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WHAT’S INSIDE
▸ When the Fenians invaded Canada
in 1866, part of the military
response was provided by the
militia based in Greenwood,
Pickering Township. Even though
they never got to face the enemy,
every member of that contingent
received a medal for their
participation. Private Judson
Gibson’s medal has survived and
has become part of a collection of
military memorabilia.
▸ The Regional Municipality of
Durham, the Town of Pickering
and the Durham Regional Police
Services were all created 50 years
ago. In celebration, we offer this
brief history.
▸ Ernie Coombs, better known as Mr.
Dressup, lived for many years in
Pickering. With a residence
close to the Rouge Valley, he found
the community a perfect place to
raise his family, and was willing to
share with the public what he liked
about Pickering.
▸ We continue to republish the stories
told by engineer turned farmer,
Andrew Glen, in the 1930s as he
contends with the triumphs and
tribulations of rural life.
PICKERING TOWNSHIP HISTORICAL SOCIETY
SPRING EDITION VOLUME 31 NUMBERS 1 & 2
by John W. Sabean
THE MEDAL
A private collector of
Canadian military items told
me he had a medal that had
been given to a member of the
Greenwood Militia for the
part he played in the Fenian
Raid of 1866.
On the medal
was the name
J. Gibson.
The collector
knew no
more about
the recipient.
Since I had
written twice
about the
Greenwood
Militia and
the Fenians—
once for
Pathmaster
in 2015,
and again
for Snapd
in 2016
(reprinted in
Pathmaster
in 2020), I
promised
to look up
the records
to see if I
could further
identify J.
Gibson.
There are military records that
one could access, but a more
immediate source is the history
of Greenwood—Greenwood
Through the Years—written
by Mrs. Irven McLean and
Beatrice R. McLean in 1960.
They wrote (p. 50):
“There were probably
upwards of fifty men in the
Greenwood Militia in 1866. We
do not have all of the names,
but we do have about half who
were recorded at one time or
another: Pt. James Adamson, Sr.,
John Boddy, Sgt. W. Boddy, Pt.
Benjamin Boyer, Samuel Brown,
D. Burnett, Pt. John Burton, Pt.
George Digby, Pt. H. Digby,
Pt. Judson Gibson, Pt. Thomas
Gibson, Pt. Charles Green, Sgt.
Frederick Green, Samuel Green,
Adg. Jones, Pt. T.C. McAvoy, Pt.
William McKitrick, Pt. Henry
McQuoid, Frederick Meen, John
Mitchell, Pt. John Ryan, M.
Ryan, Pt. Thomas Ryan, Sgt.
Joseph Shea, J.J. Smith, Pt. P.
Teefy, Capt. William Warren, Jr.,
Pt. John Wilson, Pt. R. Wilson.”
It appears most likely that
Private Judson Gibson is the
man in question.
JUDSON GIBSON
Elsewhere, the McLeans
identified Gibson (p, 59):
“Judson Gibson was the son
of William Gibson (d 1847)
and Sarah Yeoman, and brother
of Yeoman Gibson. The family
came to Greenwood in 1838,
and settled a 75-acre farm,
parts of Lots 7 & 8, Concession
6. Judson Gibson married
Carrie Graham and took over
the home farm in 1863. Judson
and Carrie’s family were:
Lena (Mrs. Frank Chapman),
Fred W., and Gertrude (Mrs.
Fred Disney). Judson Gibson
died in 1910.”
Judson Gibson was born in
Ebberston, Yorkshire, on
5 March 1832. He died on
25 September 1910, at age 78
years, 6 months and is buried
in the Salem Cemetery. In
the Census of 1861 he was
described as a farmer, 27 years
of age [sic], Wesleyan Methodist
in religion, and lived in a one
storey log house. In 1866,
when he was involved with the
Greenwood Militia in Niagara,
he was 34 years old.
JUDSON GIBSON’S
FENIAN RAID MEDAL, 1866
Obverse of the
1866 Gibson
medal.
Reverse of the 1866 Gibson medal.
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Snider-Enfield rifle formerly in possession
of a Greenwood militiaman.Pr
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THE FENIANS
The Fenian Brotherhood was an
Irish Catholic Group that hoped
to free Ireland. It was founded in
the United States in 1858 by John
O’Mahony and Michael Doheny.
