About Ian Kinross

I am a Toronto-based writer and communicator. I volunteer at the Thorncliffe Park Community Garden and recently learned the skill of dry stone wall building. I've been known to mess around with bicycles. I would like to thank Karen Maraj and Nicky Borland for their inspiration and support to kickstart this blog. Also thanks to Hannah Materne for design of the kinrosscordless logo. I appreciate your comments.

Forest yoga at Ali’s pond

Posted on October 23, 2023 by Ian Kinross

Kinross Creek went dry for about six weeks this summer but with the longer nights and recent rains in October, the creek is trickling again and, for the first time ever, filling up Ali’s pond.

Happy Birthday, Ali! The little semicircle of stones gathered nearby are catching the creek nicely to form your new pond — a stone smile in the forest.

It was cold and windy on the walk over this morning. Canada Geese mingled with mallard ducks in a protected arm of Minden Lake. The geese will fly south soon. Some mallards might stay the winter in open waters, near the rapids.

The local farmer has brought his cattle back from summer pasture and will sell some at auction next week. Those staying on the farm this winter are roaming the fields to nibble the last fresh grass. After the frosts come, a good stockpile of hay and silage closer to the barn will keep the cows fed over winter.

In the forest, it’s calmer and quieter, with a palette of diverse colours. The dried leaves that were shed by the tall maples here mingle with splashes of colour. Bold scarlet leaves linger on small oak trees, yellow poplar leaves flutter, and a few lush green ferns remain on the forest floor. Fungi of different shapes, sizes and colours bloom on the trunks of fallen trees. The forest takes a breath before winter sets in.

As I approach Kinross Creek, huffing and puffing up the hill, I catch sight of the new pond, with trees reflected in it.

I muck around, moving some stones to reinforce the small dam. I bend over, stretch my legs at odd angles for balance, then stand up with my hands on my hips to ponder. From a distance, someone might guess I am practicing some kind of strange forest yoga.

With the water level still low, I gather a few large stones to form a new set of stepping stones just upriver. These will make it easier to ford the creek next spring.

I suspect the new pond will continue to fill into November, as the creek’s watershed gets wetter with the dew of longer nights, and with more rain expected in the forecast.

It will be neat to return here to get another look at the pond before the ground is frozen and the snow flies.

Downstream, the area around Colleen’s future pond is mostly dry and full of leaves — that will be my project next spring, when the creek runs faster with melted snow.

Today, I realize it’s getting harder to find stone in the forest with all of the fallen leaves, but a large moss-covered stone suddenly presents itself, next to an old tree. I wiggle it and realize it’s part of a mound of big stones — likely piled here years ago by a farmer. It’s the motherlode!

Next time I visit I will excavate a few of these big ones. They’re too heavy to lift, so I plan to coax, flip and roll them over to the creek.

To me, there’s a freedom in the coolness of fall. As the leaves come down, you can see the forest contours and walk anywhere. There is a different energy that comes with the change of seasons. I pause near the hydro tower and admire the view of the farm and cows below. I inhale cool air and head back down the hill. Next to the road, beige milkweed pods release their seeds on silky-soft wings.

Our daughter Ali turns 32 tomorrow in New Zealand, where spring has sprung.

Love you, Ali — Happy Birthday!

Riverbed restoration at Kinross Creek

Posted on September 17, 2023 by Ian Kinross

The first fall colours in Minden Hills are subtle — the purples and whites of wild asters blooming in September on the roadside, yellow goldenrod, the browns and beiges of forest fungi, green milkweed pods ripening. Not quite the splendor of traditional fall colours — of maple and other hardwoods we will see in October — but just as rich and diverse in their own way.

Kinross Creek is bone dry downriver of the two “check” dams built this spring. As the nights get longer with heavier dew, the creek should flow again soon, spilling into Ali’s pond with its stone semicircle smile. The creek is in the woods near the hydro corridor, about a 40-minute hike from our cottage.

I use the opportunity to wander along the dry creek bed, downriver to the edge of the valley, the spot where Kinross Creek transforms to a cascading waterfall when the snow melts each spring.

