Like a summer with 1,000 Julys

EMC Editorial - My grandfather never made it to New York - a fact that probably seems irrelevant to those who didn't know him well. To those of us who had the good fortune to spend hours, days, and years in his company, though - rocking on the rusty old front porch swing at the cottage, cold drinks in hand, soft St. Lawrence breezes blowing as we tapped our bare feet to the perfectly-pitched tones of that classic crooner with whom Gramps shared a first name - to us, the fact that he never made it to that mythic city seems nothing short of ironic.

Sometimes Gramps would sing along to his favourite songs, and sometimes he would blare them so loudly you'd swear all of Howe Island could hear echoes of My Way, What a Wonderful World and New York, New York.

I have been to New York three times in my life, yet to this day whenever I read or hear about the city I think first about Gramps. Maybe it's because it was the hometown of his own father that Gramps always seemed to embody the glamorous spirit of the New York, or maybe it's because my impression of the city will forever be influenced by childhood memories of my family's cottage and the music that was played there.

I think I will always miss Gramps the most in the summertime - not just because he passed away earlier this month, and not necessarily because the summer serves as a canvass for the majority of my most treasured memories, for which a fair portion of the credit goes to my grandparents.

As a person, Gramps always reminded me of my favourite season for his calm, constant optimism, and for his faith that every situation and every person was full of the best sort of potential. He was always down for a good time, and not once did I ever hear Gramps criticize another person. To him, everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt and a second chance, no matter how monumental their failures. Don't get me wrong, Gramps could be impatient at times, but time wasted commenting on others' stupid decisions or social inadequacies behind their backs was time that could be spent helping them get back on their feet, or at least doing something productive in one's own life.

Certainly, Gramps was happiest when he had some sort of project on the go. I will forever remember him puttering around the cottage, renovating the kitchen, building the back deck or fixing the pump, always with music playing in the background.

I recall one time, when I was about five or six years old, lying awake in bed one evening at the cottage - an insomniac, even as a child. The teenagers who lived a few cottages down were having a pool party, and their rollicking fun was interfering with my ability to sleep. I padded out to the family room to tell Gramps of my troubles.

"Try to hear what they're saying," he told me.

Words to live by indeed. And it must have worked, because I don't remember trying to get to sleep anymore after that.

I don't think I fully realized until just a couple of years ago how profoundly Gramps influenced the way I view the world - even if I often fall very short of living up to his example. His shadow hangs over most all of the interactions I have with others - be they casual acquaintances or my dearest friends and family members. Most of all, he showed me that I don't need to travel to New York, or even to Howe Island, to experience the best of what life has to offer.

Review: Midnight in Paris

By some fluke, the new Woody Allen movie Midnight in Paris ended up at the Empire Theatre in downtown Kingston – a strange and wonderful phenomenon give the fact that very few artsy movies ever make it to the two main theatres here. The craziest thing is, the movie has been there for at least a month, and I have consistently been searching in vain for an opportunity to go – until yesterday, when I finally found myself with a couple hours of spare time. My mom, grandma and I took in the matinee performance after going out for lunch, making for a relaxing Sunday afternoon despite the mountains of work I knew I had to accomplish later that evening.

Happily, the movie was even better than I thought it was going to be, which seems to hardly ever happen when something’s been built up so much. The story tells of a writer named Gil (Owen Wilson) who has a steamy love affair with the city of Paris - particularly how he imagines it would have been in the 1920s - and a not-so-steamy relationship with his fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams), who is to put it mildly a cold-hearted bitch. During a trip to the City of Lights with his deplorable in-laws, Gil is magically transported each night at midnight back to Paris of the 1920s, where he befriends the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemmingway and Picasso.

Seeing as I’ve had my own love affair with everything Paris for over a decade now, not to mention an immense appreciation for modern literature and art, Paris at Midnight was right up my alley. It was just as much if not more aesthetically pleasing as I was hoping it would be, and just zany enough to hit the spot on a scorching July afternoon. (Naturally, however, it felt like mid-January in the theatre).

It probably wasn’t the most brilliantly-written Woody Allen film I’ve ever seen, but the charm of the actors and tongue-in-cheek treatment of humanity’s universal habit of glamorizing the past definitely fit together very nicely, and it didn’t feel like anything was missing.

What this movie did more than anything was vicariously fulfill a dream that I think most of us would be lying if we said we didn’t have: to be able to step back in time and pick the brains of our historical idols. Or have lengthy conversations with our contemporary idols, for that matter.

There’s no question that I’ll be buying this one on DVD, and watching it whenever I’m in need of a pick-me-up. Estimated DVD release date: October 2011. Let the countdown begin!

