A country drive

Had occassion to take a tour the other day down Walkerton way. Don't see those roads much anymore. For a couple years around the turn of the century I saw them every day, because me and my old pal Jimmy used to carpool from Walkerton to our teaching jobs in Owen Sound. County roads and Townlines and Concession roads all the way through an hour's worth of rolling hills and pastoral vistas. If you absolutely must have a job that requires commuting, a commute that calms your nerves and soothes your senses is the one you want. I was on my way to lunch with another old friend, a guy who makes his living ferrying ultra-lethal military-related goodies back and forth across the border. That obviously requires the absolutely highest levels of security clearances. I've known this dude since we were teens, and how he got that is a complete mystery to me. Suffice it to say if he makes a habit of lunching with the pot-addled anti-semitic hillbilly communist, he might not get the next one! Back in the day there was a lot of local excitement about a new furniture plant going in at Chesley, roughly the half-way point in that commute. Durham Furniture, a high-quality manufacturer that's been around since the 1800s, was investing $38 millions in a brand-new state-of-the-art factory. Many of our students were hired. Within two years they went tits-up. I've heard China's entry into the WTO destroyed our fine-furniture industry, but that could just be Yellow Peril propaganda for all I know. Unfortunately Jimmy didn't last all that long after our commuting days. He succumbed to cancer just a few years later. Oddly enough, his younger brother died of the same cancer just a few years after that. Both of them had apprenticed into the machine trades. A few years later there was a class action launched against 3M and Dupont on behalf of all the millwrights, machinists, tool & die guys and mechanics who died young because they'd spent years absorbing toxic chemicals through their skin as part of their jobs. Don't know if they ever got any compensation. So I spend a two hour+ lunch with Buddy, and holy moly, does this guy have some insights into the trucking biz. He's been around it for over 50 years and has seen the changes. The main change is the composition of the workforce. Used to be mostly whites and a few blacks in Canada, and closer to a black-white-Latino mix once you crossed the border. In fact, JB Hunt, a major American trucking concern, had its HQ just around the corner from the Arkansas State Penetentiary and was famous for providing employment opportunities to ex-cons who had paid their debt to society. Now it's 90% guys with turbans on both sides of the border! But that's not always a bad thing. Carrying guns and ammo across the border requires literally binders worth of paperwork. It involves an absolutely incognito truck stripped, for obvious reasons, of all comm tech, and scanned for tracking devices every time it's loaded. The company that employs Buddy tried to dump him back when he balked at the covid shot. Turns out it really helps to know your way around those binders if you hope to get through customs in a timely manner. He gradually got most of his job back as the clamour over covid died down. He claims it's routine to be waiting with a dozen or two dozen drivers in the US Customs holding area to clear their paperwork, and being the only white guy in the room. For some obscure reason, it's apparently quicker for a white guy to get through US Customs than for a brown dude with a turban. After lunch I mosied up what is generally known as the Elora Road, which terminates in Southampton, just west of Saugeen Indian Reservation #29. Gotta drop into my favorite pot shop and reload! I've only ever bought anything at a gov pot shop once, and across the board your gonna save probably 75% by shopping at the rez. Over the years, quite a few kids from Saugeen First Nation came through my classroom. In my 25 years of watching the education system circle the drain, one of the very few bright spots is we're now seeing Indigenous boys in high school much more. It was rare in 1995. By the time I retired, it was normal, and they were often among my best students. And let me point out that had far more to do with culture change in their community than with anything the ed system did. So, I got home with a full belly and four fresh vapes, 2 indica and 2 hybrid. My final observation has to do with this region's fast-fading reputation as Ontario's cattle country. There are actually more cattle than ever, but you don't see nearly as many. That's because what you see a lot more of is feedlots. A guy up the road put one in a year ago. Six million bucks for a 600 head barn where they stand in front of a giant automated feed trough and do nothing but eat and shit 24/7 until they hit the abattoir. I drive by the place twice a day and have never seen a cow. I guess that's farming today. I'm pleased to rent my pastures to a old-school father-son team who believe in cattle roaming the meadows, eating grass, and providing me cow-views from every window! That's worth a lot in my world. Sadly, they and their herd are endangered species.

The gentrification of Ontario's cattle country

For as long as I can remember, northern Grey County and all of Bruce County were considered "cattle country." The official mascot of Bruce County was "Big Bruce," a beef cattle-beast, whose twelve-foot-tall likeness still welcomes you at the northern approach to the town of Chesley.

A hundred acre spread up the road just came on the market at $1.5 million. A hundred acres let's you graze a dozen cow-calf pairs over the summer, plus grow the hay to overwinter them. In a good year, those twelve calves will fetch $12k at sale. Out of that you pay for your inputs. Hayfields need to be rejuvenated, equipment must be maintained and replaced, and veterinarians will occasionally be called upon. Your hundred acre beef farm might reliably return five or six thousand dollars in the course of a year.

Do the math, and you quickly realize that farm up the road won't be bought by a beef farmer. 

Instead, it'll either go to an absentee investor who will separately rent out the house and the pastures, or an affluent urbanite looking for a weekend retreat and a retirement option.

To the untrained eye, the landscape will remain the same. There'll be cows grazing in the fields, because neither the investors nor the affluent urbanites care for farming, and are happy enough to rent their pastures back to authentic farmers.

And that's an endangered species, the authentic beef farmer. The only young farmers getting into beef around here are kids who are inheriting the family farm and are debt-free. Not all farmer's children want to live the farm life, and as time goes on, more and more farms end up owned by non-farmers.

That's just common sense, given current market conditions. The guys who graze their cattle on my farm are a father-son team who own a couple farms of their own, inherited mortgage free, rent a few more, and have a herd of 150 cows. My guess is if you divided their total net annual income by the hours they put in, they'd be shy of making minimum wage.

On the other hand, they could cash out, pocket at least three millions for throwing in the towel, and the next generation of their family can live the good life in an exciting city somewhere. 

As much as they love what they do, you know what's going to happen eventually. 

On the plus side, the Audis, Porsches, and Land Rovers give you a nice break from watching nothing but pickups and John Deeres going by.