There are hundreds of stones of diverse shapes and sizes revealed in the dry creek bed today. For someone who likes working with stone, this is mecca.

A site for the next check dam presents itself. The top of a huge dead tree has fallen across the creek. When the water ran here earlier this year, the deadfall created a natural pond. But it also diverted the flow of the creek to the side, away from its original course. The remaining vertical tree stump is a sentinel, about 8-feet high, marking the spot.

So I start to pull away the fallen part of the trunk and limbs from the creek bed, to replace them with the next stone check dam. This stone feature will restore the original creek course and feed into Colleen’s pond just downriver.

The woods are still and cool — no bird song but for the occasional screech of a Blue Jay and coarse cry of a crow. The mosquitoes and blackflies that pestered me over the past few visits have vanished.

I mine maybe 25 stones from the dry creek bed and arrange them into the start of a one-rock-high check dam, following the contours of the original creek bed. After a few minutes, I realize my heart is thumping pretty fast — my stonework excitement seems to be giving me a cardio workout.

With the tree cleared and first stones in place, I start to head out, but stumble upon another small stone-pile in the forest. It’s not quite the motherlode, but will add 20 stones to this effort.

In the woods around here, even though I keep my eyes peeled for stones, it is often my feet that find them. When one sticks out of the forest floor to catch my foot, it is typically the tip of an iceberg of many stones — likely piled up by farmers who worked this area before the farm was abandoned.

Likewise, it is often my feet that find remaining relics of barbed wire fences strung perhaps 75 to 100 years ago. When a jagged piece of wire threatens to snare a human rambler, I bend it back out of harm’s way.

The cool weather and subtle colours of early fall make for a nice walk back, after the heat of mid-summer. I come upon a strange and splendid drooping fungi, hanging from the end of a log. Milkweed pods swell and will release their feathered seeds to fly away later this fall.

I’ll be back in October to check the creek flow and start work on the next pond.

Foraging stone for Ali’s pond

Posted on September 2, 2023 by Ian Kinross

I’ve visited Kinross Creek several times since spring. Each passing month reveals a new chapter in the annual cycle of the little creek and the natural world around it.

— In April, the creek was gushing with spring run-off. Reaching a cliff downstream, it cascaded into a bigger stream feeding Minden Lake. In the surrounding forest, a hard pack of snow, criss-crossed with deer tracks, continued to melt after the long winter.

— In May, the creek ran strong as trilliums and wild leeks popped up around it. The plants were getting a brief moment in the sunshine before the hardwood forest spread its leafy canopy. The forest filled with the song of returning migratory birds, after their winter in the south.

— In June, Kinross creek was still burbling nicely. With about 50 stones gathered from an abandoned farm field nearby, I built my first one-rock-high check dam. It would direct and slow the water flow into an expanded small pond downstream.

— In July, the creek was slowing to a trickle. This afforded the chance to create a semicircle of stone, enlarging a natural pond — a stone smile in the forest. We’ll call this one Ali’s Pond after our oldest daughter, an adventurer now living half-way around the world in New Zealand.

These small so-called “check” dams are permaculture techniques often used in more arid areas to preserve water run-off. Permaculture may sound virtuous, but the best reward for me is mucking about with stone, augmenting the little creek in this watershed.

I was back at the creek just once in August. From our cottage, it looks tantalizingly close — near a hydro tower west of us. (In the photo below, you can see a second tower at left in the distance — that one is near Kinross Creek.)

In reality, it is a trek to get there. Once you leave the road, there is some bushwhacking through forest and a reasonably steep climb.

I discovered that the creek had partially filled my new pond, but barely flowed below it. To reinforce and shape the two check dams, I foraged for smaller stone in the stream bed to fill gaps in them.

Then I went on a treasure hunt. Years ago, the people who farmed this area moved stone off their fields into rough rows or piles. In my trips to Kinross Creek, I’ve stumbled upon several caches of nice stone. When I find a new cache, I know I can return to mine it later.

