British Columbia is a province dotted with small communities. Highways, single-track roads, gravel roads, and waterways are the arteries that link these hubs, towns, and villages. Over the past few weeks, I have had the privilege of connecting with leaders in some of the more remote areas of our province.
At the Association, we are intentional in ensuring all members have access to the advocacy and supports we provide. We understand the complexities of BC’s geography, and continually design offerings that are rich, dynamic, and varied, responsive to both place and leadership context. It is not, nor should it be, a one-size-fits-all approach.
I was reminded of this as I meandered to SD84 Vancouver Island West.
Gold River, a community of roughly 1,200 people, rests in a landscape that feels both grounded and quietly becoming. Rich in history and once primarily a resource community, it now sits in a state of transition. Two beautiful schools lie at its heart, and Principal Nathasha Toth and Vice-Principal Ben Anderson at Ray Watkins Elementary, and Jeff Rockwell and Katrina Kornylo at Gold River Secondary School, serve a community that is redefining itself and honouring its past, while envisioning what comes next.
As I left the school in Gold River to travel to Tahsis, I was given a last piece of simple information:
"Be careful driving there. It’s an alpine road. Lots of staff have had issues on that road."
That sentence stayed with me as I made my way along a dusty and winding road bordered by steep valleys, forests, and immense mountains. At every curve, I respected that advice and remained alert for oncoming logging trucks.
Tahsis is a stunning and stately west coast community, surrounded by mountains and water, and skies heavy with weather. That day, a wind came up, a wind captured by valley walls and carried with intention. It reminded me that communities are not simply within the geography: they are shaped by it, and part of it.
Communities like Tahsis thrive through the strength of community.
There is no shopping centre or outlet mall here. When I asked one of the staff about groceries, she simply shrugged and said, “Oh, you can always find someone going to town — or you can order them.” Town, in this case, being a three-hour drive to Campbell River.
For those living here, it did not appear to be a hardship to access groceries every few weeks. Rather, it seemed woven into the rhythm of life.
The school tour was beautifully led by three little ones who had not quite made their way home after school, alongside Principal Natalie Dickson. It was joyful, grounded, and entirely reflective of place.
Following the school visit, I made my way to the wharf for a forty-five-minute water taxi sojourn to Zeballos.
Arriving by water changes your orientation to place. There is a sense of ceremony in stepping from a small boat onto a wharf.
Zeballos felt sleepy and alive all at once. It is a small community with a vibrant and dynamic school at its centre. Principal Adam Barber and Vice-Principal Tim Romyn met me, and together we toured the school and community. Leadership here wears practicality and possibility at the same time. The teacherages where staff stay are relatively new and sit together in a lovely small subdivision.
And then, shortly after, a second water taxi.
The emerald waters were impossibly beautiful and undeniably cold. Not a drop of those waters was unfamiliar to Colby, captain of the water taxi and a recent graduate of Zeballos Secondary. His expertise is not learned from a manual, but from living in the area and being a steward of place.
I was humbled.
Stepping onto the wharf in one of the most remote and stunningly beautiful communities in British Columbia, Kyuquot is breathtaking. Principal Jim Baron met me on the wharf, and we made our way up the hill to the school and teacherages. Vice-Principal Erin Rix was to meet with us the following day, as we arrived late in the evening.
Kyuquot is a place that teaches you quickly about contextual literacy. Primarily Nuu-chah-nulth traditional territories, and accessible only by water and long stretches of road, it is a community where relationships, stewardship, and interdependence are not abstract ideas but lived realities. The spirit of this place cannot be summarized in a briefing note or demographic report. It must be experienced.
Meeting the leaders in these communities made me reflect deeply on the importance of ensuring our supports honour the diverse realities of our members.
Leaving Kyuquot involves a water taxi journey followed by a three-hour drive down a dusty road. Eventually, you emerge in the Comox Valley.
While the leaders here are no different from you and me, our supports must be different.
These are leaders who understand and embrace solitude. Folks thriving with few amenities, navigating power outages that may last for days, and independently creating meaningful lives and leisure, often outdoors.
These are leaders who understand community, themselves, and the relationships they hold with colleagues and the communities they serve.
That is to say, they understand contextual literacy.
These are four nuanced communities united by distance and interdependence with committed leadership from the district level to support the unique circumstances of the communities.
At the school level, something equally important is in place.
Leaders who understand the complexities between being a Nuu-chah-nulth steward of the land and being a visitor seeking to build bridges, who understand the ongoing impacts of colonialism and move thoughtfully toward shared futures.
These are leaders guiding students and staff while carefully recognizing the story of place.
Because contextual literacy is more than knowing a map or reading a demographic profile.
It is understanding the spirit of place.
It is knowing who belongs to the story, who carries it, and how leadership must bend toward listening before it rushes toward solutions.
That evening, I stayed in the teacherage, ate from the meagre groceries I had packed along, and learned quickly that preparation is part of the experience.
And honestly, there was something lovely about that.
The next morning, bear spray in hand, I headed up the road. I felt I could have travelled for days and encountered only bears, wolves, cougars — or perhaps even the mythical sasquatch, whose story remains very much alive in this region.
The silence here is expansive.
So too is the beauty.
This is not a home for the faint of heart. But it is an experience for those willing to understand the importance of place, the strength of community, and the magic of adventure.
And perhaps that is the lesson.
The spirit of place reveals itself slowly.
You travel the winding road.
You arrive with humility.
You listen before speaking.
And somewhere in the spaces between, contextual literacy begins.
And that, perhaps, is who we are called to be.
Onwards,
Dr. Shannon Behan
sbehan@bcpvpa.bc.ca