Friday, October 9, 2015

Farintosh's Squashes


  

 "Farinsquash"

   John Shales high school nickname for yours truly

  A bit prescient, was our John Shales. Little did he, or I realize how predominant a role squash was to play in my life.

  It wasn't by design or any plan on my part; just one of those random strokes of serendipity that all too infrequently falls into our lap.....

  The fall of 1977 was my first full year on the farm after graduating from Ontario Agricultural College. I had a fledgling pick your own enterprise that had just come face to face against a hard truth of marketing farm produce:

  It's a lot easier to grow produce than it is to sell it.

  I had a couple of long garden rows with a bumper crop of squash that had tempted few buyers. By late September, the end was nigh, unless I stored them in my non-existent storage room.

  Down the lane puttered an ancient, powder blue VW beetle. The driver was one Isilene Lunan, an older black woman with cats-eye glasses and an bottomless supply of good cheer.

  She was drawn to my squash field, where she picked a few and then asked for my help to pick some more.

  By the time we were done, that VW was on its knees; squash crammed into every available space. We settled up and she headed out the lane.

  Next day, Isilene was back for more squash. Again, we overloaded that bug. She was back twice more before the end of the season. I later found out that she had given the majority of her payload away to friends and family.

  "You know", she said, "I have a few friends that would like these. You should plant more next year."

  I was to be reminded of that day when I watched "Field of Dreams" years later, when that Iowa corn farmer was told to "build it and they will come."

  So, in 1978, I planted more squash and as Isilene had promised; they came. Not only in cars, but in pickup trucks and vans; all loaded with customers looking for my squash.

  I later found out that  Seventh Day Adventist and Pentecostal ladies are the gold standard of networking.

  This annual squash picking day grew to the point that, by the high water mark of 2008, thirty years later, we were growing 10 acres of squash for all those folks who kept coming every fall.

  It has turned into a reunion for both me and my loyal customers, one where I have seen small children grow up and have family of their own.

  Isilene Lunan retired to Jamaica, where she passed away several years ago.

  But her spirit is alive and well. The generosity of our customers continues to humble me every year. I am sure that more squash is given away than is consumed by them; to friends, family and older people who can no longer make the trip to the farm.

  Any squash that we have left over is taken to the food banks in Markham and Richmond Hill.

  Isilene would expect no less.

  Respectfully.

  Guy
























  

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