Jasper in our hearts

August 16 2024

Today the people of Jasper start their journey home. Our hearts go out to them.

Thinking of the people in much-loved Jasper makes me think of our own return home after wildfires devastated Slave Lake in 2011. You see the photos and hear the descriptions,but nothing really can prepare you for what you are about to see.

When our family returned to our house, there was silence in the car. As we drove through the once familiar streets, now devoid of the landmarks that once defined them, it was heart wrenching. The homes of our friends and neighbours- homes that were once their sanctuaries from the world, full of mementos and memories and dreams for a future life they could no longer live-now reduced to a pile of ash. Neighbourhoods that once rang with the sounds of children playing were now a wasteland of rusting car bodies, the blackened skeletons of trees, and piles of rubble jumbled up behind miles of fencing. The randomness. The injustice. For those who didn't lose their homes, an odd feeling of survivor guilt. But mostly, just an intense and overwhelming feeling of loss. 

The days and weeks that followed our return were strange. We tried to think of what we could DO to help. Every one of our son’s friends lost their homes. That summer, our basement was full of teenage boys. We started gathering stories for a book. We did a lot of listening.

So much loss., But also a kind of strength comes from living through a shared disaster. Jasperites might not see it yet, but they will. They will see it in the faces of their neighbours as they come together to grieve. They will hear it in the voices of their friends as they express their anger and frustration, and again, as they tell of their determination to rebuild. They will hear it in the stories they share with total strangers. They will feel it in the support from people all over the country through their fundraisers and donations and their emotional support. They will find themselves doing things they had never considered doing before, and they will think nothing of it, because they have already lived through the unthinkable. Anything is possible now.

A forest needs a wildfire to regenerate. The old needs to burn away to make room for the new. We know that some species only thrive in the aftermath of fire, while others benefit from new growth. Some trees need extreme heat to release their seeds. Others regrow from their roots. Wildfires release nutrients to the soil and increased sunlight allows pioneer species to recolonize. While a town doesn’t need a disaster to thrive, a disaster can lead to a kind of rebirth. It can lead to a re-evaluation of what you really need to make your town be its best self. That involves not only resilience and practical skills but also new ways of thinking - maybe qualities you already had that have just been waiting for you to need them. The regeneration of your community might also include some people leaving because the environment doesn't give them what they need, and new people coming forward who thrive in the regrowth. The seeds for that rebirth have been buried for years, just waiting to be released. They are there now, under the ash. You cannot see them, but the green shoots are already climbing upwards towards the light. 

We wish you well in your journey, Jasper.

New growth emerging from the ashes,

Devonshire Beach, Slave Lake. June 2011

Gibara Reflections

Sometimes a place you visit stays with you. Gibara is one of those places. 

On the evening of September 7, 2008, Hurricane Ike made landfall in Gibara, Cuba. 

Twelve meter high waves and winds of up to 209 km an hour lashed the coast, flattening homes, decimating crops, and turning whole communities to rubble. 70% of Gibara's homes were damaged, many ruined beyond repair.

Gibara  waterfront September 2008. Hiram Enriquez of Digital Stucco

Gibara- "la Villa Blanca"-the white city- a formerly wealthy and elegant sugar port, known for its bohemian spirit and love of the arts, now a sleepy fishing village of quiet streets and aging colonial buildings. Crushed.

Along the waterfront February 2017

The government had evacuated all residents in the path of the storm. An estimated 2.6 million Cubans-25% of the country's population- got out of the way of the storm. In its wake, seven were dead and there were 7.3 million in damages, Cuba's costliest natural disaster.

After the storm passed through Cuba, it moved on to Texas.  There, residents refused to obey their mandatory evacuation order. Despite being a "first world country", despite warnings of certain death, 200,000 of those under evacuation notice refused to leave their homes. Of the 195 who died in Hurricane Ike, 113 were in Texas.

September 2008 Hiram Enriquez of Digital Stucco

After Ike, the people of Gibara picked themselves up and cleaned up the mess and began to rebuild. They had very little in the way of international support. But they moved on with their lives, because that is what you do.

It has taken them years. 

Downtown Gibara today

Walk the streets of Gibara today and you won't see rubble. You'll see stately buildings,sea scoured and sun bleached. 

You'll see the charming colonial Hotel Ordona and the newly opened Hotel Arsenita, waiting for tourists. 

You'll see stained glass and brilliant paint. You'll find a quaint museum with its dioramas and an enormous whale skeleton. 

You'll find hilltop miradors and cafes with spectacular views. 

You'll find peaceful homestays with lovely courtyards and rooftop patios. 

You'll see the fabulous Cinema Jiba, home to the yearly "Poor Man's Film Festival." 

You'll find older people who smile and shake your hand and thank you for coming to their town with your tourist dollar. 

You'll see dignity. 

You'll see resilience.

Hotel Arsenita

On May 15, 2011, disaster visited Slave Lake. 130 km an hour winds and a massive wall of flame raced through my town. Thousands of people jumped into their vehicles and evacuated themselves without any public warning or formal evacuation notice. There were no deaths.  But the destruction was immense. 

More than 400 homes were lost in the Slave Lake wildfire-a far cry from the 43,000 homes destroyed in Cuba by Hurricane Ike. But unlike the Cubans, the people of Slave Lake had insurance. They had government assistance. My town had millions in donations from people around the world through the Red Cross and other agencies.  

The people of Slave Lake, like the people of Gibara, picked themselves up and got on with rebuilding. Because that is what you do.

Six years on you would not know anything happened in my town. We have buried the scars of our disaster behind the facades of our beautiful new houses and lovely landscaping and brand new public buildings. You'll see no reference to the wildfire, not even in the name of the Legacy Centre, built almost entirely with disaster recovery money.

Ruins along the seawall.

Not so Gibara. 
You still see its scars in the ruined concrete along the sea wall. 
You see the damages in the broken pavements and boarded up windows.
You see the history of their struggle written on walls still waiting to be restored.

Most of all, you see its spirit. 
The spirit of its people who are quietly getting on with life. 
Because that is what you do.