University of Useless Information:

Having convinced the shop teachers to allow me to build a coal fired forge for casting and shaping parts for my tractor project, I got creative and made a few things for myself. I had learned some techniques from the Ferrier, Jake MacFarland, who shods the horses on the farm and did other wrought iron and steel work. I also pulled books from the library and watched many how-to and DIY videos available on the internet to learn how to forge steel into tools. My Mom’s sister, my Aunt Cait, learned Cordwaining from their father, my grandfather. She has taken over the family bespoke shoemaking store and has a need for various skiving knives, welting pliers, needles, hammers and other specialized shoe making tools. Making small blades that are hardened to hold a keen edge is something I worked very diligently on. As I got better at it, I made myself a pen knife with a nice red oak handle. Then a bigger Multi-Tool with plier, wire clipper, an assortment of blades and screw-driver tips. The ne...

There’s really not too much to say about the early days. Pre-school Montessori gave me a head start. Then Primary school got me labeled as an underachiever. Teacher’s always gave me great reviews for participation but lamented that I needed to apply myself more on academics and spend less time fidgeting and daydreaming. I excelled at arts and crafts and got respectably passing grades otherwise. I didn’t really get into any trouble, but I heard the word Precocious frequently. Junior High expanded my social horizons. I could get by academically where Hank had to apply himself. I spent a little less time with Hank and started hanging around with a scrappy kid named Danny Samson. Danny and I sort of balanced each other. He’d get me into some trouble and I tried to keep him and I out of trouble. The Junior High was part of the local education stream. It was attached to the Senior High which I attended as I went with the flow. We joked that it was the “Bone-Head School” which catered to lear...

I’d been driving on the family farm off road since I was big enough to reach the pedals and see over the wheel. Once upon a time when you turned sixteen you could get a “365” learner’s permit and the following week you could take the driving test and get your driver’s license. Taking driving lessons would lower your insurance premiums but otherwise, if you could drive, you could. Now there’s the graduated license which means you have to pass an initial driving test and then work towards a second test before you are fully deemed a driver. The summer I was sixteen I had a pair of broken legs which put an end to the driving lessons I’d started that spring. It wasn’t until the next spring that I got my first stage Driver’s License that allowed me to drive on my own and a few months later I was finally fully Licensed to drive on the Freeway. While I was fifteen turning sixteen I couldn’t get behind the wheel, but I spent lots of time under the hood in High School Automotive Shop. While the ...

My maternal grandparents were lost when Tampa Florida was wiped from the map when I was twelve. They were retired "Canadian SnowBirds" who wintered there. My Grandfather was a very gregarious businessman. Although small in stature he was larger than life. He was a Cordwainer: Don't you dare say cobbler. Cobblers repair shoes. A Cordwainer makes shoes from scratch. He had a prestigious shoe store near the financial district where he did well making bespoke shoes.  Whenever we visited or they called on us, he'd always bellow "Hello Josephs!" As a toddler, I'd parrot it, saying "Hello Joe, hello Joe, hello Joe…" Then he'd say a little rhyme " Hello Joe, what do you know? I just got back from Kokomo." The "Hello, Joe" got me my nickname, Joe. The summer I was sixteen and laid up with broken legs I had nothing to do. I wound up reading Dad's extensive library of vintage science fiction and fantasy books, or otherwise delv...

Over the summer, something else had changed too. While I was laid up, Hank got his driver’s license and the keys to his father’s hand me down car. In September life pretty much got back to normal, aside from the extracurricular physiotherapy. I had clamped my jaw tight, keeping the secret of the barn portal from my family but I needed to share it with someone. That someone was Hank. I told Hank about the portal barn and he was both intrigued and skeptical. “That’s some super power you have, Jo.” he said incredulously. “Listen” I said “I’m only telling you because I have to tell someone.” “You could tell a shrink.” “Thanks, buddy. Here’s the plan. We’ll drive up to the farm and I’ll demonstrate. We can’t do it here because we’d be stranded. The portal is a one way trip, so we’ll need a way to get back home.” So, first thing that warm Mid-September Saturday morning we took off in Hank’s old Volvo wagon and headed up to the farm. The farm is entered through a long lane through the woodlot...

Whenever I injure myself, whether it's a paper cut or any bump or bruise, my family will joke that I fell off the barn roof again. As I’ve mentioned, my family owns a hobby farm North East of the city near Port Perry on Lake Scugog. Most of the property is rented to neighbouring farmers to grow vegetables. Mostly corn. We just use the house, the surrounding out buildings, the meadow and wood lot. The farm dates back to the late 1800’s and has been owned by my Dad’s family since the 1950’s. The big six bedroom house and the barn were originally built in 1866. The place is our home away from home and now my eldest step sister Lorraine, her husband and my two young nieces are living there raising horses and teaching equestrian. When I was twelve, just after we returned home to the city after the world tilted, I helped my Dad clear out the basement of his model railway empire which was destroyed by the flood, salvaging what we could. My bedroom, back then, was filled floor to ceiling w...

Let me tell you, that little princess is really a monster: It’s the summer of 2007, I’m fifteen, and my sister Lorraine and her husband Hume have leased a property next to the confluence of the West Humber and  Humber Rivers. The Metropolitan Toronto and Region Conservation Authority (MTRCA) had the area declared a flood plain, which meant no one could redevelop the land. The place has the distinction of being the last working farm within city limits. However the place is still in rough shape due to the flooding a couple of years ago and several of the out buildings had been swept away. The property owners are operating greenhouses and they welcome the extra income from the lease as they rebuild. The barn is in decent shape and can stable a dozen horses. Lorraine and Hume set up a couple of trailers for their office and some living space. It’s a way to make Horseback Riding accessible within the city and hopefully draw business over to the family farm near Blackstock. I’m working p...