My August trip yielded about 25 more larger stones for the next pond downstream. That will be Colleen’s Pond, after our youngest.

Two months after the longest day of the year, the nights were longer, cooler and heavier with dew.

With some more rain, I expect the creek will start to run steadily again in fall.

Smile! — you’re at Kinross Creek

Posted on July 29, 2023 by Ian Kinross

Late July, and the little creek is almost dry.

The stream had started to run in April with the melting snowpack, and was still gurgling nicely in late June. But despite some rain lately, this summer’s heat has slowed the creek to a trickle.

On my walk along Horseshoe Lake Road, an old draft horse looks up briefly from his grazing to greet me. Next time, I gotta bring an apple for him. Alongside an inlet of Minden Lake, a Great Blue Heron startles and takes flight with slow flaps of his long wings.

I cut off the road into the forest, and climb the hill under the hydro line. It’s maybe a 40-minute walk to get to this peaceful spot in the woods.

A feast for the Grackles

Chokecherries are ripening. My father-in-law once recalled making choke-cherry jelly, using liberal amounts of sugar to balance the bitterness of the berries. The birds in Minden Hills certainly like the tiny, red berries. The black Grackles have started to mass in bigger flocks now, and perform gymnastics on the berry bushes to obtain their treats.

The blackberry canes are also putting up this year’s crop — the long, spikey canes in the open area under the hydro line can easily rip your blue jeans, so I keep to the woods nearby, where the shade keeps the blackberries at bay.

Enlarging the pond

Today’s mission is to enlarge a little pond on the creek, using some stone I collected earlier in the season. A few dozen larger stones are placed to create a big smile — a semicircle dam.

In the middle of the dam, a couple of smaller rocks create a drain to direct the pond’s flow downriver over a splash pad of thin stones. Once the creek starts flowing fast again, I will be able to adjust the height of the pond by changing up the stones around the splashpad.

In the new dam, mossy-green pond stones mix and match with others collected from the edge of an abandoned farm field nearby.

I’ve mucked about with stone quite a bit, but these techniques are not my inventions; they come straight from some cool YouTube videos focusing on permaculture. In arid areas such as India and the southern US, check dams help retain water before it flows away quickly. Minden Hills is not lacking for water — at least so far — but I wanted to experiment to enlarge some existing ponds on the creek. Maybe the deer who crisscross this area will appreciate a new watering hole.

Upriver from today’s stonework, a smaller “one-rock-deep” dam checks the flow of the creek coming into the new pond site. It will be neat to see how both stone features built this year respond once the water flows faster, perhaps in late fall.

Some stepping stones would be nice too in future, to make it easier to cross the creek at this spot.

A drizzle begins to fall through the thick summer canopy of mature hardwood trees. Luckily, the walking stick I used to get up the hill this morning is also an umbrella — rain protection for the trip home.

Messing about with stone at Kinross Creek

Posted on June 29, 2023 by Ian Kinross

To my surprise, Kinross Creek is still burbling on a visit in late June, 2023. I had suspected that this little creek, which carried away the spring run-off from a melting snowpack, would be dry by now. On the other hand, we’ve had a few periods of heavy rain lately.

The creek drains a mostly forested watershed north of Minden, Ontario, next to a hydro corridor and abandoned farm. It’s a green and peaceful place.

My goal today is to build a little “check dam” using about 50 stones I gathered on previous visits to the creek. These stone features are used particularly in arid climates to “check” or delay the flow of water in a creek or river.

Arid areas in places like India or Arizona sometimes get heavy rains, so a series of check dams can preserve some of the water before it runs off. The word “dam” is somewhat misleading, as these features delay water flow but do not stop it entirely like some dams.

Minden is not an arid place, although we’ve had spells of drought in summer. But I like messing about with stones. So thought I would try building a few check dams on my favourite little creek back in the bush.

Kinross Creek already features some small ponds created by deadfalls of trees, so my plan is to enhance those pond features by adding some local stone. There’s no shortage of stone in these parts: the first farmers spent a lot of time clearing stone and placing it in piles and rows so they could grow crops and pasture cattle.

