On the Farm (Regional Ontario, Canada)

 

This story starts way back in Crete, Greece, last August. In a hostel amongst the olive groves in a small town called Plakias, I met Scott and Nikki. We got along so well that I said I would come visit them in their homeland sometime on my journey - a thing I’ve told many people and rarely followed up on.

The arrangement was for me to help out on Nikki’s parent’s farm in exchange for food and board. A good option because I’m running out of money and Canada is pricey, and because I thought it would be a good experience and a unique chapter of the trip.

So there I found myself, in the duty of Marsh – an old hippy who made me feel at home immediately, and Kevin – who proved that the combination of coming from a) a farm, and b) from Canada, means that he might just be the friendliest man alive. His accent was a novelty to me; think ‘out and about’ as ‘ooot and abooot.’

They had a farm of 200+ acres and ran cattle, sheep and chickens. I stayed up in the attic of their humble farmhouse, which dates back to the late 1800’s, and has Kev’s big chevy ‘truck’ parked out front. Around us was farmland and forest. It was nice to be out in the open country and away from the cities. Now I was amongst the big green fields and the woods of pine trees, maples and beeches and birches.

My first official duty was to dispose of a dead cat, which I tossed unceremoniously into some scrub, its limb body smashing into a tree. I learned that living on a farm means you’re exposed to death a bit. The next day we had to go to a neighbouring property in a backhoe and bury a dead cow, then a few days later I had to kill and bury six kittens.

I spent the remainder of the time feeding and watering the livestock (something I found somewhat therapeutic), shovelling shit for five hours at a time (not quite as therapeutic but no doubt good for me), helping build chicken tractors (coups that are moved along to fresh grass each day), catching and moving chickens (fun), moving hay bales, and planting their enormous vegetable garden (to last them right through winter).

At night me and Kev would come in covered in shit and sweat and Marsh would feed us up these big homemade meals, the sort I’d been craving for a while now. I just couldn’t believe all the food I was eating for free!

I would have gotten into a routine if not for the countless excursions from the farm.

A couple of times we went up to their cottage, in the Kawartha Lakes Provincial Park. Their little cottage, a cabin really, was located on a small island in a narrow lake that looked like a river. It was absolutely idyllic. While out at the cottage we drank homemade wine around a fire, went swimming in the numbingly cold waters, canoed, and played card games into the night. I also got to go and stay up at Scott’s family’s cottage for a couple of nights, which was right in the middle of the woods, and short walk down to a bigger lake. (Thousands of small and medium lakes in this region, unlike any landscape I’ve ever seen).

The Canadians really have this cottage culture thing mastered. It’s a good way to live.

One morning at the cottage we nearly flipped the pontoon boat by loading too much lumber up front to the point that we began to take on water over the bow. Having narrowly escaped that disaster, later that day the boat decided not to go into reverse, so as we came in already too fast into the dock it plunged forward unexpectedly and beached us up on a partially submerged wharf.

This same lake is where I dropped my camera. I thought that after all the crazy places I’ve been it would be ironic to lose it in a place as peaceful as this. Luckily, after resting it on rice for a couple of days it came back to life.

Visits to the cottage meant animal sightings and I was excited to see a coyote slowly cross the road in front of us, a beaver swimming near its dam just across from the cabin, and some deer in the woods and fields. They had all seen bears around but I wasn’t so lucky.

I also spent a few nights in Peterborough, the small town half hour away from the farm where Nikki and Scott lived. I stayed at Nikki’s grandparents’ house while they were away in Vancouver, and also spent my last couple of nights at Scott and Nikki’s house. The town itself has a nice little downtown or ‘main drag.’ We went out drinking at their favourite dive bar, the Pigs Ear. Here, the doorman noticed my NSW drivers license and told me he grew up in Wyong. We were both pretty shocked – Peterborough feels like a long way away Wyong; he hadn’t seen an aussie is these parts maybe ever, yet alone one that grew up where he did, and he was so excited by it that he got me to have a photo with him to send to his wife.

It was in Peterborough that I had Poutine – the culinary pride of Canada. It’s made up of french fries covered in cheese curds covered in gravy. That’s it. But it’s a national icon; they have Poutine Week annually and there are shops dedicated to nothing but Poutine. I love trying these local specialties, and despite not looking or sounding like something to make such a fuss about the few times I had it were pretty good. 

The last few days on the farm I was accompanied by two German guys who had previously stayed with Marsh and Kev and had come back to help out with the summer chores. They were great guys to meet and shovel shit next to.

On my last night on the farm Nikki took me on a big quad ride around the property, to a place where she intends to build a cabin of her own, and over to the woods where Kev collects the sap to make maple syrup.

As my stay drew to a close I was sadden to have to leave so soon. I felt like I had just arrived, but three weeks had passed and I had a plane ticket to the other side of the world.

This part of my trip was as much about the people I was with than the place I was within, and the hard goodbyes were upon me. As I said farewell to Kev and Marsh and their farm it felt like I was leaving home again. I haven’t wanted to stay put this much since… 2008.

As for Scott and Nikki, they are among the best friends I have made on my trip, and we swore we would meet again someday.  I am just thankful that I happened to meet them in Greece. It led to me to getting to see the fields and forests and lakes of Ontario, its cottages and cabins, and the culture of its small towns. It led me to free food and board. But most importantly, it led me back to them and their families and friends, all of them among the kindest and most interesting people I have been lucky enough to meet on my travels.