Michael Riordon, 1996
Published by
Between the Lines
401 Richmond Street West, Studio 277
Toronto, Ontario M5V 3A8
Canada
Ordering information for individual copies see last page.
Cover painting, Mulet Country, March, by Eric Riordon (19041948)
Cover and interior design by David Vereschagin, Quadrat Communications
Backcover photo by Brian Woods
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except as may be expressly permitted in writing by the publisher, or CANCOPY, (photocopying only), 6 Adelaide Street East, Suite 900, Toronto, Ontario, M5C 1H6.
Between The Lines gratefully acknowledges financial assistance from the Canada Council, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Canadian Heritage Ministry.
Cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada
ISBN 978-1-926662-25-1 (epub)
ISBN 978-1-926662-26-8 (PDF)
ISBN 978-1-896357-05-8 (print)
NINE YEARS AGO MY PARTNER AND I LEFT THE CITY. Along with a truck-load of stuff, our dog and our cat, we lugged with us a lifetime of second-hand terrors about Life in The Country. Wed seen Deliverance. We were two gay men. With no contacts and hardly any money. On a dirt road up a hill in the middle of nowhere. In a ruin of a house with no toilet, no bath, the outhouse overflowing, the well nearly dry, and winter looming. We had the same questions then as other city folks still do: Arent you scared out there? Dont you get lonely? How do you make your living? Are you out of your mind? Its to answer such questions that Ive written this book.
When mainstream culture notices gay and lesbian folk, it tends to see us as urban. And our own media-makers have their hands full transmitting the stories of lesbian and gay downtowners. But more and more of us are choosing to live wherever it suits us. This is a free country, no? And as one gay man in northern Ontario said, Its my goddamn country too. Its for us that Ive written this book.
We hear an awful lot of loose, foolish talk about The Gay Lifestyle, The Homosexual Agenda, and Family Values. Some of it comes from deranged people who are actively bent on doing us harm, but much of it from people who just dont know any better. Its for them Ive written this book.
The way I see it, people in power stay in power first of all by commanding our attention. Kings, CEOs, and other overdressed despots would collapse in a moment without our awe to prop them up. They trick us into believing that what they do or say is infinitely more compelling and significant than anything the rest of us might do or say. Oh, yeah? Not in my book.
Sometimes folks who live in the city as I did four-fifths of my life so far forget theres anything out here but scenery. The view is a little different from the middle of nowhere. While the city may be the place to get a lifestyle, out here is where life actually begins, and ends. If small farms die, watch for more square tomatoes that taste like yesterdays news. If the oceans die, and the forests, you and I are worm food. So its for all us living things that Ive written this book.
What counts as rural? A lesbian from a Newfoundland outport calls Cornerbrook the city its got a mall. Her partner laughs; she grew up in Chicago. By rural I mean not-the-big-city, I mean places where we lack the critical mass of our urban cousins, so we have to do things differently Like locating a reliable source of porn, or Birkenstocks.
To find people for the book I put out a paperstorm of notices, letters, and ads in gay, lesbian, and mainstream publications across Canada. Many well-connected folks helped out by suggesting contacts Id never have reached otherwise, and these led willy-nilly to many more. In all I met about 300 gay men and lesbians. I travelled on and off for a year, some 27,000 kilometres, by car, bus, train, and various-sized boats and planes. Like Blanche Dubois, I depended greatly on the kindness of strangers.
To produce a book of affordable length, I had to put aside, with regret, many stories as rich as the ones included here. In addition, places and people I didnt reach could fill many more volumes. That includes much of Qubec. I have neither the skill nor the resources to do extensive translation of intimate conversation. When a group of lesbians and gay men in Rouyn-Noranda spoke with Brian and me in their own first language, it was a quick, sharp lesson in how francophones must feel in most parts of Canada. To the First Nations and francophone people who shared their stories in what for them was a second language, many thanks.
Youll find very few people of colour in this book, alas. By and large, rural areas are about as welcoming to them as to homos, only we can hide better than they can. Also absent are city dwellers who grew up rural. Since that takes in about sixty percent of the Canadian population, I decided early to limit my search to folks who are currently living in the country. Ive also chosen not to pursue people who define themselves as bisexual. Some women and men in the book are bisexual, but felt it important to identify as lesbian or gay. After all, the only part of the bisexual thats under siege from our enemies is the homosexual, yes?
Where participants have chosen to conceal names or places to protect the innocent, Ive put pseudonyms in double quotes the first time they appear.
Without the Canada Council and the Ontario Arts Council, I could not have made the search this book required, nor afforded the time to write it. The knives are out for the arts councils. They need and deserve any public support they can get.
Warm thanks to Martha Gould for editing with insight and respect, and to Marg Anne Morrison at Between The Lines for her warm, enthusiastic support of this project. And finally, Im deeply grateful to all the folks I met for their courage in revealing so much of their private lives to a voyeur with a tape recorder.
A young man met me at the bus in northern Alberta. Since he lives deep in the closet with his Jehovahs Witness parents, wed agreed it would be best if I stayed at a motel. Instead, he took me home to stay with the family. But, I asked, how did you explain me? No problem, said he, I told them you were writing a book about gardening.
By then wed pulled into the drive and there was Mom, waving. Over dinner they asked me what I knew about gardening. Nothing really, I said breezily, thats why Im writing the book, to see what I can learn. And by the way, its not really about gardening. I caught a glint of panic in my young hosts eye. Served him right. Its actually about northern gardening. How well we learn to embroider a lie.
When I left, Mom and Dad came out to say goodbye. Well be sure to look for your book, Dad called. What could I say? You do that, I called back. Just look under vegetables and fruits!
