Appropriate, expropriate

Here she goes again. The first time I heard the word “expropriation,” my father had said something like, “Well, if the government is going to expropriate property, I wish the hell they’d make me an offer.” At the time, we lived in a house my Dad had built on a half-acre just north of the 401. In the ‘40s, Highway 401 was only two lanes wide at Weston Road. My best guess is the idea of expropriating our property was more about our friends, Mrs. and Mr. Stevenson, who owned a gravel and sand business next to the 401 at Weston Road. Not only did the Stevensons run a business at the location, they lived with their kids on that property and, according to Mrs. Stevenson, the property had been in the family for years. But, the province of Ontario was in a boom by the early ‘50s, progress meant the highway was going to be widened and a new bridge with ramps would have to be built. Can you believe it, the 401, only two lanes? As it turned out, the Humberview Public School was also on the expropriation list, as it was located next to the Stevenson’s business and home. Demolished to make way for the future. All wiped out. Only a memory.

Ours was a Veteran’ Land Act (VLA) home in Weston. Lots of vets took advantage of the VLA to purchase property and house plans. Dad was a veteran who worked for the civil service after the war and had decided to get us out of the downtown city flat above my grandparents’ place in Riverdale. He and Mom dreamed about a house with a yard big enough to have some fun – bonfires, a garden, a swing set for the kids, lots of room to hang the wash, a place for the dog to run and space for the ever-growing Durning clan. Building that house was accomplished with a lot of blood, sweat and tears, and the help from his brother (an electrician), his brother-in-law (a plumbing and heating guy) and the Stevensons, the people who not only owned the sand and gravel pit, but also a dump truck, a diesel shovel and a grader. It was good to have good neighbours and tradesmen in the family. I know there was a whole lot of barter going on between my parents and the Stevensons, a lot of barter and a lot of stories. After a three-month stab at digging the basement by hand, Mr. Stevenson swung by and finished the job in a matter of hours. My uncle wired the house and my other uncle installed the furnace and the plumbing. In return, my dad spent more than a few hours paying everyone back with building redesigns and general labour.

The construction of our family home began in 1948 and didn’t stop until my parents decided to move back to their old, downtown Toronto, neighbourhood in 1986. It was a tough decision to leave the family home my parents had built for us. Dad and mom always had a project going on at Sunset Trail, including a two-bedroom addition, a bathroom update, tile flooring removed, broadloom laid, hardwood installed, walls removed, walls replaced, doors moved, kitchen remodelled and windows upgraded. It was a family home. Our family home. Sunset Trail was about all of us. Our family happened in that house. Birthdays were celebrated there. Three wedding receptions took place there. Family gathered to mourn loved ones. Every holiday was an excuse to gather there. We all knew every square inch of that house and the property. All of the quirks, the secret doors, the funny way a window had to be opened, how to jiggle the key to lock the front door—we all knew how our home worked. I’m sure when dad said he’d welcome an expropriation it might have been “one of those frigging days”. He might have been tired of building, fixing, expanding and remodelling. Sunset Trail was, and is remembered most fondly as, our family home. My parents choose to leave. There was no pressure to leave. No sword hanging over their heads.

So, what’s my point? Well, I do have one. I’ve been keeping up with the struggles of the Meyers family—on Facebook, via Twitter, on television and the radio. The impending destruction of the family’s home in Quinte West through expropriation has been ongoing since 2006. CFB Trenton wants/needs the family’s home, and the land upon which it sits, to build a special training facility. Frank Meyers is not a young man. Seven years is a long time to fight for your home and the life you’ve built for your family. Frank Meyers is a farmer. “Farmers feed cities.” Frank Meyers is committed to his life as a farmer. He’s connected to the land, his home and to his community. The property he lives on has been in his family for generations. Like my parents, Frank Meyers built his family’s house with his own hands. He built it for his family. Meyers does not “do” the internet or Twitter or Facebook, nor did my parents. Ironically, it is through social media that Frank Meyers has found a flood of support for his cause, albeit most of it virtual. But, virtually speaking, we can do more than read about the Meyers family and offer comments and press the “LIKE” button. We can let the government (especially our local and provincial elected officials) know we don’t like the current expropriation laws whereby a government can acquire any private property if it’s required for “the public good”, an expropriation act that offers property owners no legal recourse. An expropriation act that is, essentially, “sell to us or be expropriated”. Frank and Marjorie Meyers did not choose to leave their home. There has been, for seven years, pressure for them to do so. There is a sword hanging over their heads, every day.

While you’re checking out the expropriation laws online, have a look at the section entitled, “Expropriation without Compensation”.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca