Last Visit

September 10, 2053
Maple Plains Provincial Park. Prince Edward Island, Canada

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The low, grey clouds moved quickly across the sky as I stand at the railing, looking back over the Northumberland Straight from the edge of the land, back at mainland Canada. The wind is cool and brisk and I’m glad I wore my heavy jacket. The park is empty now, all the summer visitors gone, but there are still a few residents left on the island, farmers mostly. The island’s pretty much abandoned now.

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Back in the 20’s the island was over two thousand square miles, with a population of over one hundred and fifty thousand. Now it’s a series of islands totaling under one thousand square miles and the population is under five thousand full-time. 

As I look back, I try to spot where my father’s farm was, by Albany Corner, but all I see is dark water. The rising sea level and storms have eroded all that area and washed away the buildings. I feel a deep sense of loss. The farm had been in the family for over a hundred years, and it was supposed to be mine when my father passed. I guess it’s good he didn’t live to see this day. He would have been heart broken.

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I’m not sure why I’m here. Maybe to take one last look? Maybe to say goodbye? I don’t know.

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There’s nothing here for me, just like there’s nothing for me or my family back at the refugee center in Moncton. We’re just one family of so many who lost everything. When the “once in a hundred year” storms became a lot more frequent, the edges of the island didn’t stand a chance. Beaches eroded quickly and low-lying land was swamped. As water levels rose, the storms took more and more, submerging beaches, sea-side communities, campgrounds, and farms.

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The province was never rich and couldn’t do much to help its residents. The federal government spent millions building sea walls to stop the erosion, but that only succeeded in slowing it down. In the end, all we could do was leave.

Now, we’re refugees in our own country. We’ve lost everything and rely on government handouts, living in makeshift camps.

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Many have lost hope.

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Maybe I’m one of them. 

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Maybe that’s why I’m here – to find some hope that things will change back, that we can get back to what we once had.

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But looking out over that dark, choppy water, I know my past life will never come back. Things will never be the same again. I feel the first drops of cold rain and return to my car.