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The Brussels Post, 1977-11-23, Page 2MUSSELS ONTARIO WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1977 Serving Brussels and the surrounding community. Published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario by McLean Bros. Publishers, Limited, Evelyn Kennedy - Editor Dave Robb - Advertising Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $8,00 a Year, Others $14.00 a Year, Single Copies 20 cents each. ABC *CNA R I Z. _ 191 po'IAN COmm u SA p..c• 4PCNA (.PER s ASSO CI tint, N (*SPA RS Oh". O'Brussels Pos. Reflections Behind the scenes By Keith Rouiston I'm a softy Dream come true It doesn't often happen that whole communities get behind a project and see it through, but the opening of the Brussels, Morris and Grey Community Centre Saturday proves that it 'can happen. The cornple,x began as a dream in the minds of a few far-sighted village residents, when it became clear that the old arena would be closed by the government, and that the cost of repairing it would be high. From the outset, those who proposed building a new arena built a solid foundation for their ideas. They investigated financing, inspected arenas in other communities, and sought the support of council. Once 'it was clear that a new arena should be built, the people of Brussels Morris and Grey responded. They gave up their spare time to work tirelessly on corpthittees, and they gave generously to the project when the appeal for funds went out. The finance committee set itself a tough task. The project was to cost the people nothing, except what they chose to contribute. And with the support of individuals, service club s, and other groups, the goal was met. More than a year of effort has gone into the new Community Centre, and much of that effort was never seen. For every committee head there were dozens of people who worked behind the scenes, r simply because they believed building the new arena was something worth doing. That kind of hard work and dedication isn't unique to the people of Brussels, Morris and Grey , but it is evidence of a strong and lasting community spirit. As in any large undertaking involving scores of people, the road to the building of the Community Centre wasn't always smooth. There were problems both of personality and communication. The committees were constantly questioned on their proposals, and there were sometimes misunder- standings, but in the end, it was that very questioning which insured the success of the project. It kept the committees on their toes, and it kept them from making any serious errors in judgment. All that is history now. The Community Centre will stand for years to come as a testament to the energy and the hard work of the people of Brussels, Morris and Grey. It is an achievement of which they can be justly proud, and which they and their children can enjoy for a long time to come. You've heard it before: You"ve got to walk before you can run. It's true. So let's get movin'. kJ/ 111 PaRTICIPat170/7 © Walk a block.Today. I grew up on farm. I live in a house in the middle of farming country. I've been pleading the farmers' case in print for nearly a decade. So it's natural, I suppose that people sometimes ask me why I didn't become a farmer. There are several reasons I guess. The first was a little thing called money, or lack thereof. Even when I was growing up, in those short days ago when you could pick up a good farm for $20,000, it seemed like an impossible task to get into the business. Today it's riot impossible, it's ridiculous. There was also the fact that farming seemed such a hazardous, uncontrolled way to make a living.As a youngster I suppose I watched a few too many crops rot in' the fields in a wet fall, saw a few too many calves or pigs die from some mysterious disease, taking with them the profit for the whole herd or litter. But the biggest thing against farming for me was that I just didn't have the killer instinct. I was a real softy when it came to the , farm animals. It came to mind the other day when it came time to give some of my roosters the axe. We bought some cute little cuddly day-old chicks last spring, a mixed lot with both male and female. The plan was to keep the pullets for eggs and groW the roosters for meat. I was determined I was going to harden myself to the realities of fife: I purposely got'enough chicks so there would be no temptations to get too close to individuals. A friend of mine had a feW chickenS and named every one of them. I -couldn't See Myself lopping off the head of any rooster I knew by naive. So my flock stayed large enough to be impersonal. As the roosters gieW and became obstreperous, sometimes trying to take a hunk Out of A finger when the feed bucket was delivered to the chicken house, it seemed that it wouldn't be hard to work up the right spirit come time to transform the fowl devilS into table fare But, when the time finally came, My old emotional approach came back. Logically I knew that the birds had to go. The price of chicken feed ain't Chicken feed any more so you can't afford to keep fat roosters around. The thought of the tasty, tender meat, unlike that pastey, rubbery chicken you get at the supermarket these days, was also inviting. Yet it was hard to look those roosters in their beady little eyes.: and tell them they had to go. I felt like a hard. hearted Inco boss. I did the dirty deed, not enjoying a single second of it, even when it came time to put the blade to the cantakerous big bruiser who had strutted the length of the henhouse with such violent authority that none of the other members of the family would go in to gather the. eggi. I had threatened that bird for so long, telling him how I was going to enjoy his violent end, but in the end I turned to mush when. I had to actually, carry out my threat. I'm a hyprocrite,. I know. With my feelings I should spend the rest of my life eating carrots sticks and soya burgers with a little crunchy granola thrown in for a thrill.. I'm no vegetarian. I like steak and spareribs and fried chicken and roast duck and all those other delicious meals ,that some little animal had to give his life for. . To Make it even worse, I enjoy raising animals that will some day grace my table because of the feeling of independence and the feeling that I don't have to force fast growth like commercial farmers and the food will likely have a better flavour. But like the general who sends his troops off to fight while He sits safety behind the lines, I'd like somebody else to do my dirty work, to actually Min those,liVing,' breathing animals into human foo. Well, that explains why I couldn't be a farmer. I just haven't got the emotional makeup. Or have It I get a chuckle recently when a friend who is a &tither who every Yeae sends a couple of thousand aninialstonarket, said he'd be interested in buying a, emit* of the roosters only if they were deatl.lie coutrin e 't bear to kill them himselt sa!d Maybe I'm not the Only bleeding heart oil the Wirt.