Technically speaking it’s not Zita’s plan. It’s a community plan, one that was reportedly devised and approved by the residents of Fogo Island themselves. Though initially cumbersome to develop, requiring countless hours of public consultation (and criticism), making the plan of, by, and for the people has enabled the Shorefast Foundation to go about its work relatively unhindered. Founded by Zita in 2005, Shorefast is a registered charity charged with “Finding new ways for an old continuity.”

That’s not to say that there haven’t been hiccups. One example is the cancellation of last year’s Punt Race and the subsequent course change from Fogo to Joe Batt’s Arm (community rivalry, sources say, a residual adjustment to their 2010 amalgamation as the Town of Fogo Island). This year’s brouhaha was over a rock. Known locally as the “Splitting Rock”, it used to rest just below the Joe Batt’s Arm water tower. Shorefast requested, and received, municipal approval to move the rock next to the Inn. Not everyone was happy with the move, however, and there were reports that some sort of protest might be staged during the 2013 Punt Race (there wasn’t).

But, these are obstacles in Zita’s big picture world, not road blocks. So long as Shorefast continues to collaborate and consult with the community it serves, she believes it will continue to achieve forward motion.

Populace mantle aside, there’s more than a hint of Zita in the Foundation’s ambitious strategy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. By articulating blue-collared dreams of stable employment in the language of cultural fortification and innovation agendas, and by literally putting her money where her heart is, Zita Cobb has won considerable local respect, international approval and government buy-in for Shorefast’s activities.

To say they’ve been busy is beyond understatement. Since 2005, Shorefast has preserved and restored much of the island’s built heritage: homes, churches and other buildings, even the wooden punts used in the Great Fogo Island Punt Race. Rumour has it that knowledge of punt construction was only a handful of funerals away from being lost forever. It’s since been revived and passed on to the next generation. Shorefast has also re-kindled interest in the manufacture of traditional Newfoundland furniture and textiles such as quilts and knitted goods. They’ve established a micro-lending program to support small business growth and worked to celebrate traditional hunting, foraging and preserving practices. And they’ve created artist residency programs, whereby artists from around the world make the island their home for months at a time.

It’s essentially a period of suspended animation: the artists live in a restored heritage home and work in one of four modernist structures. Sharply-angled and starkly-coloured, the artist studios somehow fit the Fogo Island landscape. Indeed, you’d almost miss the Tower Studio on a quick drive-by, despite it being a vertical kaleidoscope that appears decidedly unwieldy in closely-cropped photos. Clearly, Shorefast’s architect of choice, Newfoundland-born and Norwegian-based Todd Saunders, understands the DNA of this location intuitively well.

But there’s a problem. All of these initiatives, intriguing as they are, are consumers of capital. As the people of Fogo Island and Shorefast are well aware, fiscal resiliency and economic viability require new money to flow into the area – and not just from Zita’s expansive pocket either. In the language of the Foundation, that means building “another leg on the local economy which complements the traditional fishery.” In other words, tourism.

Excuse me while I yawn.

Sorry for the cynicism, but seriously – isn’t this the same-old story that’s already been told too many times before? Turning to tourism as a panacea for a lost (insert traditional industry of choice) isn’t a new idea. In Atlantic Canada, it’s been tried over and over again with neighbouring provinces competing for the same share of international visitors hungry for maritime flavour. But travellers are a fickle bunch, lured hither and yon by marketing campaigns, weather, reputation, the value of the dollar, accessibility – the list goes on. In other words, tourism isn’t known for its reliability.

Nor is Fogo Island itself a particularly reliable destination. As befits its location, access to the island is as capricious as the changing winds. Residents readily recount episodes of having been stranded on the island for days due to rough seas and pack ice. The 41-year-old ferry, too, is not without its problems: the Captain Earl W. Winsor has been plagued with mechanical issues and capacity problems. It went into dry dock this past September for an extensive refit, after already undergoing another batch of repairs just a few months earlier. While it may be the largest ferry in the provincial fleet, the Winsor can only carry up to 60 vehicles at a time. Residents are already struggling to get to and from the island, particularly during the peak tourism season. How, then, can the Island possibly cope with increased demand? Not surprisingly, Zita has already planned for that contingency.

Enter, the Inn.

“This is your room,” says Marshall, opening the door of a modestly-dimensioned chamber that still bears the lemony scent of a not-too-distant cleanser. Tall and sturdy, he’d easily be an imposing fellow – if it wasn’t for his constant smile and gentle voice. Even so, you sense the innate strength of the man, both of mind and body.

Chrissie affirms that her gentle giant of a husband isn’t one to suffer fools lightly. And that he has zero tolerance for disrespect towards women. “It’s lucky I’m not the jealous type,” she laughs. “All the women love Marshall. They’re constantly giving him hugs.”

In the kitchen, Marshall and Chrissie point in a variety of directions. “If you get thirsty, there’s pop, juice, milk, bottled water. Here (opening a cupboard) is the tea and coffee, sugar, mugs. If you’d like a snack, we have homemade bread and tea buns, cookies. And here (opening a cupboard above the stove,) is the liquor cabinet. Sorry to run out on you like this, but we’re just about to head out for supper. You help yourself to whatever you want.”

With that, they left us alone, in their home, with Chrissie’s jewellery on a shelf in the bathroom and Marshall’s digital SLR, a Canon, next to the computer in the living room.

“Just a minute,” my husband called out. “Where’s the key to lock the door, in case we decide to go out?”

“Oh, you won’t need a key. We don’t lock doors around here.”