Salmonid Enhancement Program and
Streamkeepers Volunteers Memorial Wall

2017

SMITH, Faye

March 23, 2017
Qualicum Beach Streamkeepers
Faye Smith

Faye Carole Smith Rosenblatt, devoted wife of Joe, mother of son, Silas, accomplished musician, piano teacher, and prominent environmentalist, died in hospice in Nanaimo March 23, 2017

Faye was born in Port Alberni, B.C. on March 6, 1937, the only child of Vera and Howard Smith.

Faye’s gift for music led her to the University of British Columbia where she obtained a Masters of Music in piano performance, subsequently launching a successful career as a teacher and performer with choirs and baroque ensembles.

While studying in Vancouver, Faye met her future husband, the poet and artist Joe Rosenblatt. The couple moved to Toronto where they married in 1971, and soon welcomed the birth of their son.

In 1979, Faye and family returned to the west coast living in Victoria for two years then settling in a home that once belonged to her parents in Qualicum Beach, a waterfront refuge filled with birds and wildlife, which Faye adored during the rest of her life.

In 1995, Faye took a Streamkeeper’s course with future collaborator and friend, David Clough, a fisheries biologist. It was the beginning of a lifelong passion as a dedicated environmental advocate and educator for the local forests, rivers, creeks, and estuaries. 

She was a founding member of the Qualicum Beach Streamkeepers Society, and was involved in many major projects, including the removal of the Whiskey Creek Dam, and restoring fish access to Beach and Grandon Creeks. In 1999 she joined the Mid-Vancouver Island Habitat Enhancement Society (MVIHES) and co-ordinated the Central Island Fisheries Renewal Program, followed by the Englishman River Watershed Recovery Program. 

Known for her perennial cheerfulness, warm smile, tenacity and love of nature she will be sadly missed by her family, friends, the community she served and her two orange cats.

Love Poem for Faye

Love is deep as a freshly killed bird

stroked by scimitars, measured by a whisker.

On everybody’s doormat

There is a sleeping bird.

We want to forget

But still we feel the warmth. It hops on one leg

or hangs on a branch

with a broken wing.

Joe Rosenblatt