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4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, July 14, 1987 Editorial Comments Bored In Scugog? Never! Phew. That was some bash served up in Port Perry over the weekend. Festival Days has come and gone for another year, and it would be an understatement to say that a lot of people had a lot of fun dur- ing the "87 version just over. = -- One can't help but be impressed at the way this community gets together and works so hard at making the weekend a great success. But then, that's the way things are done in Scugog Township. This has to be one of the most active, vibrant, event-filled places in all of Ontario. If you live in Scugog and you're bored because you can't find something to do, you'd better just take out the garbage and plunk yourself down in front of the TV set. This summer alone, the number of things going on in Scugog seems to be endless. From the Festival Days Weekend just over, the great PPHS Reunion of a couple of weeks ago, Pioneer Days, Canoe the Nonquon, the list goes on and on. And there's more to come. On July 18 in Blackstock, you can catch some great music as the Fair Board is hosting an old-fashioned fiddle contegt. Towards the end of the month, there will be jet-ski races on Lake Scugog. Just about any weekend of the summer, there is a baseball tournament going on at the lakefront diamonds (slow pitch, senior and junior fastball). There are tennis tournaments, open air concerts in Palmer Park Bandshell, and just around the corner, the Blackstock Fair is coming up near the end of August, followed by the Port Perry Fair over the Labour Day Weekend. Like we said, if you can't find something to do in this communi- ty, you're in a lot of trouble. These events, and others, are what help to make Scugog such an attractive place to live and visit. There are so many willing people who take the bull by the horns, chip in with their time and effort and really work hard to make these things go. It is a better place because of their efforts. - . Visitors to this community are amazed to find so much going on, winter and summer. When these visitors go back home, they tell their friends and neighbours about Scugog Township. A community simply can't buy this kind of positive public relations. People visit Scugog for the first time, like what they have found here, and immediately make plans to come back for another visit here. We hope and trust the great community spirit, the dedication, | the hard work and effort from so many people will continue to be the. ..- their time and talents to the special events, or the on-going groups and organizations, we salute you for a job well done. Your contribu- tions do not go un-noticed or un-appreciated. It's little wonder that ing anywhere else. It's little wonder that people who visit say they'll be back. No matter what your interests may be, winter, summer, spring and fall, we challenge anyone to say they can't find something to do in Scugog Township. Five Billion Of Us A child born last week in Yugoslavia was given the dubious honour by the United Nations as pushing the population of earth over the five billion mark. : Five billion humans now inhabit this planet and there are many experts who believe that if the numbers continue to climb at present rates, Mother Earth is heading for catastrophe. The question that nobody can answer of course is just how many people can be comfortably supported on this planet. The question is probably irrelevant anyway because the critical factor is not how many, but where they live. While many countries in Asia, Africa and Latin America are groan- ing and sagging under the sheer weight of numbers, there are vast area of the world under-populated. In North America, Australia and northern Europe, the natural death rate is exceeding the natural birth rate. Yet it is these very areas of the world which have the climate, the technical expertise and the necessary infra-structure to easily sup- port larger numbers of people. It is an irony that confounds the ex- perts. As standards of living increase in technologically adept societies, birth rates decline. Five billion mouths to feed. The number is frightening. But the problem is not so much over-population as it is unequal distribution of people. In many areas of the globe there is serious and wide-spread malnutrition, while in other areas, Canada, the United States, Australia and northern Europe, farmers have become so good at what they do, they are paid not to grow food, or they simply can't sell what they do grow at a reasonable rate of return for their production costs. hile it may be obvious that some areas of the globe must adopt stricter methods of birth control and family planning in the short term, the long term solution to over population is to find methods of equaliz- ing resources and their distribution. ithe __most people who live here say quite frankly, they can't imagine liv- THIS MUST BE THE FEELING YOU GE] WHEN THEY RE COMING