I spent some time at my old place in Toronto today.
Can’t say I miss that town much, but I can’t complain either; it was pretty good to me over the years: mugged once, a not bad career, relationships. And for people as young as I once was (and their new baby), it’s still got the hotness.
Here’s a small town anecdote for a change of pace.
I live in a community of about 30,000 in farm country. To our north is a sizeable Mennonite population—everything from modern worshippers (large black SUVs in neat rows at weddings & funerals) to old order folk (horses and buggies trundling side roads out in the vast nowhere).
This past summer, a group probably somewhat in between those two polarities happened to be picnicking at a park in town by the river.
Halfway through my 73 km journey, moments after I set our from a stop at Ontario’s best unknown brew pub—Black Donnelly’s—in a desolate rural wilderness near Fullarton, the clouds opened and the rain came to remind me of a day of wind-driven biblical rain in Scotland.
Riddle me this: we have a #garlic festival coming up here in #stratford the weekend after Labour Day, and yet in the #Sobeys, my only choices are GHG ghouls from China, Egypt or Spain.
How is it we can’t get local produce into our ‘supermarket’ when we all know the world is melting from shipping stuff like this thousands of miles from from at least two authoritarian regimes?
A restored #steam-powered #tractor seen near #Uniondale. I’m guessing the #boiler would have been #oil-fired versus #coal - otherwise a ‘fireman’ would have been needed to shovel fuel while the #farmer drove…