Design dreaming

I'm super excited about the new Design Sponge book, which is coming out in September. I love perusing that website, dreaming about someday having a house of my own to decorate. I can imagine that holding and flipping through the actual physical book will only enhance this experience. From the recent website preview, it looks like a lot of pretty wallpaper will be featured, which suits me just fine. My two favourite thing when it comes to decorating are wallpaper and colour - done tastefully, of course.

I'm not sure how my preferences will go down with Steve, though - we will likely have to come to some sort of compromise. Currently we have a cheerful yellow kitchen and a pastel green focal wall in the living room, which he very generously agreed to despite some obvious reservations. Perhaps I can give up ornate floral patterns if he agrees to no leather, or something like that.

Here are some of my favourites...

Back to the garden

EMC Lifestyle - It may well be the understatement of the century to claim that most of us are disconnected from our food - where it comes from, how it is produced. It's the kind of thing I go on about all the time in an effort to explain to people why I make the unconventional, seemingly high-maintenance dietary choices I do.

Yet I always feel like a bit of a hypocrite making such statements, as really I know very little about food and how it grows. Thus when the opportunity presented itself to spend a day working at Patchwork Gardens organic farm in Battersea, where my husband and I are CSA members, I felt I owed it to all those who have been subjected to my factory farm/food security rants to try my own hand at food production.

When planning my day at Patchwork Gardens, I was advised by farmers Ian Stutt and Eric Williams that staying for lunch was necessary in order to have the full experience. They explained that everyone who works there takes turns making lunch, and that the meal always includes freshly picked vegetables from the farm.

The whole thing seemed very romantic, and I arrived charged with idealistic notions of "getting back to the land" and, in the words of my father, an old farm boy himself, "putting in my first 'true' day's work."

Ian and Eric were there, and I also met Louise Cooper, Marie Bencze and Thor Hansgen, who were all very kind and patient about the fact that a reporter was tagging along, randomly bothering them for photos and sound bites.

Ian led me into the field, explaining that I would begin the day weeding tomatoes in the farm's one remaining greenhouse. Just over a month ago, there were four.

"We had three windstorms, and each demolished a greenhouse," he said, adding that the wetter than average spring was also a significant setback, as they were about 2-3 weeks later than usual getting onto the land.

"Then we lost our spinach...sugar snap peas and beets," said Ian, however, he was quick to add that he and the other farmers have many reasons to remain positive.

"What we've learned more than anything with farming is it's just so loaded with risk and there's not much you can do other than pick back up and keep going. I guess you've got to learn from it, and we're definitely going to build more structure into any future greenhouses."

He pointed out what looked to me like mini greenhouses, constructed using the materials from the ones that were destroyed.

"They're called low tunnels," he said. "They can kind of mimic what the greenhouse was doing...but don't replace the job it would have done. There are different tricks you can try and use."

Later, Thor also spoke about the rough spring, noting that working together has been key to overcoming the setbacks.

"There's a lot of experience here now, and we've got an incredible team in my opinion," he said. "Even today we're still catching up, but most of the stuff has caught up...it's just being able to overcome those circumstances as they come."

Indeed, as I proceeded with my tomato weeding, it struck me how much everyone at the farm seems to genuinely like each other. It was a pleasure to listen to and sometimes participate in friendly conversation while tiding the rows of plants, glancing back ever so often to view the rewarding difference between the weeded and non-weeded sections.

Later, I helped Marie tie trellises to the plants, which are intended to keep them from hanging onto the ground and allow for a better yield.

While I interviewed Ian, he was attaching the other end of the trellises to the ceiling of the greenhouse, allowing the tomato plants to stand upright. He moved carefully and methodically as he explained that organic farming means more than simply the absence of pesticides - it's also about promoting healthy soil, and being good stewards of the land. Healthy soil, he noted, means healthy food, and healthy food means healthy people.

Ian, who also co-ordinates the NFU's New Farm Project, explained that every year there is a huge increase in the number of organic farms in Canada.

"Probably most of the new farms in Canada are organic," he said. "But it's much more of a knowledge-based farming that requires a real skill base, which takes time to develop."

It was clear to me, however, he is more than up to the challenge:

"I love the hard work. I think it's endlessly creative. You're always needing to find new solutions to growing good crops, and in the end it's incredibly rewarding."

Later that day, Ian showed me one such creative method, pointing out a small potato crop that had been planted to act as a decoy for the beetles that routinely damage the plants. The idea, he said, was to invite the insects to dine on these 'bait' potatoes in hopes that they will not notice the main crop to be planted later.

Before that, however, we had the opportunity to taste some of the fruits of our labour: chilli, salad, bread and muffins all made from scratch by Marie with plenty of farm fresh vegetables like lettuce, rhubarb, beets and cilantro.

I felt privileged to partake in lunch, a beloved and long-held tradition at Patchwork Gardens.

