God provides seasons to ones life. He opens doors. He closes doors.
In the 1970s I spent several weekends, during several winters, in the backseat of my family’s station wagon as my parents hunted for the ideal country property in Southern Ontario. While we sailed during the summers, the plan was to spend winter weekends on the best they could find. This process took several years as my parents hunted for The Gem. Eventually they found a 100-acre property in Omemee, Ontario, a place made famous as Neil Young’s childhood town. The purchase was made around March 1978 and the property named after my great-grandparents' long gone property in Antigua, West Indies: Marblehill. (At left: The Farm one week ago - do you see the image of the person in the upstairs window? Who do you suppose that might be?; putting up the sign circa 1979.)
Our first official visit to The Farm, my family and a team of friends descended on the place with an abundance of cleaning materials to give the house a penny’s shine. At one point I stood on a chair to clean lights hanging from the main room’s ceiling. I found a penny sitting on the edge of the chandelier. I left it there where it remains today. (At left: the penny still remains; aerial view from 1980s.)
Over the next three decades we spent lots of time at Marblehill: often two or more weekends a month during the winters, Thanksgivings, Christmas holidays, Easters, Mother’s Days and more. When I joined my high school ski team I spent weekends at Devil’s Elbow practising. We made maple syrup from the huge maple trees in the front yard. We planted thousands of pine saplings as part of an Ontario government reforestation project that 25 years later transformed the landscape. My sister, Penny, was married at Christ Church in Omemee and the reception held on the front lawn of Marblehill. When my high school champion maze running rat “Champagne Charlie” died, he was laid to rest on the crest of a nearby hill. A family cat, Odysseus, eventually joined him years later (the humour of which I have just figured out – “you buried me next to a CAT!?”) My model boats sailed on the pond and two rocks designated Marble Hill Yacht Club. (At left: my niece Carly, 1990; MHYC trophy printed on birch bark.)
Humour aside, The Farm was a sacred place. I lived there for three years while attending Trent University. You can imagine the country – gentleman type existence that provided. Nothing like a walk on 100 wooded acres for a study break. Neil Young's twangs added to the poignancy and memories. Marblehill was also a safe place – a quiet, escape from the rat race, Champagne Charlie finally discovered, where one could easily slip into tranquil inertia. Hey hey, my my, Marblehill brought great Joy. (At left: late afternoon light inside The Barn; tribute to Neil Young in Omemee.)
As the current financial crisis ensued Tess & I often wondered what we’d do in a worst-case scenario? What’s The Exit Plan? I presented this to one of my Christian brothers here in Hong Kong. The topic was a debate for several weeks until finally he proposed: “The Farm’s the exit plan. Your family would love to have you back in Canada. There are local schools and you have enough savings that living there is a real possibility until you find another job.” (At left: the front lane last week, the tire still hanging from Carly's 1990 picture.)
Rather chuffed for this brilliant insight, I called Marblehill a few days later knowing my dad would be there. Unfortunately Marblehill was in the middle of its own crisis. Thanks to a failed furnace and local freeze, my father discovered umpteen things array – including a ruptured septic system – upon arriving at The Farm with weekend guests less than 36 hours away. “I think it’s time to sell The Farm,” he said. (At left: The Pond; ; Manitou sailing on the pond, 1978.)
I knew he was right. Truthfully, we’d been building to this point for several years for reasons easily surmised: it’s a huge property needing constant attention, the house is on the edge of some major work and in total the overall family usage dropped down to a crawl compared to the Devil’s Elbow days. Tess & I discussed the possibility of buying the property, knowing it would be an emotional purchase greatly complicating our non-resident tax status. Regardless, the Chairperson of The Board approved the purchase if I so desired. None of this mattered. A lurking buyer immediately snapped up Marblehill. The deal closes mid-June. (At left: a change of seasons at The Farm, circa 1990s.)
Last week I went back to say my final good-bye to Marblehill and my childhood home, which will probably be next on the chopping block. I helped with some clearing out, taking 803 pictures. (Tess also offered to return with me to assist but remained in Hong Kong in the end.) Needless to say, a range of emotions coursed through my nerves. My family was wonderful as always. At the airport I fell apart saying good-bye to them. As I passed through security I looked back. My family was gone but gazing back at me was a pastor, his clerical collar visible, who watched the entire scene unfold. I waved and smiled at him then turned toward my gate. (At left: my father and I moments before leaving last week.)
The Farm is not the Exit Plan. That door is closed. I am grateful for the gift of Marblehill and will cherish those memories forever. We beat on, boats against the current. It’s an obedience issue. He and I both know it.
“He changes times and seasons; he sets up kings and deposes them. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning. He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness, and light dwells with him.” Daniel 2: 21 – 22