O’Mahony, a Celtic scholar, named
the organization after Fianna, the
legendary band of Irish warriors led
by Fionn mac Cumhaill.
THE GREENWOOD MILITIA
The Fenians believed that by
carrying out raids on Canadian
soil they could force Britain to
withdraw from Ireland. Their first
raid was made on 1 June 1866,
when approximately 1000 to 1300
Fenians crossed the Niagara River
into Ontario. Canadian militia men
were sent out to intercept them.
Among the local militia groups that
responded to the call to defend
Canada from the Fenian Raids was
the Greenwood Militia, led by its
commander, William Warren, Jr.
As Warren remembered it: “In the
spring of 1866 I was ordered to
take my company of volunteers
and the Uxbridge company and
proceed to Niagara-on-the-Lake,
to relieve two companies of militia
from Quebec which had got into
disgrace with the civic authorities
of that town. We remained in
Butler’s Barracks in that town until
May 20th when we were recalled.”
But then Warren continued: “On
June 2, 1866, we were again
ordered out to attack the Fenians
who had crossed the border at
Fort Erie. We went direct to the
suspension bridge at Clifton, and
from there to Port Colborne to
reinforce the 13th Battalion of
Hamilton, which was stationed
there after the battle of Ridgeway.
I had under my command the
Greenwood Infantry Company and
the Oshawa Infantry Company.”
THE SNIDER
RIFLE
The same collector referred to
above also possesses a Snider rifle
like the one shown here. The
British .577 Snider-Enfield was a
breach-loading rifle. Invented by
an American, the Snider-Enfield
was one of the most widely used
of the Snider varieties and was
adopted in 1866 by the British
army. From 1866 to the 1880s
this firearm was used by the militia
in Canada. While the rifle owned
by the collector was one used by a
member of the Greenwood militia,
it is no known exactly by whom—
perhaps even by Judson Gibson
himself.
As a footnote to the above we
add this story told to us by PTHS
member Gordon Zimmerman.
In 1866, his grandfather, Samuel
Zimmerman, farmed land in the
vicinity of Black Creek on the
Niagara Peninsula. According to
family tradition the Fenians, on
their way to Ridgeway, passed
through the Zimmerman land
(indicated by the red arrow).
According to tales passed down
through the family, two of
Gordon’s uncles went out to see
what all the fuss was about, and
managed to have shots fired at
them. See the map for details.
SOURCES:
Mrs. Irven McLean and Beatrice
R. McLean. 1960. Greenwood
Through the Years. Greenwood:
The Greenwood Farm Forum.
Pathmaster 17: 3&4 (Summer 2015),
30-32; 26: 3&4 (Fall 2020), 28-29.
Wikipedia.
A typical militia camp used during the Fenian raids. This one dates from 1870.
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Map of troop movements related to the Battle of Ridgeway.
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“As of January 1st of this year, the
Regional Municipality of Durham
celebrated its 50th anniversary. It
was formed in 1974 from parts
of two former counties, Ontario
County and Durham County,
and is now one of six regional
governments in Ontario with
Halton, Niagara, Peel, Waterloo
and York. Informally known as
Durham Region, the municipality
consists of the Townships
of Scugog and Uxbridge, the
Municipality of Clarington, the
Towns of Ajax and Whitby,
and the Cities of Oshawa and
Pickering. After considering other
names, in the end Durham was
chosen in honour of John George
Lambton, Lord Durham, who
is known for his report in the
aftermath of the Rebellion of
1837, which eventually led to the
formation of the Dominion of
Canada in 1867.
The first meeting of the
Durham Regional Council was
held at G.L. Roberts Collegiate
and Vocational Institute in
Oshawa on 15 October 1973, in
preparation for the municipality’s
incorporation. The headquarters
of the regional government was
established in Whitby.
In size the municipality is
about 2 500 km2, or just under
1 000 square miles. Durham
forms the east-end of the Greater
Toronto Area (GTA) and part of
the Golden Horseshoe region,
as well as the eastern end of the
905-area code belt.