Building a tiny dam — check!

One design I came across is called the “one-rock dam.” Another misleading title. The dam is in fact one-rock high, but built out of many rocks. And again, it’s not a dam, but more of a stone feature that checks the flow a bit as the water runs through it. The check dam also blends in with nature by following the contours of the existing creek bed.

The first step is to place a few slim, flat stones in the centre of the creek. These will act as a splash pad, as most of the flow will be directed over them. Then I use progressively thicker stones to build out the one-rock dam upriver and to the sides of the creek. Finally, I use small stones to fill gaps in the bigger stones. I’m following methods of some folks from different parts of the world who have shared their one-rock-dam methods on YouTube, often under the permaculture theme.

I find myself placing stones with one hand and swatting away mosquitoes with the other. Above, a big crow is commenting on my work with his rough cry.

A crow commentary

Last time I was here in May, the forest was filled with birdsong. Today, there is just one black American Crow, high in the trees. Is he mocking me? Perhaps all the songbirds I heard before are napping now, or were just stopping here before on their migration north.

The creek seems to appreciate my efforts. The water gathers and flows through the centre of the stone feature, dancing around the stones along the way.

My next goal is to build a slightly bigger version of this check dam just downstream. If I get it right, this will create a small pond, with an overflow.

There are many deer in these parts, especially in winter. When snow was still on the ground in April, I saw their countless trails crisscrossing in the woods. So given there are rarely humans here, perhaps the deer will appreciate my pond. Maybe they’ll stop here to have a cool drink.

I’ll be back next month. If the creek has dried up by then, all the better for building the next little check dam at Kinross Creek.

Wild leeks and birdsong

Posted on May 14, 2023 by Ian Kinross

Kinross Creek, the little seasonal stream I found high up a hill north of Minden, is still running strong in Mid-May. I’m on a mission to pick up some wild leeks here for supper.

At the top of the hill on the hydro corridor, huffing and puffing from the short but steep hike, I ditch my fleece and jacket. The sun is out — it’s T-shirt weather. I pause and look back down at the green fields of a nearby farm. A blue tractor chugs in straight lines, spreading manure to enrich the crops. An old draft horse munches his way through the fresh shoots of grass. I will take a pic of him when I get back down.

The tall hardwood forests are filled with birdsong. Last time I was here, I recognized one or two calls, like the feisty screech of a red-winged blackbird. Today there is a richer chorus as many more birds have completed their spring migration north.

The birds are back

To fill in the gaps, I pull out my cell phone with its Merlin app. Cornell University created this app to identify birds by their song. Within 46 seconds, it picks up eight different species: the Great Crested Flycatcher, Ovenbird, Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Scarlet Tanager, American Redstart, and three different types of Warblers: Black-and-White, Nashville, and Chestnut-sided.

Amazing! I can’t see any of these birds, and recognize only one of the species identified, but they are with me, singing out in the forest canopy.

In the clearing along the hydro line, I do spot a lone turkey vulture, floating clockwise on a thermal, looking for his next meal. The feather tips at the end of his enormous wingspan look like fingers. I hope it’s not me he has in his sights.

I tramp down to the small valley that feeds the creek. My plan is to visit this creek throughout the year to track its lifecycle and the natural world around it.

Catching the sun

Today, my mission is simple. I’m after the tiny, tasty wild leeks of Minden Hills. Before the trees come into full leaf, these tiny greens spring up and catch the energy of the sun. In this area, they grow in clumps of hundreds. In some spots, they carpet the forest floor in the thousands.

After tracking downstream maybe 50 yards, I find the first clump of leeks, kneel down, and carefully dig up a few with a garden trowel. I knock off the dirt to see the purple and white stems below tender greens.

The entire plant is edible. These will go nicely fried with mushrooms, atop the mini-pizzas Nadine is planning for dinner. I put them and my garden trowel into a small bag.

