Saturday, July 20, 2008 — Blueberries

http _thebikinichef.com_wp-content_uploads_2016_03_Wild-Blueberries-in-Maine-barrensFor the next three weeks, I’ll be at my friends, Steve and Ruta Muhlberg­er, mind­ing their farm while they’re away. A pleas­ant atmos­phere, and not much work involved, as there are only three hors­es, two dogs and some cats to care for, nowa­days. And the fields are so lush from rain that the hors­es can pret­ty much fend for them­selves. There is also an infi­nite sup­ply of blue­ber­ries and rasp­ber­ries, unless the bears vac­u­um them up before I can pick them. Fresh berries, fresh eggs, milk straight from the cow. Sun­light, star­ry skies, crisp clean air. Boy, do I ever need a dose of this stuff. I have a small amount of con­trac­tu­al work to do, while I’m here, but for the most part I’ll be work­ing on my own stuff ― a rare and blessed luxury. 

It’s not strict­ly speak­ing in North­ern Ontario (where farms are rare), but in sight of the indi­go ridge that marks its south­ern mar­gin. I’m in the nar­row cor­ri­dor of the Mat­tawa Riv­er, still most­ly for­est, but with a scat­ter­ing of farms and vil­lages, sand­wiched in between two blocks of unin­hab­it­ed shield coun­try to the north and south. On the north side of the val­ley, the Mat­tawa riv­er hugs the ridge, past which the for­est grows dark­er, the cli­mate cold­er, and the peo­ple scarcer. But to the south it’s almost as unspoiled. If you fol­lowed a straight line from the property’s south­ern fence, you will not cross anoth­er cul­ti­vat­ed or pas­tured acre for 200 kilo­me­tres. Coy­otes, wolves and bears wan­der onto the prop­er­ty, but they sel­dom cause much harm (It was a bit dif­fer­ent when the Muhlberg­ers kept sheep). Tame stuff by North­ern Ontario stan­dards, but not bad for South­ern Ontario. There’s even a water­fall just on the edge of the lot. At this time of year, I can expect hot days, but cool nights, and spec­tac­u­lar thun­der storms march­ing down a reg­u­lar track from the north­west. Maybe some nice auro­ra if the sun is itchy this year. And it’s a short walk to swim in Lake Nosbonsing.

I noticed that the farms and hous­es seem more pros­per­ous-look­ing than they did a decade ago, and Steve and Ruta agreed that they are. And a bit more social­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed. We stopped to pick up fresh cow milk at a farm that proud­ly flew the Rain­bow Flag, where we were greet­ed at the gate by two huge pigs of the Viet­namese breed, and then chat­ted ami­ably with Bren­da, one of the own­ers, whom I was told is a good per­son for advice if a farm emer­gency occurs. We picked up eggs at anoth­er farm, this one with a huge house, hand-built by the own­ers. Its inte­ri­or was floored, trimmed, and fur­nished with gor­geous moun­tain ash that they had cut and milled them­selves. The fid­dle­back grain, which requires more dif­fi­cult mill­work, gave the floors an enchant­i­ng shim­mer in the sun­light. Else­where, Ruta point­ed out a gleam­ing, spic-and-span farm, oper­at­ed by anoth­er gay cou­ple. Is Canada’s new social trend the the infu­sion of the coun­try­side with a gen­er­a­tion of salt-of-the-earth Les­bian and Gay farm­ers? If so, there’s hope for our coun­try, for this place reeks of hard-core, hock­ey-and-donuts Cana­di­aness, and they man­age to fit in well enough.

The val­ley was, for cen­turies, the prin­ci­pal canoe route for the coureurs-des-bois, head­ing out west, but it had no set­tlers until the 1880s. My pater­nal grand­moth­er was one of the ear­li­est set­tlers. French-Irish lum­ber­jacks moved up the Ottawa Val­ley, and when they were injured or retired from the riv­er, they start­ed farms, sup­ply­ing pro­duce for the key rail­way junc­tion at North Bay. Until recent­ly, French was the over­whelm­ing­ly pre­dom­i­nant lan­guage. Access remained by rail. No road was pushed through the val­ley to the Ottawa Riv­er until 1957. Farm­ing is tricky work here. Fer­tile soil comes only in small patch­es, and 95% of the val­ley remains for­est, lake, and swamp. The Muhlberg­ers grow no crops, and use the un-forest­ed half of the prop­er­ty only for graz­ing. A wet year has made it green­er than I’ve ever seen it, and the pas­tures are speck­led with daisies, but­ter­cups, and blue­bells, the tra­di­tion­al motifs of Ojib­way art.

Trapped in apart­ment in Toron­to, reduced to scrap­ing a liv­ing by crouch­ing at a com­put­er, crank­ing out dull reports and fill­ing excel tables, my body is far from what it was and far from what it should be. This sojourn will act as a need­ed restorative.

One thing that dis­turbs me pro­found­ly is the fact that an entire gen­er­a­tion in North Amer­i­ca knows noth­ing of the sub­lime beau­ty to be expe­ri­enced on this plan­et. I don’t only mean Iguacu Falls and the Moon­hill of Yang­shuo and the great Cari­bou herds thun­der­ing across the bar­rens. I mean the hun­dreds of thou­sands of places where a bend in the road is just right, where a white steeple pokes out of the maples trees, where kids dive from rock in the mid­dle of a lazy riv­er, or an ancient and mys­te­ri­ous mound lies unno­ticed in a field. We have a plan­et of intri­cate, nev­er-end­ing won­der and spir­i­tu­al depth. But, instead of being able to drink it in and savour it, we are forced to spend most of our time lis­ten­ing to the com­mands of rich and pow­er­ful ass­holes, the blath­er­ings of emp­ty-head­ed celebri­ties, and the inane rant­i­ngs of con­ser­v­a­tive morons. It would be true and sweet free­dom indeed to be free of that wast­ed time, and fab­u­lous wealth indeed if we could delight in, unmo­lest­ed, the trea­sures of our inheritance.

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