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“THE REGIONAL MUNICIPALITY OF DURHAM TURNS 50”
by John W. Sabean
Durham Region Logo
Portrait of John George Lambton, Lord Durham,
Governor of Canada, 1838.
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Ontario County Map, 1878
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Pickering Township Map, 1877
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Over the years, Pickering
has fallen under a number of
jurisdictions.
Home District (1788-1849)
When Pickering Township was
created in 1791, the administrative
governing body was the District.
For administrative purposes, the
country had been divided into
Upper and Lower Canada, and
within Upper Canada were
four Districts—Lunenburgh,
Mecklenburg, Hesse and Nassau.
Nassau was later renamed Home
and this was the District in which
Pickering resided. Until 1849,
the District was the basis of the
country’s administration.
In 1849, however, the
Districts were abolished and
were superseded by the Counties
for administrative purposes.
Pickering Township, then, was
part of York County which was
reorganized later to form the
United Counties of York, Ontario
and Peel until Ontario County
became independent.1
The County of Ontario
(1854-1974)
When Lieutenant Governor
John Graves Simcoe created the
counties in 1792, they had three
basic functions: as ridings for
the purpose of elections, as the
organizational divisions for the
militia, and for land registrations.
York County (1792-1851), in
1833 was divided into four
Ridings, with Pickering joining
Scarborough, Markham and
Whitby in the East Riding.
Ontario County was
organized in January 1854.2 It
was composed of the following
municipalities: Reach, Brock,
Uxbridge, Scott, Scugog, Thorah,
Mara and Rama, and the
incorporated villages of Port Perry,
Uxbridge and Cannington in the
north; in the south: Whitby, East
Whitby, Pickering, and the Town
of Whitby and village of Oshawa.
When the Regional
Municipality of Durham
superseded the County of
Ontario in 1974, the West Rouge
neighbourhood of Pickering, and
the northern townships of Rama
and Mara were not part of it.3
The Township of Pickering
(1791-1974)
In 1791, Provincial Land Surveyor,
Augustus Jones was sent out to
survey the land westward from the
Trent River and to create a series
of townships in preparation for
settlement. Pickering Township
was originally called Edinburgh,
but was later renamed Pickering
after a town in Yorkshire probably
by Mrs. Simcoe, the wife of John
Graves Simcoe, the first Lieutenant
Governor of Upper Canada.
As a township, Pickering’s
first “Town” meeting for the
purposes of choosing officers was
held jointly with the Township
of Whitby in 1801. The first
meeting for the Township of
Pickering alone was held in
1811. In size, the township
consisted of about 74 660 acres,
or just over 30 000 hectares,
and as time passed, a number of
hamlets & villages emerged large
enough to have warranted post
offices: Altona, Atha, Audley,
Balsam, Brock Road, Brougham,
Cherrywood, Claremont, Duffin’s
Creek, Dunbarton, Green River,
Greenwood, Kinsale, Pickering
Village, Port Union, Rouge Hill,
and Whitevale.4
Town of Pickering (1974-2000)
At the same time as Durham
Region was being created, the
Township of Pickering was
converted to the Town of
Pickering. The town, however,
was considerably smaller than
the township. For one thing, the
Town of Ajax had been separated
from the rest of Pickering in the
aftermath of the Second World
War. And, now, the land in the
southwest corner of the township,
to the west of the Rouge River,
was removed from its Pickering
connection and added to the Town
of Scarborough.
The first Mayor of the Town
of Pickering was George Ashe, the
father of the present Mayor.
City of Pickering (2000-)
And, then, in the millennial year
2000, Pickering became a city.
Durham Region Police Services
(DRPS)
1974 also saw the beginning of the
Durham Region Police Services,
created out of an amalgamation
of seven local police forces:
Ajax, Bowmanville, Cannington,
Oshawa, Pickering, Uxbridge, and
Whitby. A brief history of the
seven police forces, along with the
first quarter century of the history
of the DRPS, was written 25 years
ago: Durham Regional Police
25th Anniversary 1974-1999
(1999). Note that the policing
organization is known as a
Service rather than a Force.
