While we can

Drew MacCandlish in the greenhouse.

Drew MacCandlish lived an inspired life

Drew MacCandlish returned to the West Island of Montreal last month. It was where he was born, 55 years ago. He died there last Wednesday. He wasn’t going home to die, he said. Rather he was going home to live.

He wasn’t interested, in those last days, in making plans for his demise, as he would refer to the cancer that was robbing him of a long life.

“Death comes too soon,” said Drew. “Let us live while we can.”

Drew was raised in Pointe Claire—a tidy mostly English-speaking, suburb of Montreal. He was he youngest of three kids. The only boy. He worked for a time at a new Pier 1 Imports store in the chic and cosmopolitan neighbourhood of Westmount.

By his mid-twenties, Drew was looking for a new challenge. He went back to school, earning a psychology degree from Concordia University. Despite his academic training, he was drawn to take a job with White Rose Nurseries in Uxbridge.

Soon, he became responsible for the national chain’s perennial products. He transferred to White Rose’s operations on Huyck’s Point Road in Prince Edward County about 25 years ago. When the bloom faded on White Rose’s prospects, Drew elected to stay in the County. This was home.

“He was passionate about his work,” said Peter Hovestadt. Together for 15 years, Peter and Drew were married seven weeks ago. “He wanted to contribute, to help out, until his mind and body were no longer in his control.”

Drew’s creativity is most evident each spring when the village of Wellington erupts in blooms. Gardens, boxes and patios brim with colour throughout the village—in private gardens, public spaces, businesses and institutions.

Perhaps his epic achievement was as landscape designer of the Oeno sculpture gallery at Huff Estates Winery. It is both breathtaking in scale and intimate and inspiring in the attention to detail.

Drew had battled cancer twice before, and won. He had regular check-ups.

Drew in the garden he designed and nurtured In front of the Times offices in Wellington.

“He’d been given a clean bill of health,” said Peter.

He was back to work, up early, ensuring the village’s plants were watered and fed. Or busy assembling stunning arrangements for a wedding or special occasion.

But in July, there was more bad news. The cancer was back. Worse, it was unclear where it had originated. Treatment didn’t work. He was told it would be just months before the cruel disease would take him.

“I thought I had more time,” Drew told Peter the morning they were married. But, in a turn that illuminates the character of the person Drew was, he immediately pivoted to comfort his devastated spouse.

“It will be okay,” assured Drew.

Shortly thereafter, Drew moved to a residential hospice in Kirkland, on the West Island. Peter describes the facility as a little slice of heaven. Within a couple of days, they had managed to eliminate much of the pain that had come to define his last few months.

While in hospice care, Drew continued to contribute to assignments entrusted to their firm, Blooms on West Lake.

“He wanted to make people happy,” said Peter. “He was the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back, and then borrow a shirt to give you that as well.”

But at last it all became too much. A few days before he died, he told Peter he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t stay.

“It will be okay,” Drew assured Peter once more.

A service honouring Drew’s life will be held at Wellington United Church at 1:30 p.m. on Saturday, December 13.

ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW

Drew MacCandlish produced a wonderfully eclectic column in the Times for a couple of years. He wrote as he lived—with grace, charm, insight and a healthy dose of wit. In this excerpt, from May 4, 2005, he describes his early attraction to the garden.

Ever since I watched my mother transplant a flat of marigolds, I have been drawn to gardening. If I recall correctly—forgive me for accuracy as this recollection is over 35 years old—the ever-popular sunny yellow annuals were planted to the front of a three-foot-deep border of flowering shrubs and perennials that ran the east fence line of our suburban backyard. A strong, wooden fence clearly defined our property from the neighbours to the east, south and west, as well as it clearly delineated the front yard from the back yard. Privacy was further augmented along the south fence line by a well-manicured cedar hedge. Being on a negative grade relative to the surrounding properties, in the spring our backyard would puddle with water in places and become a soupy mess. With creative ingenuity, my father resolved the soggy lawn problem by creating a small stream where all the excess water could collect.

Made of smooth river rocks, Dad had it meandering for about 30 feet to where water could gather at its lowest point in a small pond. A well-disguised sump pump discreetly pushed excess water through a pipe to a municipal drainage ditch that ran along the front of the property alongside a municipal sidewalk. Close to the collecting pond Dad, planted a weeping willow. It thrived in the moist soil provided by the pond, growing rapidly and providing a shaded area in what was otherwise a sun-filled yard.

Our property was well maintained. In the spring, Dad spent many hours top dressing and fertilizing the lawn to ensure a summer of intense green. A rose garden lined the walkway that kept individuals off the lawn on the straight and narrow from driveway to the front steps of the house.