This summer I ve been on a mission. My objective: eradicate from our 96-acre farm some of the invasive plant species. I ve been hacking, slashing, cutting, chopping and smothering garlic mustard, goutweed, European buckthorn, European barberry...
My friend had a goat whom she loved. She named it. Bestowed attention on it. Fed it way too much grain and let the goat have the run of the place. It would visit her inside the house and when in a good mood, return her affections in kind.
When I read articles or see television video about how the world is drowning in plastic these days, I can t help thinking it s another example of the need to be careful that what you wish for might come true.
The dry years scare you, the wet years starve you. That is a weather saying that, while new to me, is one that from my experience rings pretty true.
Anyone with a relatively small patch of fertile ground can grow a considerable amount of food.
The following is a list, in no particular order, of some of my garden favourites.
Sure, I ll have another cup, said Cliff Murray when Molly Whiteside came around offering to refill his cup for the third time the other morning at Mabel s Grill.
Considering the recent election of a new (well, old) government, I thought I d use this page (mwahaha!) to write about a time long-ago when Ontario voted for a party of farmers.
Research chicken tractors and you ll find a myriad of designs and contraptions which transport chickens across a grassy field to devour fresh greens and protein-rich insects.
As I drove to Toronto one recent Sunday morning I found myself as frustrated as if I d been caught in a traffic jam on the city s edge. But it wasn t other drivers who raised my blood pressure. It was what I was listening to on the radio.
Back in the winter, I wrote a column about rural poverty, living wage, and some United Way research about life in Huron and Perth Counties. I don t usually get feedback from the columns that I write but that one did inspire a couple of people to make...
Jack and Eddy have been sitting in silence for some time, poles extended over the deepest pool in this stretch of the stream or crick as Eddy would say sacrificial dew worms suspended in the violet darkness.
I have always been skeptical, I have to admit, of aid organizations promising to deliver goats, chickens or pigs to people who forego Christmas presents.
A recent conversation with my neighbour demonstrated how farmers can view the relationship between agriculture and nature in different ways. We encountered each other along a fence line between our farms. My neighbour asked if I d like my side of the...
Cliff Murray had arrived early so when Dave Winston and George McKenzie arrived he was reading one of the Toronto newspapers that Mabel keeps around for the Grill s customers.
Fast Eddy lives on a clay hill in a fieldstone house.
You get there along a half mile lane that cuts through a field planted to corn and leads to a plank bridge crossing a narrow stream. From there, the lane deteriorates into a rutted track...
Last year, I read in a farming publication about an old saying that over their career, farmers get only 40 chances to get planting right. Of course, that is a very arbitrary number it depends on when you start, when you finish, and if you get...
As I drive along the concession roads with the glory of spring on the land, I m struck again and again with how well-kept nearly all the farm homesteads are. It s a far cry from farms when I was growing up.
It was hard to see the little, pale, brownish brain heads popping out between the clutter of spring growth and fall s faded leaves on the forest floor.
The word he used was defeated.
Len was at the Stratford Dairy XPO eating his pancake breakfast. He was a dairy farmer who had travelled from Wisconsin with a friend to take in the show.
Trees are the answer. No matter the question. That was the title of my talk for the Ontario Woodlot Association s conference in Shakespeare in April. It was such an honour to be there a great day with lots of information and tools for anyone with trees on
It was in the Detroit airport in the 1990s, heading for a southerly destination, that I first noticed it. A lot of smartly-dressed people talking as they walked. They look self-absorbed, intentionally so, it seemed. That s when I decided I d never own one