Notes:
1 For the early administrative
history of Ontario as it applied
to Pickering see Frederick
H. Armstrong. Handbook of
Upper Canadian Chronology
(1985); J.H. Beers. Illustrated
Historical Atlas of the County of
Ontario, Ont. (Toronto, 1877);
J.E. Farewell. County of Ontario
Short Notes (1907); Leo A.
Johnson. History of the County
of Ontario 1615-1875 (1973);
and William A. McKay. The
Pickering Story (1967).
2 An earlier county had, for a
short time, gone by the name
Ontario: from 1792 to 1800,
Ontario County consisted of
the islands belonging to Upper
Canada in the St Lawrence River.
3 For the story of the creation
of Ontario County see “The
Struggle for the Creation of
Ontario County”, in Pathmaster,
15:1&2 (Summer 2014), 1-5.
4 For the early governance of
Pickering Township see Beers
(1877); William R. Wood. Past
Years in Pickering (1911); and
“Minutes of the Court of General
Quarter Sessions of the Peace for
the Home District, 13th March,
1800 to 28th December, 1811”,
in Alexander Fraser. Twenty-first
Report of the Department of
Public Records and Archives of
Ontario, 1932 (Toronto 1933).
DRPS Logo
7
by Ernie Coombs
From Pickering Profile, 1971
“A Great Place to Live”
About two years ago, after
combing the environs of Metro
Toronto for a home to buy and a
pleasant neighbourhood to settle
down in, we chanced upon our
present home. We fell in love with
its situation, perched on a rise
beside a ravine adjacent to the
Rouge Valley, and have happily
surveyed the countryside through
the changing seasons ever since.
We have found the people
here to be good and helpful
neighbours—an interesting
mixture of city workers and
locally employed folks.
Last summer, we discovered
a major advantage in living in
Pickering. Normally, because
of the seasonal nature of my
work, I’m able to take nearly
the whole summer off. We have
a summer place on the coast in
New England, and greatly enjoy
our holidays there by the sea, in
a quiet New England village. Last
summer, however, I found myself
with a book to illustrate—a job
that would keep me occupied for
three weeks at least, and several
short promotional tours and
personal appearances scattered
throughout the summer months. It
looked as if it would be impossible
for us to get away for more than
a week at most, and we somewhat
reluctantly decided that it
wouldn’t be worthwhile to
make the trek to Maine for so
short a time.
We were delighted, as the
summer commenced, to discover
how little we would have to give
up by staying in Pickering. On a
hike down into the Rouge Valley
one day we found a typical old-
fashioned swimming hole in a
bend of the Rouge River. Here
we could come as a family—my
wife, two children, and two dogs,
and spend a happy afternoon.
The place was quite safe for the
children to swim and splash in,
and in spots, deep enough for
adults to exercise. The dogs were
free to roam the woods pursuing
elusive rabbits and, best of all
from our point of view, there
wasn’t another soul around! Yet,
here we were, within walking
distance of our home. One could
make out the vague hum of
traffic on the 401, as it crossed
the ravine—but, this sound was
easily dismissed, and from this
stand point of the surroundings,
we could almost as easily have
been many miles up North. These
expeditions were made all the
more interesting by the sightings
of birds and animals along the
way, which exist in abundance in
this sheltered area, so close to, but
protected from, the mainstream of
the busy community life around.
While city residents were
steaming in the heat, we were
comfortable beneath our
shady trees. Our children took
swimming lessons at the Rouge
Hills Country Club, which is quite
close by, and we could all enjoy
a dip there, when we wanted a
change of scene.
Throughout the summer,
we found that the Township of
Pickering encompassed miles
and miles of interesting and
attractive side roads for motoring
or bicycling, with fairs, auctions,
and other events taking place
frequently. The summer
months passed quickly and we
never regretted that we weren’t
at the seaside.
In the winter, there are
tobogganing slopes galore within
walking or easy driving distance. A
ski-slope lies at the foot of our hill,
and our family has taken up skiing
as a family sport, with enthusiasm.
After 20 years, I found that
resuming the sport was quite easy,
especially with a ski area so close
at hand. On days when I have to
go to the big city of Toronto, I find
it convenient and relaxing to take
the GO train—only six minutes
away. And, if I should miss the
train, Highway 401 can whisk
me into town as quickly as I used
to make it to the downtown area
when I lived in East York.
