[LINK] "A lucky strike"

[rfmcdonald]

Last week at The Globe and Mail, Peter Cheney came up with an interesting article examining how the people of the Toronto Islands are coping with being cut off from the mainland since the ferries aren't running. Quite well, apparently.

In your fantasies, paradise is, well, a paradise. The air is filled with the scent of herbs and the trill of songbirds as you sit in your garden, contemplating a far-off world of traffic jams and daily struggle. In other words, you are in Elizabeth Amer's yard on Ward's Island, a small green cosmos where the city of Toronto is in full view, yet somehow distant.

And this week, thanks to the city strike that has shut down the ferries, it really has been a paradise.

Normally, a million tourists a year flock to the Toronto Islands, drawn by attractions such as the southern beaches and the rides at Centreville. Untold thousands spill over into Ms. Amer's neighbourhood, walking or riding the car-free, tree-lined pathways, curious to see a way of life drawn straight from The Wind in the Willows .

But since the strike began, the islands are a world transformed, stripped of their tourist hordes by the forces of politics.

“People are enjoying the quiet,” says Ms. Amer. “We don't have anything against the tourists, but there's been a lot less hubbub.”

[. . .]

[T]he strike's upside has been a spectacular quiet. On Centre Island, normally a Disney-style throng of tourists and clanking rides, you could fire a cannon through the park without hurting anyone. Stand still, and the only sounds are the cry of gulls and wind rustling through the trees. The restaurants are shuttered, the rental bikes are locked up in a compound, and the paddle boats are in dry-dock. Ward's beach, normally wall-to-wall on a sunny day, is near-empty.

“It's been pretty peaceful,” says Bob Buck, a retired actuary whose grandmother built a cottage on Ward's Island in 1934. Mr. Buck has spent summers on the islands since 1959. This week, he worked at repainting his house, and contemplated the change produced by the ferry shutdown. “It's nice to have some quiet,” he said. “But we never had a problem with the tourists. This is a beautiful place, and people want to see it. Nothing wrong with that.”

The islanders' relationship with their mainland brethren is a complex one, fraught with politics and real-estate envy. The city spent decades trying to eliminate the community and turn the islands into a park, only to be confronted with determined resistance from residents, who waged a lengthy political battle to save their homes. The fight ended in 1993, when the Ontario government passed legislation that granted long-term leases to homeowners on the islands.

Living on the islands involves a unique set of compromises. You get to inhabit a piece of real-estate that makes Rosedale look like a wasteland by comparison – you live beneath soaring trees, and the towers of downtown Toronto glitter across the water. On the downside, everything you buy (including appliances and the materials to build a house) must be loaded onto a ferry and schlepped from the dock. And if you were hoping to get rich by selling your house, forget it: Properties are priced at replacement value, and returned to a land trust.

Then there's the annual tourist invasion, which begins in late spring and runs until Labour Day or so. Some islanders feel like animals in a zoo, subject to the scrutiny of a seemingly-endless parade of visitors. Most take it in stride: “There are people who come here three or four times a year,” says Barry Lipton, a retired construction worker who has lived on the islands since the late 1980s. “They love it, and they pay taxes to support the park. They're entitled to be here.”

Even so, the civic strike has provided a welcome respite.