NEW WATERFORD, N.S. — When Frankie Morrison wanted to remodel his kitchen, he didn't take out a loan, or dip into his retirement savings. Instead, the 53-year-old father of three followed in the footsteps of his son, his eldest daughter, his brother-in-law and just about every other working-age man in this former coal-mining town: He headed west for a spell, to take part in the Great Economic Miracle known as the oil sands.

“I came home with $9,200 in my pocket after six weeks,” he explained, flashing a $200 watch his employer gave him for avoiding accidents on the job. “My buddy just came back and he made $43,000. He bought a four-wheel drive, put new cupboards in his home, a new kitchen and new flooring. As a fella says, you make hay while the sun shines.”


The problem is, Mr. Morrison was making hay in Alberta while he was employed as the town councillor for New Waterford, a small community perched on the eastern tip of Cape Breton Island, near the mouth of Sydney Harbour. The local media discovered his side-act and pointed out he was still receiving a weekly travel stipend from the government (he paid the money back, saying it was an oversight).

Mr. Morrison was scarred enough by the experience that he doesn't plan to return to Alberta any time soon, but his constituents are showing no such reluctance – in fact, they're heading out in swarms.

New Waterford, population 6,500 and falling, embodies one of the less remarked-upon implications of the oil sands bonanza: a profound social and demographic shift in the small communities that furnish so much of the project's labour force during its massive construction phase.

So many of New Waterford's men are working out of town that the fire department can't recruit volunteers and the dart leagues are foundering. The local high school is having a difficult time finding coaches. A great number of children are being raised by their mothers. And finding a plumber or electrician is next to impossible.