As someone who’s spent a good chunk of his life working the land, I’ve seen many changes come and go. But nothing quite tugs at the old heartstrings like watching our farmlands give way to a sea of new houses. It’s a transformation that feels deeply personal, and I find myself reflecting on what we’re losing in the name of progress.
Let’s take Niagara, once a region defined by its sprawling fields and rich soil, soil that could grow just about anything—is now becoming a hot-spot in Southern Ontario’s real estate market. Recent reports suggest that home prices there are set to rise substantially, and the area is being touted as the “jewel in the crown” of the region, due to its relative affordability. Now this might sound like good news to those in the market for a new home, or for those that make a profit from selling the land and homes, it raises a larger concern for me.
Watching this shift unfold—I can’t help but think about the land that’s being covered up. That fertile soil, which once yielded crops and supported local agriculture, is now being lost under layers of concrete and asphalt. It’s more than just a change in scenery; it’s a profound loss of something that once fed our community and nourished our way of life.
But in saying that, this trend isn’t unique to Niagara; it’s happening all across Canada. As more people move into these areas, driven by high prices elsewhere and the allure of perceived value, we’re seeing our infrastructure struggle to keep up. Our roads, our services, and especially our ability to grow our own food are feeling the strain. The truth of the matter is, that the land that once provided for us is now being sacrificed, and that’s a trade-off that weighs heavily on my mind.
But there’s another pressing issue, that compounds this problem: as I mentioned earlier, our infrastructure is under severe pressure. Our hospitals, schools, and essential services are already stretched thin. I believe that we need to face the reality that we need to pause or, at the very least, control immigration until we can properly support everyone living here. It’s not about being unwelcoming; it’s about ensuring that our systems can handle the growth, and provide for both new and those that have lived here all their life.
You know, in all my years of farming, I’ve learned one thing for certain: you’ve got to work and protect the land, not destroy it. But—looking around now, I can’t help but feel like it’s almost too late. The balance we need is slipping away, and I just hope we haven’t crossed the point of no return. GW