“We’ve got to eat,” my father said. “I don’t think we will receive a pay cheque. We’ve got to work first.”

“Why do we have to camp here near everybody?” my mother asked him. “There is no privacy here. It seems that all the other tents are camped so near and there will be a lot of noise from the teenagers that always prowl in the nights.”

“Your brother John and my brother David will also camp near here,” my father told her. “Besides that, we can try to go to church more often and maybe the priest will start noticing us. We never did get much clothing that he gave away.” He went on. “And we will able to get the house right away instead of waiting forever. They promised that they will build 10 houses this summer and we might get lucky.”

This kind of talk went on for days. As people arrived and set up their tents near the beaches, they talked about what kind of houses they wanted. They wanted running water and full basements. They thought that now all the things said at the priest’s house would finally come true. The talk of houses brought excitement and joy to the women in the tent city of the new Davis Inlet.