A peaceful spot

This is a peaceful spot with the little creek still burbling. I’ve been gathering a few stones to improve a small pond along the watercourse. The first trillium blooms against a fallen log.

But today I’ve noticed that blackfly season has begun. The little critters are going after my ears and neck.

Mission accomplished, I pick up my jacket and start the hike back down the hill, leeks in hand.

April — up on Kinross Creek

Posted on April 30, 2023 by Ian Kinross

There’s a little place in the woods near our cottage where I enjoy a peaceful moment and the natural beauty of Minden Hills, Ontario.

Let’s call it Kinross Creek.

The first time I came upon it, I had hiked up a steep hill along a hydro corridor north of Minden, Ontario.

The hydro line, high above Minden Lake, runs alongside hardwood forest, and through an abandoned farm and pasture. Massive stones of the Canadian shield protrude from the earth, and many pieces of stone have been tossed and scattered about by glaciers long ago.

Because there is no designated trail, and the going is a little steep, there is nobody up there except the birds and other creatures — like deer, whose trails crisscross under old maples, and follow time-tested routes through the forest.

At the beginning of April, the ground still had a crust of hard-packed snow, making it easy to get around, except for the odd time when my foot punched through the crust.

Kinross Creek was bubbling up from its headwaters next to a massive granite face. It meandered and burbled for a few hundred yards through a forest valley, then cascaded off a cliff. Below, it joined other small creeks flowing into Minden Lake.

In this area, the spring run-off is called “the freshet” — a time when the winter snow and ice thaws and flows into lakes and rivers. I believe Kinross Creek is one of those seasonal small rivers — it likely flows mostly during spring and perhaps after a heavy period of rainfall.

Getting to know you

My plan is to visit Kinross Creek throughout the season to get to know its annual cycle better, and to enjoy some of its natural surroundings.

And because I find its splashing and gurgling sounds soothing.

When I returned in late April, the snow had all gone and the creek was still running vigorously. I explored northwards a bit and found another section of the same creek — bubbling up as a spring and then draining into crevices under the massive granite shield.

Altogether the little creek, including its two sections above-ground, and its subterranean route under rock, is maybe 400 yards long. Its downstream section also collects water from a small forest valley.

Signs of spring

Before the trees had put on their leaves, trilliums were sprouting with their trios of green leaves. Their iconic white flowers were just beginning to open. Here and there, a patch of wild leeks created a green carpet on the forest floor. Robins pecked for worms, and a turkey vulture floated and circled on an air current above the hydro corridor.

I noticed that Kinross Creek had developed a couple of natural ponds along the way, from moss-covered fallen trees that partially blocked the flow of water. I decided to try to expand the ponds a little bit, and collected some nearby stone to be ready to do the work when the creek was drier in summer.

Besides the glacier-tossed bits of stone, I came across old stone piles placed there when the area had been farmed, perhaps a hundred years ago. Further along the hydro line, there is evidence of a cattle pasture. In the adjacent woods, there are the remains of a barbed-wire farm fence.

“Stone farmers”

It’s no understatement to call the people who once worked this land “stone farmers”. Year after year, they had to remove and pile stone to make their pasture or crop fields more productive. Before them, people of the Michi Saagiig and Chippewa Nations hunted, fished and trapped in this area.

The stones I had found would now help me enhance the water features of Kinross Creek — perhaps creating two slightly bigger ponds, and augmenting the little waterfall.

I would be that little kid again, messing around in his galoshes and using stones to divert a small stream and make a pond.

The best-laid schemes of guerrilla gardeners

Posted on August 13, 2021 by Ian Kinross

While I was out of town, my community garden compatriot Ann McGuire kindly offered to check in on the little garden I had adopted and tended at a busy Toronto street corner.

Ann dropped by to water and check on the mix of existing perennials declaring themselves, as well as the new pots of geraniums I had added during my spring guerrilla garden mission.

The garden was coming into peak form — “filling in and looking summery,” as Ann put it. She identified a couple of perennials that were putting on a show — like the succulent sedum, with its touch-of-pink blooms, and two-toned phlox, vivid against the dark green of an ornamental conifer.