Small wonder then, that I can
enthuse so readily over Pickering.
It’s a beautiful, friendly place
to live, and an area where I can
delight in watching my children
grow up with all the advantages
of country living, while having the
resources of the city close at hand.
I recommend it to all.
Ernie Coombs with Casey and Finnegan
Detail of the Pickering Profile cover, 1971.
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On the sofa,
directly in the
sunlight, two cats,
lie intertwined.
The older one, a Maltese, has
a yellow band around his neck
formed by the foreleg of the
younger animal. The two make a
composite mass of graceful gray
and gold. They are the best of
pals, these two, at the moment.
Kinty, the older and the
stockier, was born and bred on
this farm. His mother when a
kitten was dropped on the road
by some passing thoughtless
human. She found her way to a
neighbor’s door and pleaded for
a saucer of milk. They had none.
Could we take her? One of us
said, “Oh, the poor little thing,”
meaning yes, and the other
temporized. “Well, we have our
Tommy at home. If you take this
one you must keep her in the
barn.” So that was settled. We
called her Barnie. In a few weeks
she was as firmly established
in the house as Tommy. But
she was a marvelous hunter
and grew apace. Well, things
went along as things will, till
one day, getting hay out of the
mow, I noticed a strange round
hole. Thrusting my hand down
arms length, I felt something
soft and squirming. Kittens!
Four of them. Just then along
came Barnie, purring like a
new Ford and looking at me
with the pride of possession in
her eyes. She slipped quietly
into the hole, out of sight, and
I left her there with her brood.
She was a great provider. We
used to see her climbing up the
ladder to the mow with mice
and sparrows and once with a
young rabbit. The kittens were
soon big enough to be moved
to a box on the barn floor, and
many a strenuous hour I worked,
watching them play.
One day the little mother,
now going far afield, failed to
return from the hunt, and after
inquiries and a search we found
her mangled body in a rut on the
road. Three of the orphans we
gave away. The fourth is Kinty.
That same summer Tommy, as
was his wont, went off into the
bush, and was never seen again.
He of the long flaming yellow
hair, with the graceful rings
round his body and tail, we
thought we could never replace;
but one fall at a school fair we
saw among the pets exhibited
a yellow kitten somewhat
resembling Tommy. After a hunt
through the crowd we found the
small boy owner.
“Hello, Walter. Will you let us
have one of your kittens?”
“Sure. Which one do you
want?”
“This one marked third prize.
Here’s a quarter, Walter.”
He was so tiny, so soft, so
defenseless, we called him
Tarzan—Tarzan of the Farm.
“Oh, thanks,” and he
scampered off while we took
home in a pocket a little bit of
yellow fluff. He was so tiny, so
soft, so defenseless, we called
him Tarzan—Tarzan of the
Farm. No home need ever be
dull, containing a kitten. Such
scampering through the house;
such chasing of paper balls; such
saucy approaches and roguish
eyes. Kinty was jealous at first;
but by dint of coaxing and
encouraging he finally took the
little fellow under his care. He
taught him tricks and how to
fight. Many an evening on the rug
before the stove they provided
an entertainment of acrobatics,
wrestling and sham-fighting. Kinty
would lie pretending unconcern,
but watching his antagonist from
the corner of his eye. The young
tiger would creep stealthily from
under a couch and circle, with
arched back and swaying tail,
round the prostrate form on the
floor. Then with a dash he would
spring in, and all was a whirling,
wreathing mass of gray and
yellow. Kinty showed him how
to use his hind legs in the grapple,
but he never unsheathed his claws.
Sometimes Tarzan did, and when
Kinty cried out the young rascal
would bound clear and be very
proud of himself. He is now
about as big as Kinty, but more
lithe and sinewy. There they are,
still in the spotlight on the sofa,
in a delicate embrace.
As things stand now there are
not enough mice to go round,
and a grave crisis threatens
the peace of the family.
Musings on Rural Life in Pickering
Township in the 1930s: Part 13
Andrew Glen’s
We continue to run these articles by Andrew Glen, who, in 1923, for political reasons,
gave up a successful engineering career in Toronto and moved to Pickering Township to farm.
