In support of my interest in the Don Valley, it can be said that I have lived the life; as a boy tramping its wooded reaches, as a youth pitting his energy against five acres of rundown land and a dilapidated farm dwelling; as a man fighting a long fight for its preservation.
I first set foot on my acres at the Forks of the Don in January 1927. From that date on, I thought only to turn them into a place of beauty. Forest trees were planted by the thousands, and an orchard too, which grew to fruitfulness. Rich soil was wrested from sod and twitch grass, and became a garden land in which fine fruits and vegetables grew.
I did just about everything on my place. I gathered the notes which made up my manuscripts of the Don Valley. I made maple syrup from trees of my own planting. I canned fruit and vegetables, buit a root house, kept a goat, a few pigs, chickens. I made a wild flower garden, established a bird sanctuary, built bridges which floods invariably washed out, dug wells, kept bees, made a log cabin retreat where most of The Cardinal was written. (p. 136)