Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Pesticide Laws and Student Protests

My garden today. I hope the housing prices in Quebec don't plummet, with the political situation. We're retiring soon. Maybe I should have stayed in the duplex in the city.

I've been honing my epistolary ebook Biology and Ambition and sending it to people who might enjoy it, teachers!

Quebec teachers - who are pretty busy right now, as they always are.

But Quebec's in a quandary right now, with these student protests.

I like reading commentary from the rest of Canada in places like the National Post, cause they don't quite get it.

You have to be a Quebecker to get it.

That Pesticide Law, it started in Quebec and Quebec was the only place it could have got started.

The Chemical Corporations didn't understand Quebec. They had huge power, huge clout, but not enough understanding of Quebec.

They came in with their suits and briefcases to give their spiel in support of Pesticides, in English. Something like that.

And so pesticides were banned in Quebec and then lots of provinces followed. In the US (where corporations rule) they implemented laws to OUTLAW the banning of pesticides by communities. So I've heard.

It all started with an eccentric British doctor in a sort of anglophone suburb called Hudson, where I happened to live, but like a rash it spread. (And unexplained rashes on local children, eating too many clementines at Christmas, were why this doctor got concerned in the first place, I have heard.)

I never used pesticides anyway, when I lived there,  as I had young children - and in those days, the 80's, young children actually played outside!

 One year, my marigolds, started from scratch in February in the living room, my sturdy home-made marigolds, my glistening, dewy flowers, were all felled by cutworms. My hollyhocks, my favorite flower, the flower of my faded childhood memories, as they once grew 'wild' in the ruins of some old building on Decarie Boulevard behind my duplex in the city where we Boomer children once played,outside all day long, in the lanes and among the rusty carcasses of Chevy Belairs and Corvairs in the used car lots lining the street, were shribbled and decayed  by some brown mold, rust I think it called. But my kids were more important.

My father in law lived in Hudson. I recall he wanted to kill some little weeds pushing up between the stones on his front walk and he killed his large Maple instead. Imagine how much pesticide he put on the walk, where my kids often played.