A Place To Grow

How my family went from city dwelling to country living—and wound up on the front lines of the good food revolution.

- Brent Preston 

WHEN WE LEFT OUR HOME IN DOWNTOWN TORONTO and moved to the farm more than 10 years ago, we had no idea what we were doing. As a teen, I had spent weeks at a time in the wilderness for my job as a canoe-trip guide, and my wife, Gillian, had grown up farming in Vermont. But at this point in our lives, we were urbanites in our early 30s looking for a change. Gillian was working at a public-sector management consulting firm, I was a producer for CBC Television, and we were ready to move on.

A farm can and should be a lot of things: a place where food is grown, a sanctuary for wild things, a gathering spot for family and community. But to endure, it must make money.

For years, Gillian and I focused on the profitability of our farm with an intensity that bordered on obsession. We fought and struggled and eventually achieved our goal, but at enormous cost. Our bodies broke down, we were consumed by stress, and we came very close to destroying our marriage.

As I write this in November 2016, we have just finished our 10th season of farming. Our business is established, stable and profitable. We have paid off all our debt, and we no longer carry a mortgage on our 100-acre property outside the village of Creemore, Ont., about a two-hour drive northwest of Toronto. We employ a team of skilled and dedicated workers who share in our profits. We make enough money to save for the education of our children (Foster, age 16, and Ella, age 14) and to travel in the off-season. The farm is our sole source of income; our 20 acres of garden provide everything our family needs.