The site of the adopted garden is on the grounds of a local church that runs a weekly food bank program in this neighborhood. I decided to spill the beans to the church pastor. A few days later, Pastor Jim replied to my email:

“Thank you for your kindness and helpfulness in caring for our garden. I noticed that someone had beautified it! It has been a challenging time for a lot of people, and our food bank does keep us occupied.” The Pastor agreed to chat more later about the role of the food bank in this east end community.

Meanwhile, back-up guerrilla gardener Ann, a retired teacher and volunteer at the Toronto Botanical Garden, went down with a gardening injury. A misstep at her community garden plot resulted in some tendon damage. Ann soldiered on with her community garden plus watering trips to the guerrilla garden, while getting physio for her ankle. On a visit back to the big city, I swooped in to do some weeding to help out.

Ann quoted poet Robbie Burns’ line: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley.” Indeed, our best gardening intentions can often go awry, but we will find a way.

By August 2021, the bulk of work has already been done to improve the guerrilla garden. The injured Ann drove by to check on the site at Pape and Cosburn Avenues and reported that: “the garden looks quite full, lots of colour, small shrubs creeping and crawling into the empty spaces.” Mother nature also cooperated, with some rain through late summer.

The garden adjoins a busy bus stop and bright red public bench, where many local residents can take a load off in the hot summer.

The guerrilla garden will get more attention come this fall. Robbie Burns’ “Ode to a mouse” rings true — gardening plans often go sideways, and every which way, instead of straight ahead. But we will forge on.

Thanks Ann for the teamwork!

Imagining a Tree Corps for Thorncliffe Park

Posted on August 4, 2021 by Ian Kinross

On a smoking-hot summer day in Toronto, the cabbies hang out at the gritty East York Town Centre’s parking lot in Toronto’s Thorncliffe Park neighbourhood. They know where to stay cool — they’ve found a few small strips of cooling shade from the few trees planted in the mall’s vast concrete parking area.

The cabbies banter, have a smoke, and eat a brown-bag lunch. It feels livable here in the shade, on a scorching day when most folks are trying to stay inside and crank up the AC. Like a little oasis.

One steamy summer day in July, I decided to walk about 7 kilometers from our home in leafy Riverdale to my community garden at Thorncliffe Park. The heat kicked up across the O’Connor viaduct bridge. As I got across the valley bridge and turned into the Thorncliffe neighbourhood, my eyes scouted ahead to find the best shade. I instinctively adjusted my route to stick to the shady spots. I stopped once to take out my hearing devices, toweled down my sweaty head, and tromped on.

Next to the community sports field and playground, there was some great shade from mature trees. But as I got closer to the Thorncliffe mall, the task of finding shade was trickier. Trees were fewer, smaller, and sicker. I clung to some shade along the brick wall of the elementary school, then made a beeline across the heat blanket of the mall’s parking lot for a cluster of trees next to the Quick Lube oil change shop.

In this vast parking area, thousands have people have stood in a snaking line this year waiting for their covid vaccines — sandwiched between a hot sun, and the heat reflecting off the concrete.

Sign of the times: *Thorncliffe mall parking lot next to the elementary school.*

On the hottest summer day in Toronto in 2021, the temperature can top 36 degrees Celsius. But with climate changes underway, that peak is expected to edge well over 40 degrees by mid-century.

Middle income or wealthy neighborhoods have more cooling shade — their tree canopy is older and better maintained. Lower-income neighborhoods like Thorncliffe Park are hotter. It’s tougher to find the shady, liveable spaces on a hot day — the places that cool our bodies and ease our minds. In addition, wealthier neighbourhoods have better air-conditioning, and those AC systems pump hot air outside, increasing the temperatures for those coping with no AC.

It’s a small step, but we need more trees in Thorncliffe Park, I thought.

