Jamie Squier led a privileged life as a schoolboy in Montreal in the 1950s: doting parents, summers at the family’s lakeside home, private school education, all of which seemed an unlikely background for a future activist who later embraced a lifestyle very different from those early years.

That school, nonetheless, imbued lasting ideals in his impressionable young mind. He was taught early on that “he could participate; he could be socially responsible; he could make a difference.”

Now 52, the self-described aging hippie (he says this with a grin) has the appearance and manner more of an academic than a placard-waving protester, yet both descriptions would be appropriate.

After finishing secondary school he attended Bishop’s University in Lennoxville, majoring in economics. There he met his soon-to-be wife Jane, another “privileged,” who was studying horticulture. They shared the same outlook — a fervent desire to make a difference, someplace where they could put their combined talents to work. Technical college followed Bishop’s for courses in soil culture and hydroponic gardening. CUSO then provided the venue for their talents just one year after their marriage and birth of daughter Anna.

New Guinea was the assigned destination, not in the relatively comfortable confines of Papua, but a remote mountain village where the spoken language was Pidgin English and where the word “primitive” took on a whole new meaning. Witchcraft and head-hunting were still practised, albeit the latter surreptitiously.

Jamie took over management of a fledgling coffee co-op. The beans, grown by the locals and hand picked were, he insists, the best in the world. Jane, meanwhile, addressed what she perceived as serious dietary shortcomings in the community. Each role met real needs, CUSO’s mandate. Soon a small store was added to the co-op, providing tools, as well as sundry staples and foodstuffs such as protein-rich canned meats and fish — all at fair prices, which paid for storage facilities, transportation costs, etc. Profits were reinvested in the co-op.

Jamie rhapsodizes about their time in New Guinea. Anna thrived with playmates and the attention from the many grandmotherly village women. As for her parents, their work was demanding, if invariably rewarding. However, after two years and disturbing weight loss, they agreed it was time to return to Canada to regroup — this time to Calgary.

They settled into serious farming: growing vegetable crops, much of which they preserved. They raised hogs for meat and Angora goats for wool, which Anna skilfully turned into wearing apparel. Jamie set to work to design and build a hydroponic garden, concentrating on lettuce, which soon became a viable business. They welcomed a second daughter, Julia, and two years later son Kipling joined the family.

In 1992 the family moved to Salt Spring Island, largely because of its temporal climate and farming opportunities. Participating in protests against logging of Texada Land Corporation on Salt Spring and Clayoquot Sound — hot-button issues — established their credentials as dedicated environmentalists. All these years later Jamie remains impassioned and eloquent on the subject of clear-cut logging and somewhat cynical about government responses. Political engagement, however — and perhaps regrettably — is not on his “to do” list.

The couple separated. (We leave it there, unquestioned.) Jamie speaks admiringly of his former wife and, though now divorced, they remain on friendly terms. Jane continued hydroponic lettuce gardening, an enterprise that flourishes on her Mansell Road property. Jamie bought a small lot on Long Harbour Road and began building a modest house for himself — confident in his carpentry smarts. It would, however, be a long while before it could be said that the house was well and truly finished, due to a brief newspaper item about an upcoming Medicins sans Frontieres meeting in Vancouver.

The house tools were put aside. Over the next four years Jamie would spend time in nine different countries: Kashmir, Somalia, Niger, Chad, Congo, Sudan, Somalia, Kenya, with stays lasting from three to nine months. His administrative assignments — all related to logistics involved in establishing medical facilities — were varied: communications, transport, energy sources, water, sanitation.

Between assignments, he returned to Long Harbour Road and re-donned his carpenter’s apron. Slowly the house neared finishing, but meanwhile was enough for his needs. He points out that what one would consider comfort necessities can change dramatically after months of living a third-world lifestyle. (I visited his house, briefly and was suitably impressed with the “less is more” edict.)

Four more years passed. By now the intrepid traveller was weary of the back and forth of short stays and was anxious to establish himself in a long-term project, doing his own thing. He spoke fondly of his time singing in a church choir during his Nairobi assignment with MSF. That church is still there and the choir would, he knows, welcome him back. And he recalled a B.C. acquaintance living in Kenya — now a man in his ‘80s — e-mailing about his work there and the immense satisfaction of being a listened-to, respected purveyor of advice. Jamie knows in Africa there is much need for everything, including advice.

As of this writing, the house rental is a done deal. Jamie knows where he’s going, he knows what he’s aiming to accomplish. He just doesn’t know how long it will take.

The ad in the For Rent column stipulated “long term.”