Farming was a quite different occupation from his previous life and it took a long while for him to become
comfortable with his new occupation. During much of the 1930s, he wrote a column for the Toronto Star
in which he described his new life in the country with all the new experiences he faced. Mostly he wrote
about his neighbours and about rural life, and occasionally about Pickering Township history. But Glen
had also long been a political activist and while he describes ordinary activities of farm life with its triumphs
and hardships, he often put these activities into a large, more contentious, context, if subtly.
Caution: The reader is warned that some of the documents cited in these articles were written long ago in
a different era. Some words or ideas that were in common use in times past might be considered offensive or
demeaning in today’s more inclusive society.The illustrations were not a part of the original article.
“Peace and War on the Farm”
From the Toronto Star, 4 April 1932, #11
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Economic conditions,
however, sometimes play
havoc with their natural
friendliness. It takes a lot of
mice to keep two grown cats
busy. In the fall when the
grain comes into the barn and
the corn is stacked around
the buildings, the mice come
trooping in from the fields at
night to take up their winter
quarters. Then the cats delight
to work overtime to reduce
the surplus and gradually the
mice diminish and the hunting
becomes more arduous. As
things stand now there are
not enough mice to go round,
and a grave crisis threatens
the peace of the family. After
supper they are both given
their milk and let out for
the night. Kinty goes with
deliberate gait in the direction
of the barn. Tarzan follows at
a distance. Kinty looks round
and stops. Tarzan stops. Kinty
proceeds through the fence
into the yard. Tarzan moves
forward. Kinty stops again
with threatening mien. Tarzan
halts automatically. Kinty goes
ahead to the barn door. Tarzan
reaches the centre of the yard.
Kinty swings round with
twisting tails. “Mew-ow,” he
calls out. “You go back where
you came from. This is my
sphere of influence.”
“No, I won’t,” mew-ows
Tarzan. “I’ve as much right
here as you.”
“Mew-o-ow,” says Kinty, “I
was here first.”
“Mew-o-ow,” checks up
Tarzan. “All the mice in the
barn don’t belong to you.”
This was too much – a
causus belli, in fact – and
Kinty commenced hostilities
by chasing the young upstart
under the floor of the
woodshed. Mew-o-o-ow, p-st,
p-st, mew-o-o-o-ow. What a
racket! This happened a few
times, but the other night
Tarzan decided to stand his
ground. They had a set-to in
the barn, and the still air was
filled with the cries of battle.
Pup was greatly distressed and
began to howl. We thought
there would be nothing left
but two tails. However, they
appeared next morning not
much the worse—a few
scratches and Tarzan with a
limp. We gave them a severe
lecture on pacifism; but they
just smiled disdainfully as only
cats can smile.
So we constituted ourselves
into a miniature league of
nations with full powers to
discuss matters and report
progress.
So we constituted ourselves
into a miniature league of
nations with full powers to
discuss matters and report
progress. Several proposals
are already in the hands
of the secretariat awaiting
consideration. One is a scheme
for the propagation and
regulation of the mouse supply,
but we are a little doubtful of
this. Another suggestion is to
disarm both cats and use Pup
as a police force to settle all
disputes. Then there is the idea
to endeavor to induce the cats
to change their diet and have
them agree to a pact to forego
mice and subsist on Kellogg’s
corn flakes instead. Anyway,
something must be done about
it, if only to save their faces.
They are really very friendly
cats at heart and would live
together in perpetual peace
if we could only solve their
economic problem. Look at
them on the sofa, wrapped in
each other’s arms, enjoying at
present an armistice. See Kinty
as his head bobs and gently
licks a sore on Tarzan’s ear.
Tarzan gives a whimper and
buries his impish little yellow
nose in Kinty’s dark gray fur.
Locust Hill, Ont.
To city people
a wet day is
an unpleasant
experience,
something
uncalled for. In the country
we are more catholic in our
opinions of the weather,
and certainly much more
concerned about it. For
instance, on a city street,
whoever stops a friend
hurrying berubbered from
car to office, with the remark:
“Good morning, John. It’s a
nice rain we’re having.” Nor
does John linger to test the
wind and glimpse the clouds
between skyscrapers, to
respond, “Yes, that’s right. If
it keeps up all day it ought to
clean the streets quite a bit.”