TO REPOSSESS THE FARM) / Chatterbox WOMEN'S LIB People often tell me what to write in this space, and more often than not, I ignore them. After all, it IS my column. ¢ However, when your grandmother tells you to do something, you have to do it. You know what I mean? This week, my grandmother told me to write about Women's Lib. In the hay field. Last Tuesday, after delivering papers in the Uxbridge area asT do every Tuesday, I stopped by my parents' place between Claremont and Uxbridge. | My mother, you see, had promised me a dona- tion for the Sexy Man-Sexy Woman Contest, and -I wasn't about to let THAT slip by. When T-arrived, my mom was sitting on the ~ porch swing, my aunt was ensconced in a nearby lawn chair, and my grandma was bustling around --in the kitchen preparing tea. ~~ While Grandma's pulse rate looked about nor- mal, Mom and Aunt Judy looked like they'd just run a marathon. Red-faced and dripping with sweat on what had to be one of the most humid days of the year, they struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern. "What have you been doing?" I asked the two tired women. '"Haying,"' replied Mom, catching her breath. "We had to get it in this afternoon. Looks like it's going to rain pretty soon." Haying. Ugh. I hate haying, with a passion. It's got to be one of the dirtiest, hottest, itchiest, hardest jobs ever invented. Whenever I can, I avoid the hayfield at this time of year, although I have done my fair share of raking and throwing heavy bales on the back of the pick-up truck. Since my parents only own ten acres, they plant only enough hay to feed the six or so horses and the two cows in the barn. Because it's a small operation, they don't have any fancy equipment like you see at big farms. Just rakes and the pick- up -- and enough blisters to last 'till Christmas. Last year, a few days before my wedding, I was out in the field slugging with everyone else. It's a good thing I wore gloves at the wedding. Anyways, back to last Tuesday, I assumed my Dad and possibly my Uncle George and brothers were still out in the field finishing up, 'cause I didn't see them around anywhere. "Oh no," Aunt Judy said with a chuckle. "Your Uncle George and your Dad are both at work. We did it all on our own." "I took the day off work, and Liz (my sister) took the afternoon off," Mom said. "And I'm in here making tea!' Grandma call- ed out from the kitchen window. Years and years ago, when I was just a wee kid, I remember the major haying operation go- ing on at Grandma and Grandpa's farm in But- tonville. They had 100 acres or so, a real farm, by Cathy Olliffe with a large herd of Holteins, hired hand -- the works. During haying season, the men would be out in the fields from sun-up to sunset, and Grandma would lead the women in the kitchen through a marathon of cooking and baking. Breakfast for a group of men would be a major ordeal, a huge table groaning with food, including home baked pies. For breakfast! . Lunch was more like dinner, with hot roast beef or stew ---- something really substantial, and then more pies. Supper was a little lighter, but not too much. I wouldn't hazard a guess of how may pototoes were peeled in a day and how many pies were wolfed down. In between, Grandma and her team of daughters and neighbours would perk coffee and tea by the pail, and then transport it out to the men in the fields. ' To me, that was the fun part. Carrying the cof- fee in huge tins to the wagons, and then riding along for awhile amidst the fresh, sweet smell of hay (mixed with dust and dirt), until the tins were empty. a Then it was back to the house for a re-fill, and then back to the fields, and so on, for most of the day. - ) Although Grandma hasn't led "the women" through a haying for some time (their barn burnt down when I was about nine, and they sold most of their property to the Buttonville Airport), she was in fine form last Tuesday, making sure the tea was hot and ready for the workers. "Wouldn't iced tea be better on a hot day like this?" I asked her. She made a face at me, clucked her tongue, and said, "No! Iced tea is for the birds!" I realized then, that hot tea (or coffee) is a tradition for Hazel Hooper, and for her daughter, my Mom, and everyone else who has ever been involved with the Hooper farm. So when everything was ready, we all sat around the kitchen table and drank the steaming liquid, me feeling guilty because I had missed the haying ("You timed it just right," my Mom said. "We just brought in the last bale."). As Mom, Grandma, Aunt Judy and the Whiz caught their breath, an easy conversation developed, and as per usual, turned to this paper. Just for fun, Grandma read John McClelland's column out loud (the one about how overweight people shouldn't wear skimpy clothing in public). | Everyone had a good tee-hee about it, especially Grandma, who said John had a point. So made them read my rebuttal, in last week's paper, and Grandma said, yes, I had a point too. Always the diplomat. (Turn to page 6)