As I returned to guerrilla gardening this summer, I got some inspiration on the topic of guerrilla tree planting as one way to keep our city liveable in the years ahead. The first story came from my fellow community gardener Debi Rudoph. In the space of about 15 years, a small maple tree she planted clandestinely at a local grocery store now shaded a public sidewalk nearby. It created gorgeous colour in the fall.

The second inspiration was a video shared by my brother-in-law Darcy McGovern. It tells the tale of guerrilla gardening efforts in New York City. One of the most inspiring was the story of Hattie Carthan. She had witnessed her beloved Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in Brooklyn slowly fall into disrepair. As its black population increased, mortgage lenders used the discriminatory practice of “red-lining” to deny loans to residents. Homes fell into disrepair, as did city streets, sidewalks and infrastructure.

One of the saddest declines was in the neighborhood’s tree canopy, as older trees were not maintained or replaced. With a fierce determination, Hattie became an activist. She formed a local Tree Corps. The group not only saved some existing trees, including an ancient and magnificent Magnolia, but over the course of years planted and maintained more than 1,500 new trees in public areas of their neighborhood.

The Tree Corps. engaged people of all ages to understand and nurture their tree canopy. Slowly, they brought back some beauty, pride, and cooling shade to their beloved “Bed-Stuy”.

As I wandered through the central section of Thorncliffe Park — the mall, school and park that are its lifeblood — I imagined how more trees could enrich this community.

My first thought was selfish — I could plant trees along my own walking route, to keep me cooler in the summers ahead. But I also thought about the thousands of people getting around on foot in Thorncliffe Park on a hot summer day. Coming through the park walkway to the mall. Taking the sidewalks to catch a bus, often in the scorching heat of the sun. Waiting for the bus with no shade in sight, like I have done many times.

I thought about community engagement in Thorncliffe through its Neighborhood Office, community gardens and businesses. And about the immense goodwill of its people.

I imagined a tiny band of willing guerrilla gardeners who would form the first-ever Thorncliffe Park Tree Corps.

Kudos to our guerrilla garden challenge winners

Posted on July 25, 2021 by Ian Kinross

This spring, I threw down the gauntlet. As I mucked about in my gardening gear to try to beautify a city intersection, I made a call for others to take up the guerrilla garden challenge.

Congrats to our five winners — Jayne Rutledge-Fogarty, Debi Rudolph, Donna Spreitzer, Ann McGuire, and my Mom, Sheila Kinross. They’ve all inspired us in different ways.

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— Jayne cast seeds originally saved by her Dad, creating floral colour on a hiking trail near her home in B.C.

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— Debi took covert action to plant a young maple tree on a grassy spot at a nearby grocery store; as it matures, the tree now shades folks on the public sidewalk nearby.

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— Donna has been on a mission to weed out invasive species such as the dog-strangling vine — to protect native species in the Don Valley eco-scape.

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— Ann donated teamwork and horticultural knowledge at this year’s guerrilla gardening mission — providing some TLC to a little perennial garden at an intersection near the neighbourhood’s biggest food bank. As a community gardener, Ann has also donated her produce to the food program at the Scott Mission.

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— And my Mom, Sheila, and some fellow residents at her TO retirement home, rolled up their sleeves to beautify a local parkette. Their colourful annuals such as begonias, geraniums and impatiens complement existing plants like white hydrangea — a little oasis after a long winter and the latest covid lockdown.

Our winners received some herbs and flowers from my private collection, and copies of my blockbuster: The tiny gardens that could — a tale of two guerrilla gardeners in the heart of the big city.

Making us think

But more importantly, they made us think about our environment, about public and private space, about food security, and our natural world.

Thanks also to my brother-in-law Darcy McGovern for sending along a video about the Tree Corps project in gritty area of New York City. Citizens banded together to plant trees to increase the urban canopy — to level the playing field in poor neighborhoods where a lack of trees amps up the heat. I will profile this and add some thoughts in a subsequent blog.

Also to Tim Reynolds who sent along a cool piece about “guerrilla grafters” — who secretly grafted fruit-bearing branches onto ornamental city trees.

Kudos to my fellow guerrilla gardeners, past, present and future — thanks for the inspiration.