"Lunch is fantastic," said Louise. "You just really look forward to what other people are making. We all really enjoy food and cooking, so it's nice to share the load and then experience the passion for food coming through in what they cook."

This is Louise's third summer working on the farm.

"I started out as a shareholder a few years ago," she said. "I had worked in community gardens in Vancouver and thought it would be a really good thing to learn about so I could garden more confidently."

She added that social and environmental issues are also key reasons she is passionate about farming.

"I'm pretty interested in...the other issues surrounding local food, energy consumption, that sort of thing. It just made sense to learn about this so I could grow as much of my own food as I possibly could."

I was continually inspired by this sort of passion, which was demonstrated by all my co-workers throughout the day. It may have been a bad spring - by far the worst these young farmers have ever experienced - but no one was wallowing in self-pity. Indeed, there wasn't time to, as there were still many thriving crops to attend to.

After lunch, I rounded out my day by planting some sweet corn, dill and cilantro. It was neat to think that those seeds will soon become food I and more than 50 other families receive in our CSA shares - not to mention ingredients in meals prepared by chefs at some of Kingston's top restaurants like Chien Noir, Olivea and Aqua Terra.

However, I'm not going to lie and say that working on the farm was easy. Days later, muscles I never realized I had continued to ache and wail in my legs from all the bending and kneeling involved in weeding, and my back is still spotted with dozens of itchy, swollen deerfly bites. Yet it helped to think there was a purpose to the pain - arguably the most important purpose of all: feeding people.

"I think on a larger scale (local, organic farming) creates communities that are more connected with one another - people that care not just about food, but about each other and other things that go on," said Louise.

Ian agreed, noting that "by being a farmer I'm doing all the things I want to do and that I think are needed to be done every day. In terms of soil, hard work outside, working with other people, and trying to live a life that feels right as far as being connected to the earth and really anchored in the local community."

As an admitted softy when it comes to physical labour, I was personally quite happy to return to writing the next day. Yet I wouldn't trade my experience at Patchwork Gardens for anything. I feel honoured that my five new friends let me share a day with them, teaching me so much about healthy, sustainable food production. Most of all, I was happy to see that the food I eat on a daily basis is grown in such a positive environment - in healthy soil, by people who are genuinely passionate about what they do.

hpratt-campbell@theemc.ca

The autumn of youth

EMC Editorial - What are your feelings on birthdays? Mixed? Yeah, mine too.

Unless you're a kid, of course. Birthdays are wonderful things if you're under a certain age. These days, one of my favourite aspects of my birthday - which is today - is having a legitimate excuse to reminisce about the era of pool parties, Dairy Queen cake and tantalizing anticipation surrounding what could be inside all those colourful packages.

Naturally, I never made an effort to mindfully appreciate the benefits of being the lucky kid with the summer birthday while they lasted, and when I found myself with work obligations for the first time at 17 it felt as though a grave injustice had been committed against me.

I'm over all that now, but a new concern has emerged in the last few years in the form of apprehension surrounding my perceived lack of life accomplishment in relation to the number of candles that appear on the cake. Or would, if the cake was large enough to hold them. I'm told these feelings are unwarranted - that they are the product of my over-achieving, anxiety-ridden mind. This could be true, but being aware of the possibility does little to alleviate such worries.

Today I turn 28. I know that probably seems young to many of you, but to me it means that I can no longer get away with claiming to be "in my mid-20s." "Late 20s" means almost 30, and for my generation 30 is widely considered to symbolize adulthood proper - a scary thought for many of us given the state of the world these days.

The physical effects of aging don't scare me quite as much - at least not yet. Since I was a teenager, people have generally assumed I'm younger than I actually am. More often than not, this has been a source of frustration as it I've needed to work extra hard to get them to take me seriously. It's also a little annoying to be constantly carded at the LCBO, and once in the not too distant past, the movie theatre. No joke.

Conversely, I have to cringe whenever I hear someone claim you can tell a woman's age by her hands. If that's true, I must be well into my golden years with my bony, chapped hands and crooked fingers - this despite the fact that I only completed my first full day of actual physical labour last week at Patchwork Gardens farm. At this rate, I'll be indistinguishable from the crypt keeper by 40 to proponents of the "age by hands" thesis.

Lately I've also had a number of people mistake me for my mom's sister. She insists that such comments are made only in search of a bigger tip, but all the same I'm never quite sure how to take them. I want to look more mature, but do I really want to look like I could be the sister of a 52-year-old?

Whether people assume I'm older or younger than I am, though, the fact remains that I have had enough birthdays in my life to know that the onus is on me alone to make the most of them. They may no longer include holidays, pool parties or showers of presents, but as of today I still have 731 long days left of socially-imposed adolescence. (Seeing as 2012 is a leap-year.) On the other hand, a little more officially recognized maturity isn't such a bad thing either. Who knows, maybe 28 is the perfect age after all.