They still talk about the
weather from force of habit;
but not with the finely
drawn distinctions and
ponderous predictions of
we to whom it is of prime
importance.
No, they are not like
that anymore. They still
talk about the weather from
force of habit; but not with
the finely drawn distinctions
and ponderous predictions
of we to whom it is of prime
importance. Excepting
perhaps the grain broker, who
carefully scans the forecasts
on the chance of manipulating
futures, urban dwellers would
be satisfied continuously
with what they are pleased
to call “fine” weather. Their
urbanity would be unruffled.
With the farmer it is not so
much a personal as a natural
affair. Does the land need a
soaking? All right, we’ll take
our chance of getting wet, too.
Does the corn want dry heat?
Well, then, that’s our choice.
We subordinate our private
wishes for the land’s sake. The
weather, therefore, is the chief
topic of conversation on the
country roads, in the village
store, at the church and at
funerals.
April showers have been
more than usually scattered
this spring; but the other day
we had a beautiful rain, soft
and mild and even. The party
lines buzzed with its virtues.
True, it held up seeding for the
time being, but by a consensus
of opinion it was more just
than unjust. There was much
seed in the ground and the
extra moisture ensured good
germination. In some fields
the delicate green spears have
thrust up through the ground.
In the evening with the land
in shadow they can be faintly
seen in serried row on row.
There is a shortage of hay and
many a farmer is anxiously
watching the lowering level
of his mow, wondering if the
supply will hold out till the
cattle go to pasture. Since the
rain, the grass has shot up
an inch or so, and will soon
be long enough for a beast
to wrap its tongue around
and pull. In the orchard the
crab apple tree is breaking
out in new raiment, and a veil
seems to have fallen on the
fringe of bush where, until
the rain, the trees stood stark
and naked against the skyline.
Down by the creek the gradual
greening of the background
has subdued the vivid red of a
clump of dogwood.
Last year a pair of flickers
raised a family in a hole in a
spy. They are all back, and
building operations are in full
swing. The old homestead is
being renovated and new ones
are in course of construction,
without building permits.
After the Rain
From the Toronto Star, 9 May 1932, #16
10
One pair is widening out a
knot hole in the side of the
house, and the burr of their
bills reverbates like automatic
riveters. To-day our old friend,
the heron, went flying up the
valley seeking his favorite
haunts. On a boulder in the
creek bed he will be standing
quietly watching the pool. The
sight of him recalls boyhood
days on the shores of Loch
Fyne. The tide was out and
on a rock that jutted into the
sea a solitary heron poised.
In the air above, some gulls
were wheeling and crying,
protesting his intrusion. One
by one they swooped down
striking at his head; but as
they struck the flexible neck
seemingly telescoped and the
head ducked safely out of
reach. Again and again they
darted and the head bobbed
up and down unscathed. But
the heron got no peace and
soon he rose on ponderous
wings over the water into
the mist. Where, we wonder,
does our heron rest? Not here
certainly. We often see him
with his two-foot legs and his
neck like Annie Laurie’s, long
and graceful, only longer. He
comes in the early morning,
feeds himself on minnows and
frogs, and lazily wings himself
off in the evening.
The seed is being sown
for better or for worse.
Whether the harvest be
heavy or light; whether we
will get for our labors a
rich reward or a poor, it is
not for us to say.
The swallows were flitting
about the horse’s heads to-day
as we crossed and recrossed
the field. Some flies were
there, no doubt, after the rain.
We are still rushing with the
seeding, the spring wheat and
the oats. The seed is being
sown for better or for worse.
Whether the harvest be heavy
or light; whether we will get
for our labors a rich reward or
a poor, it is not for us to say.
A poor crop may be paying
crop and a bumper yield a
loss. Such are the vagaries
which defy the calculations
of he who works upon the
land. Supply and demand
can be regulated in all lines
but agriculture. Is copper too
cheap? Cut down production.
Is crude oil below the cost
of production? Send in the
troops to stop the flow. It is
difficult to sell implements?
Close the factories, fire
the workman, grease the
machinery, sit tight and wait.
But the farmers must use their
land or it will choke with
weeds and deteriorate. If he
has to meet interest on the
mortgage he must produce
twice as much as before.
