Life in Cowtown

In yet another example of government stupidity and shortsightedness the federal government announced the closure of the six farm programs operated by Correctional Services Canada, a decision that they reached without consulting anyone, least of all us, the little people that they are supposed to be answerable to. Canada’s inmate farm program has been operational since the 1800’s, costs less than four million to run (according to the numbers I’ve been able to find), and produces about six million dollars worth of food.

None of these numbers take into account peripheral benefits such as donating produce to local non-profits, composting facilities that reduce landfill use, acquisition of great work and life skills, and protection of valuable farm land. Which is really the crux of the issue. Because there is no good reason to terminate this program other than the sale of pricey farm land that can never be recouped or brought back. The government is citing safety concerns with the examples of several escape attempts, and without considering alternative solutions of which I’m sure there are dozens, they just closed the door on the whole enterprise.

To quote Tim Allen of CBC  ‘the idea of a prison farm is an elegant one. Inmates get to produce the food they eat, easing the burden on the public purse and, in the process, gaining experience that they can use when they get out and need to find a job.’ But according to our government the skills they gain surely can’t be important in our modern world and unnamed ‘contemporary’ occupations would be better. Never mind the fact that farming is daily work and hard work. Never mind the transferable skills it helps develop such as teamwork and consistency. Never mind the unquantifiable benefits of working with the unmovable force of nature which can’t be rushed and can undo your careful work in a heartbeat. Never mind the fact that food simply doesn’t grow on trees, it’s paid for by our tax dollars and the value of inmates growing their own is surely a benefit to us.

Never mind all that. You see the farm near Kingston Ontario enjoys 455 hectares of some of the country’s best farmland. It happens to feed the prison population and share with the food bank as well. And there’s likely a tidy profit to be made in selling off this prime land for development of more suburbia, because the government doesn’t care about farming as a valuable skill set. But it also doesn’t care about what we, as a community think either. Because the public opinion is rather firmly in favor of keeping the farms, seeing as it makes all sorts of economic and logical sense. If you read the comments attached to this CBC article it’s pretty clear that the citizens to whom the government is supposed to be accountable to really don’t see any reason to shut down these farms.  And it’s also just as clear that the govt don’t care.

But see, I just can’t reiterate this enough, the govt is supposed to be representative. And accountable to the people that elected it. I know it often sounds like a joke when you look at most government decisions, and JUST ONCE I’d like to see them do something that we collectively want to see happen. And before we get really angry and sick of the system, and perhaps move to overhaul it from the ground up, I’d like to give the government a fair chance (again), to perhaps, I dunno, follow our wishes. So I encourage you to write a quick letter to the public safety minister Vic Toews and your MP and share with him your opinion of the farm closures, whatever it may be. Here’s also a petition you can sign. That way we’ll be participating in our funny version of democracy, we’ll sleep better at night knowing we did something other than complain that no one cares, and if we don’t see the changes we want – hey at least we gave the government every chance to listen.

Here are some news links for more info.

http://www2.macleans.ca/2009/04/10/canada-to-shut-down-all-prison-farms/

http://www.agrinewsinteractive.com/fullstory.htm?ArticleID=10000&ShowSection=News

http://www.cjly.net/deconstructingdinner/070209.htm

http://www.thewhig.com/ArticleDisplay.aspx?archive=true&e=1736318

Walking on water...

This has been a week for reflection on the internets. A blog friend wrote about aging, a forum had a discussion about adulthood, and another blogger posted an entry on the quarter life crisis.  And while I’ve never been one to fret about numbers, getting older or having an existential crisis whenever I please, I can’t help but often look around my life in sheer wonder and ask ‘when the hell did this happen?’

Cause that’s the thing with time – it sneaks up on you and while a workweek can feel like forever, suddenly you’re reflecting on the last five or ten years of your life and you’re not sure where the time went and was any of this really planned anyhow?  

I think adulthood rears its ugly head when you find yourself in the store purchasing toilet paper and cleaning supplies instead of clothes or music. Or the first few times you pay bills. Or you buy actual groceries for the week, not just a supply of Ichiban and Kraft Dinner. Eventually you probably buy a house or an apartment and realize that now you have to like, maintain it. And do yardwork, shovel snow, repair cat scratched walls and shop for cat-proof furniture.  At least now you can laugh at the look on the salesman’s’ face when he comes to your door and asks if your parents are home, and you tell him you’re the owner. And you no longer HAVE to clean your room – you really do get to live with the mess you make. Eventually you discover that you like clean dishes, like all the time.

Instead of shutting down the club and proceeding to eat your way around the night city like a plague of locusts, you go out for a civilized dinner and drinks instead. Instead of chain smoking and drinking coffee on the run, while navigating in a haze of sleep deprivation on your way to work, you eat a proper breakfast and pick up an exercise habit (or at least the intent thereof).  Your conversation shifts from philosophy to… actually that still stays the same. You still don’t have any answers, despite the years of extra reflection.  Sometimes you just feel lucky you survived the twenties plagued as they are with worries, doubts, increasing responsibilities, and letting go of fun in lieu of consumerism.

Gradually you find yourself surrounded with friends who are married or are having children, or both. And one day the balance from your childless friends drops to the point where you’re a minority.  Friends scatter across the city, the country and the world. Some friendships are sacrificed along the way lost to distance and time and different lifestyles. Some move into the realm of acquaintances about whom you think fondly even though your only contact is liking each others’ status updates on Facebook. Some endure and get stronger despite new challenges. Suddenly you’re scheduling appointments to see your friends, like adult play dates and not simply hang out casually, spontaneously and constantly.

Some days you feel like you’re faking this whole adult thing. You look around your office or your house and literally feel like you’re just pretending, like you’re nowhere near mature or responsible and someone will see through the disguise. Then you realize everyone probably feels the same way at some point, and likely no one cares anyway. Sometimes you miss the carefree college days and others you shudder at the thought of a hangover and being THAT broke again. Now you think about investing for the future and dreaming of retirement. On a tropical island of course. As soon as possible please.

And if you’re determined, you can throw off the veneer of adulthood and maturity and do fun incredible things with the abandon that free time and money can bring. You can schedule tropical retreats with your friends and actually have the cash to go. You can go on road trips and take every single oddball turn that strikes your fancy. You can call in sick to work and be completely believable, since you’ve spent months faking responsibility so well. You can stay up as late as you want on weekends and eat all junk you feel like while doing a Lost marathon at three a.m.  You can still judge stale and staid old guys with their useless rhetoric about their lying agendas. You can still have traces of your idealism and refuse to let them drown under the guise of practicality. You can still not have a CLUE what to do with yourself and life and ponder the meaning of the universe under the stars. And now you can do it with a drink in your hand and the knowledge that there are no answers.