When you drive down the lane into Benson and Marjorie Madill’s farm, each curve seems to take you back farther in time.
One second you’re dodging the Dodge Durangos on Hurontario St. and Highway 401; the next you find yourself cooling noticeably as you make your way through the canopy of trees that guide you towards the house and the white barn, with its large block letters that spell out M A D I L L F A R M to all who pass by.
If you step into Ben and Marjorie’s parlour (and you’ll have to because they’re those kind of folks), you’ll see a picture from 1957 that shows the barn dominating the farm landscape around. The 401 is being built and it stops just beside the farm.
Ben bought the land in 1946 for $12,000, the same amount he had to put out in 1952 when the couple were awakened in the middle of the night in their then-house (now the garage) by people coming in from Centre Rd., telling them their barn was on fire. It was too late to do anything but watch the barn disappear and try to keep the flames from getting onto the house.
“I’m the only living person around here who is a down-to-earth farmer whose parents farmed in this area,” Madill says as he visits at the kitchen table and lays out the memoirs he’s produced. “I just sold my wheat today.”
At age 91 Madill still works the land as best he can. The farm was originally 150 acres. The family still has six acres but Ben works most of the 100 acres behind the driving range next door along the north side of 401 over to McLaughlin Rd. The land was sold ages ago and is still waiting to produce the cookie cutter glass box buildings that now stand like soulless windrows on all sides. Instead of the “little boxes on the hillside” that Malvena Reynolds wrote of, the Madills are surrounded by big boxes on the (architecturally) shrill side.
A farmer all his life, Madill is a history buff who probably did as much as anyone to save the Britannia School House, where he started classes back in 1921.
An inveterate tinkerer, Madill has built himself a sun dial, has a huge collection of clocks and can recount the specifications for any number of old pieces of arcane farm equipment.
Fortunately for anyone who values the past, he has documented his life in great detail and has myriads of photos. And fortunately, Marjorie, a member of Cooksville’s Tipping clan, can put find them readily when her husband needs them.
Asked about farming at his age, Madill says, “it’s not a big job. Why would I quit as long as I’m able. I keep on scratching the land.”
In his lifetime, he’s gone from pulling farm equipment out onto Centre Rd. without looking because there was never any traffic coming, to an astounding count of 44,200 vehicles passing by his lane entrance each day.
Attempts to prod him into commenting on the change prove futile this day because he doesn’t want to sound like a bitter old-timer.
Never mind. The “Memories ” postscript in one of his memoirs says all that needs to be said.
“It is sad to see the farms, the fences, the driveways, the barns, the houses, the bush and the trees that once dotted the landscape all giving way to the construction of a new city. The old landmarks are gone.
“The change has been so great that old timers cannot even see or find the spot where their house and barn once stood.
“It is sad to see many of my life long neighbours, friends, school chums and others being stricken with heart attacks, cancer, arthritis and many other health conditions. Many of my friends and neighbours much younger than I have departed from this world.
“It is a short journey down this winding road of life. You cannot choose your time on earth but you can choose to live each day like you will be here forever.”