You Know You're a Farmer When a Hawk Drops Some Corn on You...

It's a Wednesday 10:10 am and I am driving across Bloor St West admiring my old stomping grounds. I reach for my phone to call Dale Hawkins who is an old friend and great supporter of my Stewardian journey. Fortunately we were in sync and able to meet within minutes in High Park by the tennis courts. After a quick hello hug we grab a seat on the bench, Dale reaches out to give me a little envelope and as I open my hand he says "white corn."

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