Many Meetings

+++ WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 2010

It's 5:00AM, Newfoundland Standard time, and the fun has just begun: canceled flights, throat infections and the impending doom of a storm the likes of which no one has seen in these parts during the last one hundred years. The storm punishes the East Coast of the United States dumping upward of 3 feet of snow on the wary metropolitan dwellers of Washington D.C. and Philadelphia. And as it rages it's way toward Canada we are assured that here in Newfoundland we are safe from the violent brush of this cranky tempest. At 5:00AM looking out my living room window at a clear dawn I feel safe, for now.

I start my little blue car, turn the heaters on max, scrape the ice from my windshield and knock away the frozen slush which has accumulated around my tires. Snow tires of course. It is winter in Newfoundland and one can never be too careful.

My destination this morning is Gander International Airport located in the town of Gander about 100KMs from Fogo Island where I currently reside. The airport was well known as a stopping place for international travelers flying east or west across the Atlantic ocean, but today I am about to meet 10 people, along with two wonderful little kids, traveling from within North America whose flight will take them briefly over the Gulf of St. Lawrence on their way to the island of Newfoundland. The final destination for these 10 travelers flying into Gander is Fogo Island. It is the largest of all the offshore islands in the province and for the month of February it is where these travelers and many other participants and lecturers will be exploring the aesthetics of Outport interiors.

Standing at the arrivals gate I already know from the many emails and correspondence I have shared with them in the last two weeks that I am about to meet an excited group. Instantly recognizable at the doors of this little airport the participants slowly spill into the baggage claim area. They expect to see me, know my name, and I look quite obvious while standing there holding my clipboard. For me it's instant speculation, a game of trial and error ... "You must be ... ?". With hands shaken, names exchanged, baggage claimed and drivers delegated we go for a quick drive down the street to the 'Country Kitchen', a restaurant whose proprietor is from Fogo Island (after spending some time in this province one will soon realize that between Newfoundlanders 'six' degrees of separation is far too many). While at the cafe the participants are able to preview their destination, for all the walls are covered in framed photos of Fogo Island.

Once fed, it's back on the road to catch the Fogo Island ferry which leaves from Farewell. Upon arrival we join the line-up for the ferry and wait patiently for about an hour or more. Sitting here in my little blue car last minute phone calls and emails are sent. Preparations are finalized for the beginning of an exciting 17 days of workshops and exploration.

The horn blows and we take our respective place in underbelly of the brawny ship, the MV Captain Earl Windsor. Exposed to the refreshing smell of the salt air we climb the stairs to the passenger deck. The first means of contact with Fogo Island begins now as we enter the doors and it is an important one: the people. Sitting together in this modest passenger room the participants begin to absorb the outport environment through attitudes and dialect, while local islanders observe these new visitors to their community and try to ascertain the reason for their visit. Everyone is used to this by now: strangers are a common sight as the world slowly comes to discover the magic of the Islands.

It's very dark now, and nothing can be seen from the cabin windows except for the dim flicker of street lights in the distance. This is the beauty of being ferried to the Island for the first time at night ... the mystery. Getting closer you emerge from this 'outer space' and into the loving arms of an island that is preparing to welcome many more.

We arrive on Fogo Island, participants are escorted to accommodations in Fogo and Joe Batt's Arm to meet the aesthetic of the outport interior eye to spirited eye. Some congregate for soup and a beer while others put sleepy babes to bed. Those participants who have never experienced a Newfoundland outport community will have to wait until first light of the following morning for the secret to be revealed.

I head home, finish up work for the night and head for bed. I look out the window for one last glimpse of that big storm but I only see street lamps covered by a foggy haze and every where else complete blackness. And when the sun rises tomorrow these artists, designers, architects and craftspeople will be introduced to a renaissance the likes of which nobody as seen in these parts during the last one hundred years, and that is more powerful than any silly old blizzard.


+ + + Greg White