Jernigan and company nominated the town for the distinction of Cittaslow — “slow city” — an Italian invention that provides a framework for towns that wish to protect slow ways of life: limited development, pedestrian-friendly streets, and, of course, a commitment to local, natural, sustainable eating. Born in Orvieto, Italy, in 1999 as a companion to the slow food movement, Cittaslow now counts dozens of towns in Italy and others in the UK, Spain, Poland, Germany, and Australia. Cowichan Bay would be Canada’s first.

In Fairburn, such forward-looking notions are clawed back with aching regularity. Jernigan arrived at the farm one day to find Jackson Road, the rough gravel path that links the farm to the Island Highway, completely treeless — the result of an impromptu clear-cut by an industry that lashes out like a cornered, injured animal to take whatever it can, whenever it can. That also means no more mushroom harvests — at least at close proximity, where Jernigan likes it. “They need the forest to grow,” she says with a shrug. She chafes at overly rosy portrayals of the Cowichan region as nirvana. “It sometimes feels like smoke and mirrors,” she says, with forests still disappearing and real estate developers salivating at the prospect of building chockablock retirement communities on the suddenly barren clear-cuts.

At the farm, the last Sunday lunch of the season blunts Jernigan’s occasional pessimism. Her cooking inspires hope: devoutly local and unfailingly delicious, it is served with unwavering passion and gravity by Federico, a student at Italy’s University of Gastronomic Sciences. He has travelled here, amid the spectral, lingering presence of long-dead old-growth timber, specifically to study Jernigan’s methods. He explains to a rapt audience that in Europe, the island is seen as a culinary nirvana of sustainable practice. The tourists nod knowingly; the locals are astounded — baby steps just now starting to leave a lasting imprint. The island can fairly hope.