' And from those conversations sometimes that's where people ended up with a house to live in for free for the next winter 'cause 'Ah hell, we're not using it. You might as well live there, dear.' A generosity that was unbelievable. They'd drive up and bring us fresh catch from the sea and bring us potatoes by the bags. They were just wonderful to us.
She good-naturedly says that "When we first arrived it was like 'Hey, we got hippies! Let's go see them.' There were some places where they'd drive up to see you. 'Let's go look at the hippies,' like we were an amusement park or something." Or something. As Laurel discovered when house-sitting alone for her sister and brother-in-law, some visitors assumed she would be into "free love," and she had to chase them away.
But mostly, the back-to-the-landers speak of the kindness and generosity; Cef Pobjoy refers to almost everyone being "adopted" by someone in the community. Many rural Islanders were thrilled that these young people were taking over dilapidated farms and rejuvenating rural communities, that they were emulating the traditional Island way of life even while introducing new and interesting ideas. Judith Merrill, who moved with husband Steven from Boston to Gaspereaux, tells of the immediate connection they made with Howard and Gladys Jameson, neighbours who had given up farming. The Jamesons took the Merrills under their wing, to the point that the Merrills became almost grateful for power outages, when they could return the favour, inviting the Jamesons down to sit by their woodstove, drink tea, and play cards.
There's something about this Island that entraps people who are original and different, and the fact that they stay here and it happens means that the Island really can support these kind of people. And that's what I felt about the Jamesons. It always astounded me as to how much they opened their hearts to us. And it wasn't just being kind. They absolutely loved being around us. They would love to sit and talk with us and we would have great conversations. And anything we were doing, no matter how far out it was, we could tell the Jamesons. ....I don't think the Jamesons are something special that we found. I think that is the Island nature that they have.
Steve Merrill couldn't find a job at first, and at one point they talked of leaving. Years later, Judith learned that Gladys put a rosary on the fencepost at the foot of the Merrills' lane, and prayed that they wouldn't go.
For many in central King's County, Angus MacLean and his wife Gwen were akin to ambassadors between the back-to-the-landers and the local community. Angus was not just a war-hero, long-time politician, and, between 1979 and 1981 Premier of the province, he was a never-left-the-lander, running a small sheep farm in Lewes. Angus helped newcomers get established, telling them who they should talk to. "He was a really forward-thinking guy," says Cef Pobjoy, "for someone who always said he was a backwards guy." Wendy Ader-Jones tells of going to a funeral in Lewes of a back-to-the-lander. There were perhaps 100 people gathered at the cemetery, when Gwen MacLean came over to Wendy and gave her a $100 bill to give to the widow. That was "a lot of money back in the mid-70s, especially for us. It was just such a poignant moment, I'll never forget that because she could have come and been part of it, but it was all of us hippies that were there, you know, and she didn't want to intrude or make a scene, but she wanted to contribute."