The culture bubble

This story is part of a feature that first appeared in print in Revelstoke Mountaineer Magazine’s July 2022 issue. Read the entire e-edition here:

By Jill Macdonald

The word on some streets and neighbourhoods is that Revy ain’t what it used to be and for better or worse, our bubble is bursting. Revelstoke is not the first mountain town to experience growing pains, we are unlikely to be the last either because if history teaches us anything, it is that we repeat ourselves.

When I first came to Revelstoke in 1988, the place came across as a rough, redneck railroad town with a biker bar vibe. Not what I was looking for. I hightailed it to Nelson, where there was espresso coffee, an independent bookstore and visible alternative lifestyles. Twenty years later, things looked different there and another fifteen years on, things are different here too – in similar ways. Resource industries are waning, affordability is out of reach and our public image is that of an outdoor recreation mecca. The irony is thick.

Change is inevitable, it is the only constant in the world. Yet in Revelstoke, some folks are feeling crowded, left behind and a bit out of sorts. Construction and tourism are two of the biggest games in a city that used to rely on logging and the railroad industry for employment and the stability to support family lifestyles. Employers struggle to find workers who can afford to live here.

Chainsaw bars for sale at Revy’s Repair and Rentals. Photo: Aaron Orlando

Revy’s Repair and Rental is a sign of these times. The small equipment shop on Fourth Street East, started decades ago by Ken Jager and Roy Abbott, reflects a time when the economy was different and different values influenced our choices and self-sufficiency skills. People earned a living with tools, household budgets were tight, and repairs were essential. No one knew this better than current owner Gerda Diederichs, who took over the business rather than see it disappear. “I grew up around mechanics, I love it. The smell of engines, the fabrication, the details.” She knows her stuff. As soon as a customer walks in carrying a chainsaw, she fires off her opinion of the model and its strengths and shortcomings. She’s not shy.

Customers are relieved by her knowledge, as consumers, they know they are in the right place. “To some extent, I make decisions for my customers because I think they should get the best quality that is.” She means small equipment that is manufactured with quality components, that supplies replacement parts and will stand the test of time.

Gerda busy at work. Photo: Jill Macdonald

Gerda is a resource. While I was in the shop, several people came in looking for various things unrelated to her business. They did not leave without options. “I like to hear people’s stories. Come in, sit down and have a coffee.” Yet by November, Gerda anticipates passing the baton – to her mechanic, Coty McClyment. “It’s time,” she says, for many reasons.

This is not Gerda’s first rodeo as a small business owner. She and her husband ran a bakery when they first came to town, twenty-five years ago. “We made protein bread for the hockey players and sold out every time. We couldn’t keep up.” She loved it and yet she wanted to spend more time with her kids, at home. “That’s why we live in a small town. To be together.”

Gerda helping a customer. Photo: Jill Macdonald

When I ask Gerda if she still feels at home in Revelstoke, she doesn’t hesitate. “No.” Her answer is quick and emotional. “I don’t ski, I don’t hike (anymore), I have to lock my house and my car, people drive all over the place and they hire companies to do their gardening and snow removal. I’m irrelevant.” She shrugs and goes back to her catalogue of parts, searching for a replacement gasket the size of a quarter.

Roy Abbott sits on a stool while he waits for her to find the right one. Does he feel like he still belongs? “No. People don’t look at me, they don’t say hello.”

When I ask him what’s missing and what is the difference, he mentions land use. “All this building, without planning. We don’t have the infrastructure to keep up.”

Small machine repairs. Photo: Jill Macdonald

This is a sore point in many mountain towns, yet some of the discomfort is a cultural stretching that is happening everywhere. Social fabrics and workforces have changed. People value different experiences. Gerda doesn’t go downtown, there’s nothing for her there. “I’m not a fancy person, I like simple things. It’s sad, you know, but I feel like I’m being left behind.”

Evolution is inevitable. We cannot stop it but we can take a minute to think about where we came from, what we want and whose shoulders we are standing on. Revelstoke is charming because of its history, it stayed charming because natural boundaries and economic structures limited its appeal. Some of those guardrails have been removed.

The Fourth Street East storefront is a landmark. Photo: Jill Macdonald

Back to the culture bubble. In another twenty years, this place will be different again. The possibility of Revelstoke becoming a bedroom community may appear unlikely, but it is already happening. The world is looking at us through the lenses of climate refuge, remote work and opportunity.

For myself, I feel fortunate to walk into Gerda’s shop and have an experience that is unique and reminds me to be observant. Respect and recognition are powerful words. They require us to stand up and acknowledge our surroundings, to dig around in the soil and check on the health of our roots. We are stewards of the past as well as the future.

This land we inhabit has never belonged to us, we live on assumptions. Our moment in time is insignificant on the grand scale, but it can be defining. We can apply lessons that have already been learned. Make room for everyone, value and support a variety of lifestyles. Or we can ignore the signs, carry on and hope for the best.