Unwelcome advice
RD: I don’t live in the Maritimes, but I have visited the Maritimes several times the first time to visit my son who chose to get his university education in Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. I was so impressed with the friendliness of the people I encountered there that I seriously considered moving. The reason I decided not to was not the unfriendliness of the people, it was the weather. I live in the West Kootenays in southern British Columbia, which has a far more benign climate. Your “Point of View” article by Doug Griffiths (“Your Welcoming Little Lie,” RD Oct., pg. 39) was completely out to lunch, as far as I am concerned. It was based on the opinion of all politicians that what we need to make life better for us is more people. I was born and raised in northern Alberta to the age of seven. At that age, I moved to Ottawa, Ontario, and later at age 10 to Whitehorse, Yukon, and four years later to Cold Lake, again, in northern Alberta. So I know a thing or two about the difference between living in an uncrowded area as compared to living in a crowded area and believe me, uncrowded is much better. In my life, the population of this country has nearly doubled, and while it is true that most people are better off financially, we are much poorer in respect to the environment we live in. People are thriving, but at the expense of most of the other creatures, due to our propensity for converting their habitat into our habitat. The more people you “welcome,” the more destructive they are to your environment. The politicians, not happy with having doubled our population, are bent on redoubling it over the next half a century. I have visited other countries that have a much higher population, and joined the crowds queuing up on crowded highways and crowded and eroded hiking trails. I prefer Canada, and especially the parts of Canada that are not so overpopulated. MrGriffiths assumes that he would hear “a resounding yes” from people if he asked “Is your community a welcoming place?” But he wouldn’t be hearing that yes from my lips. I love Canada for its uncrowded nature. I am happy to share my space with newcomers to maintain the population we currently have. But to increase the population? No bloody way. Mr. Griffiths opines that newcomers are the only ones who have new energy or new ideas, and of course applauds their ability to grow the economy. He clearly was not listening when Greta Thunberg revealed the folly of striving for “fairytale eternal economic growth.” My fellow rural neighbours are not in the least bereft of fresh energy or fresh new ideas. How dare he insult Canadians for “lying about being welcoming.” If someone new decides to move to my community, it is not up to me to pull out all the stops to make them feel at home, it is up to them to prove to me that they can find a way to fit into my community. We live in a beautiful and largely unspoiled country, and it is time we as rural Canadians spoke out against the politicians, corporations, and business interests that keep pushing this insane idea that the only path to success is to keep growing our population. It is time that people found a way to start living within our means, and stop the unbridled raping of Mother Earth.

Rod Retzlaff
Glade, B.C.

(Your point is well taken, Rod, about the fallacy of endless growth. I think we can agree that you are fortunate to have been born in a sparsely populated part of the world, and to have had the opportunity to develop a love for wide-open spaces. But other people, once born, also need to live somewhere – and surely we rural dwellers are not entitled to have the tranquility and the unobstructed viewscapes all to ourselves. Here in the Atlantic provinces, there is a pretty strong consensus that it would be beneficial to reverse the rural depopulation that has occurred over the past couple generations – not for the sake of overall economic growth, but so that small communities can regain some degree of self-sufficiency. This is widely recognized by the residents of these communities, who would rather not have to drive to larger centres for basic services. Should you ever change your mind about migrating out here, I hope you will be made welcome, like anyone else. DL)

Orange you glad it’s Christmas
RD: When I was growing up in Beechwood, N.B., our mailing address was on Rural Route 3! It was a great time to grow up, and Christmas was always the best time of the year, because even though we were poor, we kids (five of us!) didn’t know it! Merry Christmas to all at DvL Publishing!

D.C. Butterfield,
Kilburn, N.B.

Letters to Santa
RD: Christmas today is vastly different from when I was a boy. I’m old now, but I still recall what it was like at our house many years ago. Don’t dwell in the past. Good advice but hard to follow. Memories from childhood die hard. Especially those relating to the Christmas season. The arrival of the Christmas catalogues changed hum-drum life to one of dreams and great expectations. Simpsons’ and Eaton’s editions became the bible for the next few months. Within days, the toy section became limp and dog-eared due to continuous scrutiny from many little hands. All the treasures for Christmas were there. Young as we were, we realized they never could be ours. It was no secret. Money was scarce. Nevertheless, no harm in hoping for a miracle. The big push was on. Letters to Santa became the order of the day. Behind our woodstove the gaps in the wainscot made the perfect mailbox for our notes. “Put them behind the stove,” Mother would say. “Santa will surely find them there.” Sure enough, they were always gone by morning. Santa or his elves had them. Happy as larks, we awaited the great day. Would Santa come through? What would he bring? Rarely would our orders be filled. However, there was always something. A cap gun for we boys. Dolls for the girls. Clothing for the coming year. Years passed, and a new house replaced the old one. The old house was dismantled. Removing boards behind the stove, I discovered a lot of paper. Guess what? They were the letters to Santa written so many years ago. Mother or Father had pushed them through the cracks into the hollow wall behind. I took some time to read them. I couldn’t shake the strange feeling I had. Did Santa possibly get the letters? Did he really have a hand in this? Impossible? Yes. Improbable? Maybe. Draw your own conclusions.

Alonzo Sturgeon
Upper Derby, N.B.