Building Along the Fault Lines
To many outsiders, this British
Columbia island retreat is still like a vision of Arcadia. Under the surface,
though, lies a deep schism over opposing lifestyles.
ELISSA POOLE
AT THE SOUTH END of Salt Spring
Island, close to where the ferry from Vancouver Island docks, a ramshackle
houseboat and a few tents and rickety driftwood structures festooned in flags
shelter about 20 squatters. Cannily positioned, Freedom Village doesn't clearly
fall under anyone's jurisdiction and has therefore remained untouched. But many
locals don't like it. At the other end of the island, large,
multi-million-dollar houses loom over the entrance to Long Harbour, another
Salt Spring ferry terminal. The owners are often summer people. Locals don't
think much of this either.
Salt Spring is a place of
opposing lifestyles, an island of schisms as undeniable as the fault lines that
may one day tip it into the sea. Green party signs proliferated during the
recent election, but hillsides are blotted with clear-cuts. There are weekly
workshops for homemade bio-diesel enthusiasts, but SUVs line up at the pump for
regular gas at more than $1 a litre. And conservationists, developers and
activists for affordable housing all eye land with the same > hunger.
Outsiders don't see this. To
them this most populated of B.C.'s Gulf Islands is heaven -- an Arcadia of arts
and crafts, alternative healing, counterculture fashions, Buddhist retreats and
old-fashioned vacations. But for many residents, protest -- against everything
from fish farms to ferry schedules -- is a way of life. Some make the national
news. A recent two-year struggle to stop a clear-cut by Texada Land Corp. received
more than the usual exposure when Salt Spring women posed nude for a calendar
to raise money, and when Lady Godiva rode again, accompanied by bare-breasted
supporters, through downtown Vancouver.
But most protests against
development occur one neighbourhood at a time, and anything that threatens to
bring more people to the island is contentious. Now that the population is over
10,000 -- up from about 3,500 in the early 1970s -- many islanders are
particularly concerned about sections of the community plan that could permit
rezoning, which could significantly increase the number of residences in rural
neighbourhoods. Thirty years ago, moonless nights on Salt Spring were pitch
black. Now, a haze of reflected light bathes even the darkest nights.
Thirty years ago, I regularly
walked the five miles from Isabella Point to the ferry without seeing a single
car. If one did go by, it was most likely a beater that would never have passed
inspection on the mainland. Most social gatherings then were potlucks and
everybody recognized one another. Today, BMWs and Mercedes stream on and off
the ferries, and parking defeats all but the most intrepid on a Saturday
morning in Ganges, where a once unassuming farmers' market is now jam-packed
with tourists. Here they'll find local soap, cheese, designer coffees, weaving,
pottery, furniture, tie-dyed T-shirts and one-of-a-kind items of every sort at
special Salt Spring -- i.e. inflated -- prices. You can even pay in Salt Spring
currency.
The old Salt Spring -- farmers,
back-to-the-land hippies, American draft dodgers, working people and a few
comfortable retirees, mostly so spread out that one house didn't look upon
another -- is going. And along with the million-dollar homes on small lots has
come a more urban sensibility and a demand for such amenities as an indoor
swimming pool, theatre, smoother roads. As these demands are met, the island
becomes even more attractive to a certain type of buyer.
Locals call it Whistlerization,
another name for extraordinarily high-priced property, lots of tourists,
seasonal residents, and, crucially, the squeezing out of middle and lower
income groups. In 1998, the price of a modest home was $250,000, a figure that
had skyrocketed to more than $355,000 by 2003. Prices are dramatically higher
for waterfront. The average working family for whom the island is a home -- not
a resort or an investment opportunity -- has nothing to show for this except
higher, even crippling, property taxes. The most conspicuous change on the
island is the plethora of upmarket new houses, but the underside i
s a lack of
affordable housing for those who, just 10 years ago, could have found it. Less
than four years ago, there were 75 properties (including both land and
dwelling) listed for under $200,000. Last week there were 13.
Ellen Garvie is the executive
director of the Salt Spring Community Housing Land Trust. The private
organization's mandate is to establish pockets of affordable housing on the
island by providing homes for purchase -- at less than market prices -- while
maintaining ownership of the land itself. "In our parents' time you could
purchase a house at your annual income," says Garvie. "Now it might
cost the average islander almost 10 times his annual income." Garvie knows
that the Land Trust could be one solution. But so far it has been unable to
compete within the present real estate market and zoning restrictions.
In the meantime, residents with
median incomes or lower can only afford to rent. But there's nothing to rent
either. Vacationers gobble up that market. "Why," asks island realtor
Donna Regen, "would someone rent their house for $1,200 a month if they
can get $1,200 a week during the summer season?" So, as residents search
in vain for affordable housing, so-called ghost neighborhoods spring up in the
wake of non-resident owners. Drew Thorburn, a long-time south-end resident,
points out that this has huge ramifications for the community at large.
"Salt Spring depends upon volunteer time," says Thorburn. "The
guys for the fire department, coast guard auxiliary, the people who run the
community halls and soccer teams: they're all volunteers. We have an unusually
high percentage of skilled people who put a lot into the community for free.
But many have been beaten down by the steep prices."
So they leave. Nothing says it
more clearly than the first morning ferry from Crofton, on Vancouver Island, to
Salt Spring. It's full of commuters -- people in the building, retailing and
service industries -- coming to work. Salt Spring is losing the diversity that
gives it its unique character: its arts and crafts community, its farms and
small businesses.
It is also losing its children.
In 1980, the Gulf Islands School District was the fastest growing in B.C. But
as families leave, enrolment declines and there is less money for schools. In
June, the island's school board voted to adopt a four-day school week. Parents
were outraged. Ironically, the measure may lose almost as much as it saves (the
government allots $5,300 per student) if parents pull their children out of the
district to send them to five-day programs on Vancouver Island. For those whose
budgets cannot accommodate child care, the four-day week may be the final straw
that drives them off the island.
Salt Spring is still
picturesque, still a haven, though some of us now have getaway cottages on
smaller islands to escape the hustle. As I sit on my deck, logging trucks haul
loads of timber off the island and more lots are cleared. The contested Channel
Ridge subdivision will soon bring in another 405 single-family dwellings, well
beyond the category of "affordable housing." And wealthy tourists
still shop for real estate. Freedom Village hangs on, however -- a potent
reminder of the tough choices in Salt Spring's future.