Every man-jack is rushing
his seeding, trying to finish
before his neighbor and it is
all a gamble without sense or
reason. After the rain, down
came the price of grain on the
Winnipeg exchange. Russia,
anticipating attack, buys a
few boatloads of our surplus
wheat, and the bulls raid the
market. The farmer is the
creature of fate; but the odds
need not be so heavily against
him. It should be possible to
better regulate production to
requirements by organization.
The basic industry of the
country is left to the haphazard
whims of chance. A government
of ten million ought to know
how much food is required. We
have tariffs to prevent goods
coming into this country. We
ought to have tariffs to keep
food from leaving the country
till everyone is properly fed.
Canada first! If we must gamble
let it not be with human lives
and human welfare. Let us pit
our wits against nature, the heat
and the rain, so that we may,
in an orderly economy, always
have something to spare for a
rainy day.
Locust Hill, Ont.
11
Beginning with the March-
April 2022 issue of ArtScene,
the newsletter of the
PineRidge Arts Council,
there has been a series of
articles telling the stories of
artist of the past in Durham
Region, and especially the
City of Pickering and Town
of Ajax. To access these
articles, go to the PRAC
website, click on ArtScene,
and follow the directions for
past issues. Most of
the articles have come under
the umbrella of “The Arts
in Retrospect” with a couple
others relating to Provincial
Plaques. See the list that
follows.
“The Arts in Retrospect”
March-April 2022: Charles Fothergill: Pickering’s First Artist-in-Residence
May-June 2022: Dr. David Tucker: Classical Scholar, Essayist and Poet
July-August 2022: Ebenezer Birrell: Visual Artist
September-October 2022: J.D.A. Tripp: Piano Virtuoso
November-December 2022: Florence Helena McGillivray: Landscape Painter and Art Teacher
November-December 2022: Glenn Gould: Pianist with Uxbridge Connections—written by Allan
McGillivray
January-February 2023: Fred and Bess Housser: Writer and Visual Artist
March-April 2023: Dorothy and Andrew Glen: The Artist and the Writer-Politician
May-June 2023: Bert Harvey: Vaudevillian
May-June 2023: Ray Dudley: Bowmanville’s Interpreter of Joseph Haydn—written by Paul Arculus
July-August 2023: Charles Morey: Art Teacher and Abstract Painter
September-October 2023: Louise Richardson Rorke: Journalist and Children’s Author
November-December 2023: Cleeve and Jean Horne: Visual Artists
January-February 2024: Ernie Coombs: Children’s Entertainer and Doris H. Speirs: Visual Artist,
Art Promoter
Provincial Plaques
May-June 2022: Robert Holmes: Wildflower Painter
September-October 2022: Jimmie Frise: Canadian Cartoonist
Articles in ArtScene, newsletter of the PineRidge Arts Council
Articles by John W. Sabean, unless otherwise noted.
12
The directors of the
Pickering Township Historical Society
thank the Binns family
for a generous donation that will support
the society’s publications.
The directors of the Pickering Township
Historical Society thank the Province of Ontario
for funding through the Heritage Organization
Development Grant (HODG).
The directors of the
Pickering Township Historical Society
thank the City of Pickering for funding through
the Community Grant Program.
The directors of the
Pickering Township Historical Society
thank Elexicon Energy
for their generous annual grant in support
of the society’s publications.
The Executive Officers of
the Pickering Township
Historical Society thank
all those who have joined
with us over our twenty-six
year history and helped to
keep alive the memories of
our glorious past.
COPIES AVAILAIBLE FOR $10.00
Board of Directors:
Honourary Presidents: Lilian M. Gauslin
Tom Mohr
Past President John Sabean
President:
Vice President:
Recording & Corresponding Secretary: Carol Sabean
Treasurer and Membership Secretary John Earley
Member-at-large Gail Lawlor
Editor: John Sabean
Design: John Cormier
Hands On Art & Design
Pathmaster is the newsletter of
the Pickering Township Historical
Society and is issued occasionally.
Address correspondence to
PTHS, c/o 928 Reytan Blvd.,
Pickering, Ontario, L1W 1Y7.
E-mail: johnsabean88@gmail.com.