Witness

Court scans his neighbouring field. Organically grown wheat is grown by Ken Marisett.

Hoary Puccoon, Black Mustard, Common Mullein; the Trout Lily and Touch- Me-Not: Reading through ‘Field Forest Hedgerow—A hiker’s wild flower guide for Prince Edward County’, I’m getting a handle on the colours that inhabit the landscape these days. I call Court Noxon, author of the guide to help me out. I’m supposin’ he’ll tell me of some hard-to-find woods trail we’ll head to, to search out rare species and…” Come on over and we’ll look in my backyard… or along the road,” is what he says: So much for expectations.

Also unexpected is the sense of something both familiar yet unusual when I hang a left onto Kleinsteuber Parks road…something about the openness of the land…crisp sea-like fields descending like tides onto borders of dense woods…houses and outbuildings carefully arranged…oops just passed Court’s entranceway! Brake now; reverse.

Heading up the curved driveway a low slung mustard tone house is sited on a knoll of a hill. The lines and details are minimalist—early influence… “Yes…I’m an architect,” the soft-spoken Noxon responds to my rambling inquiry.
“The house has style elements from local vernacular but I kept design and details plain…it’s like the wildflowers I guess. I have never had an interest in having flowers that aren’t inherently suited to the area,” he gestures. “The natural field related to the animals and the earth…you keep running across the interdependency of those things.”

“The Noxons first settled in Adolphustown in 1784,” Court tells me. “They were Quakers. James Sr. had nine kids who were expected to learn home economics and the industrial arts in order to prosper,” he continues. “In fact the first vineyard noted here belonged to Dorland Noxon. He won an award for his white wine in the 1800s.” I wonder if they talked terroir I mumble to myself.

“We lived in Bloomfield where Pam (Noxon) liked the streetlights and sidewalks…we then thought we would try to open-County about 20 years ago,” Court answers. “I designed and then made a scaled model of the house. Came out here on Jan 1, aligned the model so the sun’s rays at noon went right across the link between the main living spaces. That’s where we eat…the conversation section. Turns out to be exactly what happens with the sun.”

But? I nod to the surrounding meadowlands. “Cornfield…it was a cornfield we bought. I ploughed and seeded down with Sheep’s Fescue. The grass is a beautiful red when it flowers. It’s not an aggressive grass that grows so high to obliterate other things coming along…it grows in clumps and in between there is soil so if you want to put in other flowers the soil is exposed for that,” Court continues; we walk the land. “Wildflowers need light to propagate so you can fail by planting seed under earth. I also seed down clover as a fertilizer. White and red clover are nitrogen accumulators.”

Court Noxon heading home.

Following Court through a meadow is like following the market manager through stalls loaded with fresh produce. “The shrubs around the backyard are local…ground cover like periwinkle also native. Red osier here…nannyberry bush…heavy blossoms but the rain and the temperature inhibited pollination.”

The sun is high. Court continues amidst a chorus of crickets and songbirds. “That is Juneberry, the first shrub that blossoms in the woods…a very good take this year. Pure white flower…the berry is edible but I never get a chance, the birds get it all…the purple–flowering raspberry comes out as a very dry pulpy berry…it’s a prolific grower with huge leaves…a golden colour. “The riverbank grape vine! Makes the very best grape jelly…just finished the last jar.”

We head toward the tree line. “This is flax. It seeds itself…it’s a bright blue and goes into a slumber around noon…closes up. When the leaves are off, the stem is hardy, it’s tough because it’s flax like they use for weaving. I cut back the meadow once a year. It helps stabilize the soil and keeps out the seedling trees that would envelope the meadow.”

I’m now persuaded to follow Court’s lead in seeding; maybe I’ll be the Johnny Appleseed of Hillier. “My advice is to make yourself a garden… put what you want for a meadow and let the birds do the rest. They eat the seeds and then nest in the trees and their droppings are full of seeds…you’ll usually find that the wildflowers appear under the trees first, except for the walnuts. They are allelopathic, which discourages a lot of plants to grow near,” he says.

“The thing about the wildflowers is they are acclimatized,” meaning…? “For instance, the Indian blanket is a meadow flower that survives dry periods…a lot of plants have been gone for so long because of spraying in agriculture. ‘Weeds’ are what we call wildflowers. There are people in England who take bus trips out to the country to see the ‘weeds’ because they have been eliminated in many areas,” Court describes. “We attempt to subdue nature rather than seducing and working with it. Some of the older civilization sites we have visited seem to have done things a little more intelligently,” he comments.

We stop. The air carries as silk over the fields stirring the nearby woods. “I’m sort of a godfather to a registered old growth forest down by Black River…I monitor it.” Court bends to show me something. “This flower came up unannounced one day about two years ago so I’ve been collecting seeds to reproduce it. It was found in the 1880s in England…it just occurred in a garden that happened to belong to the great granddaughter of Charles Darwin. She gave it to a major seed house in England and asked them to develop it”, Court recounts. “As far as I know no one ever planted it here in the County and yet it has come up itself. The sample I watch over is now four feet high with two plants and spreading. It’s a columbine on steroids!”

Birdsong fills the lull. “Our County island enjoys many micro climates and a wide spectrum of plant life…unusual and even rare plants that are interdependent on migrating birds,” Court reflects. I catch a scent of something…mint? Italian seasoning? “The swamp milkweed is very attractive to monarch butterflies…another that is fun is wild oregano…it grows
knee high. I can mow it right down…zesty aroma…and it’ll quickly come up again,” he describes while plucking leaves for me to savour. I’m thinking pasta.

“Over here is echinacea and there is dames rocket. You see it alongside of the roads all over the County.” I’m liking this more and more! “Virginia creeper turns bright red in fall; White Elderberries are edible; red is poisonous. That’s sweet William…Joe Pye weed…it’s a plant of wet places yet look what its doing…!”

Ok, by now I need to lie down; Information over load; go back home and read the guide from my hammock.

“I don’t visit a lot of places,” Court tells me while studying the fields. “This natural world is so large I don’t need to…new things happen all of the time. We miss a lot when we follow established patterns,” he says. “I just want to continue to plant things and learn…as someone once said; we lose a library every time somebody dies…”

Court laughs as he continues. “I do some really crazy things! A neighbour has a plane and flies over to see how I cast the seeds in different patterns; this grass is different from that grass. Designs on the land; Hey!” Court stops in his tracks and points. “That’s a wildflower…don’t know where that came from…”

It’s only as I am leaving…walking back to the truck when a most profound component of Court Noxon’s life is revealed. “He leads me to his workshop fashioned after the prototype manufacturing shop of ‘Metalsmiths’. I can only contain myself to say there is a book that introduces Noxon, the industrial designer, and ‘Metalsmiths’, one of the leading and most innovative industrial design houses and contract furniture manufacturers from 1954 to 1982. ‘Metalsmiths’ was Court’s focus before coming back to his roots—no pun intended—in the County. Here where the Noxon story in Canada began.

I’m about to turn the key in the ignition: “By the way…” Court says. “Did you notice anything different as you drove this stretch of road?” Well as a matter of fact I…; Court smiles. “There are no hydro or telephone lines to interrupt the horizon…”

I’m now on my way. I’ll take the long way home. Who’d a thunk it! A clear horizon.