Community support in Shelburne County a salve for lingering trauma of wildfire

On a typical afternoon at the arena in Barrington, Amy MacKinnon might be helping people pick up laundry soap, a bicycle or a grocery gift card — anything to help ease the burden placed on families by the massive spring wildfire.

"By and large, people are just confused," she says. "They have lots of questions and they don't have the answers to them yet." 

They want to know things like what their insurance will cover, how they can afford their deductible, how to replace a freezer full of spoiled food. 

They can get some material needs met at the "free store" at the arena that's stocked with donations. But to MacKinnon, who normally runs Our House Youth Wellness Centre, there is another unspoken question underlying the ones that are asked.

"What they're really saying is, who cares about me?" she says of some of the hardest-hit families. "They're feeling hopeless. Or, like, who's going to care for me?

"So that's what we try to say here: We've got you."

'A lot of mental trauma'

The fire started May 27 near Barrington Lake in Shelburne County and grew rapidly. On June 13, the province announced the fire had been brought under control at around 235 square kilometres in size.

The fire displaced 6,700 people and destroyed about 60 homes and 90 other structures. 

Laura Torak thinks it'll take a long time for people in the area to process it all. 

"There's a lot of mental trauma that has taken place," she says. 

Torak owns the Ship's Galley Pub in Shelburne, and also volunteered to serve meals for first responders and evacuees throughout the fire.

She says people talk to her about their memories, and she's still troubled by her own.

"I can't look at the sky when the sun's coming up or going down because it's red," Torak says.

The sunset looks a lot like the red light of the flames, she says, and billowy white clouds remind her of smoke. Helicopters, or even a lawnmower that sounds like a helicopter, makes her think of the water bombers.

"I love campfires in the backyard. I don't think I'll have one this year," she says. "It's too soon." 

She finds relief in talking with people, and says she'd love to have a community meeting with some counselling support to reinforce that what she's going through is normal. 

Torak's son, Eric Jeffery, is a fisherman and volunteer firefighter. Although his work on the fire is over, he's still on alert. One day he smelled smoke through his open window and ran outside to find out where it was coming from. 

"I knew it was close, because you could tell by the smell of it," he says. After going around his property he spotted smoke coming from his neighbour's chimney and felt relieved when he realized it was coming from the wood stove. 

"But just the first instinct was to run around and check everything," he says. 

Some people in Shelburne told CBC News they're still anxious about the possibility of another fire, saying they haven't fully unpacked their cars so they're ready to go just in case. 

Significant mental health issues

Dr. Vincent Agyapong is the chief of psychiatry for Nova Scotia Health's central zone, and the head of the psychiatry department at Dalhousie University. Before coming to Nova Scotia, Agyapong lived and worked in Fort McMurray, Alta.

He was one of 88,000 people who evacuated during the 2016 wildfire that destroyed part of the city. After that, Agyapong started to study how people responded mentally to the disaster.

What Agyapong found was that "the one thing that protected people's mental health was priceless," he says.

Out of hundreds of residents who responded to a survey he conducted six months after the Fort McMurray fire, about 14 per cent reported symptoms of major depressive disorder and 19 per cent reported signs of anxiety. Around 13 per cent reported symptoms consistent with post-traumatic stress disorder. People also reported high rates of drinking and other substance abuse. 

He repeated the survey three more times, most recently at the five-year mark, and found that people kept reporting higher than expected levels of distress. 

"The prevalence rate for these disorders were much elevated after the wildfires at all the various time points that we examined how people were doing," he says.

Agyapong also discovered the distance from people's homes to the fire didn't seem to affect how they felt afterward. Some were severely affected by the evacuation even if their properties weren't damaged. And some who only experienced the fires through television images reported being affected.

Following the Nova Scotia fires, the province announced $500 emergency grants for evacuees, a relief program for small businesses, and short-term grants of up to $550 for people who were put out of work.

But Agyapong's research suggested money alone — whether it came from the government, the Red Cross or an insurance company — couldn't guarantee peace of mind.

"None of these factors protected people from the mental health burden over time," he says.

The one protective factor, he says, was support from friends, family, and community. 

"Everyone should be rising up to the occasion to support anyone that they know that lives within the wildfire region."

How to access a mental health clinician

Formal mental health supports are important too, he says, and anyone seeking help should contact the mental health and addictions program at Nova Scotia Health.

The health authority has published a list of ways to access the in-person and virtual mental health services it offers. It is also opening a new mental health and addictions location in Clark's Harbour on July 4. 

But Agyapong also explains that after a disaster, clinicians won't be able to immediately help everyone who is struggling. So, he says, it's important to reduce the number of people who go into crisis as much as possible – and community support is the best way to do that.

"Community organizations should be rising up to support local community agencies so that they can be able to better support people who are living in the wildfire regions," Agyapong says.

Back at the Barrington arena, Amy MacKinnon is deeply worried about people being pushed into poverty, and about their mental and emotional health going forward. She hopes to set up a community hub where they can connect, share grief, and get some mental health first aid.

In 20 years of community work, MacKinnon feels this is the most important thing she's done.  

"It has been the best work of my life," she says. "It has been hands down the most impactful, best work of my life."