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4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Wed. May 22, 1985 editorial Killing the Planet In what has to be a classic example of bureaucratic understatement, a senior environmental official with the federal government is quoted last week as saying: "There is a disturbing upward trend." Disturbing? The official might have added downright frightening. That "disturbing upward trend" refers to the levels of toxic chemicals showing up in the Great Lakes, specifically Lake Ontario, which indicates that pollution is getting worse. A new study has found that PCB's found in fish in 1983 were 60 times higher than the goal set in 1978 as the maximum acceptable level. And worse, the 1983 levels were nearly two times higher than in 1984. The source of the pollution appears to be chemical plants on the American side of the Niagara River which are spewing some 3200 tonnes a year of effluent into that river, including the deadly dioxins. The fact that Lake Ontario is polluted is hardly earth- shattering news. But the pollution is getting worse, instead of better. How many more studies, commissions and recommen- dations will be made before some serious action is taken. Don't forget the Love Canal disaster surfaced in 1979, that's six years ago. A chemical treatment plant in Niagara Falls, New York broke down in 1978, and only now is it being repaired. Obviously the priorities for deal- ing with this problem are pretty low. The problem with Great Lakes pollution, like the pro- blems with acid rain is that everyone does a lot of talk- ing aboat it. Obviously, with pollution levels in the lakes getting worse instead of better, it is clear that just talk- ing isn't enough. What kind of a planet are we going to leave for the future generations: our children and grandchildren? How badly does the environment have to be raped and battered before governments and industries decide to do something, anything about it? PCB's in fish 60 times higher than the maximum level set seven years ago is shocking, not just disturbing. The New Minister We are pleased to see that Ross Stevenson, MPP, for this riding, has been given a crucial Cabinet position in the Conservative minority government of Frank Miller. Mr. Stevenson certainly has the credentials to take over the reins as Minister of Agriculture. Almost from the day he first stepped into provincial politics, there were many in the riding of Durham York who-said it was just a matter of time before Mr. Stevenson was given this position. With a post-graduate degree in agriculture and teaching experience at Guelph University, Mr. Steven- son also knows something of the practical side of farm- ing as he now helps operate his family's large hog and cash crop farm near Udora. This mix of formal and practical knowledge of the important industry should prove most helpful to him in his portfolio. The fact that he 1s a farmer will be an im- portant bridge between his ministry and the farm com- munity and organizatiaons in this province. Farming in Ontario is probably the single most im- portant industry and the contributions to the economy . of the province are enormous (not to mention the fact we would all be in trouble if the farms stopped produc- ing food). But the industry 1s not without its troubles these days: the ever increasing cost of producing food; lack of stability for prices paid at the farm gate for many pro- ducts; the pressure of development on prime farm land in southern Ontario. the competition from imported pro- duce; and the difficulties in exporting farm products beyond the borders of Ontario. As he grapples with these and other problems in the agriculture industry, Mr. Stevenson is going to have his work cut out for him. We wish him well for in the four years that Mr. Stevenson has represented this riding. we have found him to be hard-working, energetic and accessible. His efforts have helped to bring many important benefits to this riding and the people who live here. We are confident that even with the considerable responsibility of a senior cabinet post, Mr. Stevenson will continue to pay attention to the needs of the riding. We hope as well that he receives the co-operation and support of the farm organizations in Ontario -- -- > 2 . ) or ; ", Naa Ih Fu wi ONS a YA . AY oat E \ N il ; i Wi 8 pf -- N 0 5b i ii} Lint } ; | | ! $s ; g = | "y ? J W ; LU Lid i x hag Li d : ---- a a 0 Li | < ii Hi "700 _ 02% SE OFF fotAL ull RE IRE "9 LL CAEL tt ATTEN 2 tERLY STAR. 1125S ) by Cathy Robb chatterbox COCONUT CHOCOLATE DELUXE That was her full name, but everyone knew her as Cocoa, Cocoa-bean or just plain Bean. When we adopted her our barn was full of purebred horses with fancy convoluted names like Devan Hawkardee and [)ési Brown, and right from the start, we knew this shaggy chocolate coloured pony deserv- ed a long title just as much as the other horses. So my brother, who is adept at coming up with nicknames (when he was a little toad and wasn't allow- ed to swear, he'd exclaim, "Geez Margaret, Emma T. Birk!) , delved into his library of nonsense and came up with the name you see above. Coconut Chocolate Deluxe was a rag-tag mixture of Shetland and some unidentifiable breed that made her look like a furry bear. Only about three and half feet tall, she came to us from my Uncle Charles, a Wood- ville farmer who purchased Cocoa to keep his four daughters happy. Turned out, however, his daughters were more in- terested in other things, and Cocoa usually stood aban- doned in her paddock, growing more bitter with her lot in life each passing day. When my parents bought their Claremont hobby farm he offered Cocoa to them on two conditions. One, that our family shower with the affection lacking at this own frome. and two, that we never sell her. were the two same conditions forced upon dnc, Cf les when he adopted her from a grizzled old - bachelor farmer who lived just uff the concession. This old character owned Cocoa since she was a foal, and she was his favourite person. He lived in a ramshackle century home with a kit- chen bigger than most people's backyards. And it was his custom, every day, to invite Cocoa into that kitchen for tea and goodies. There they'd be, the bachelor and the gentle pony, munching on cookies and sipping tea, talking about the weather or what he'd heard on the radio. Cocoa, no doubt, would be all ears because she always seemed to understand what people were saying. Especially when it was regarding her. She knew her name, and would always look up when you called it. Sometimes she'd even nicker or come sauntering over to see if you had any carrots in your pockbt. And she had a way of paying attention when you talked to her, sort of tilting her head and adjusting her small ears And she always, always knew if you insulted her. Actually she got her nose out of joint pretty easily. Insult her, or give her heck about something, and she immediately turned about face, with her bum to you There she'd stay, until she figured the offending party had done enough apologizing, cajoling and begging. Then, when she figured you'd done your penance, she'd turn around again. But generally, she was a pretty good-natured little beast. She never bit and rarely kicked (the only time I remember her kicking anyone was an incident with a green-behind-the-ears blacksmith). You could hug her as long as you wanted, lean on her back, even stand behind her and she never balked. She especially liked kissing and was known to raise her muzzle to people's faces, expecting a big gushy kiss. And once kissed, she'd get this ridiculous mushy look on her face, like she'd just watched General Hospital or something. Her greatest love was Devan Hawkardee, a Morgan gelding whom she followed devotedly around the bar- nyard. Unfortunately, Devan developed a bad case of the heaves and was eventually put down. The day Devan was taken away Cocoa acted up for hours, like she knew where he was going. Her second greatest love was Junior, our little pony colt born on our farm last spring. She was right there the morning Junior was born, so I think she thought he was her son. And she treated him that way too. At least until Junior grew up a little, and then her love wasn't at all motherly. But her favourite passion was food, any kind of food, and at one point she looked like Garfield with his belly dragging on the ground. So we put Coke on a diet, which she liked just about as much as the blacksmith, and the whole time she was on a diet, she kept her bum turned towards us. The only kind of food Coke didn't like was cooked carrots. She loved fresh carrots, but she' turn her nose up at cooked ones. I mean LITERALLY turn her nose up. She'd crank that old nose up in the air so far she looked like the bird on Froot Loop cereal boxes. And she'd keep it there, for a couple of minutes at a time. Geez Margaret, Emma T. Birk! how we used to laugh. Cocoa had so many sides it would take a novel to describe her. She was lazy, for instance, except when she was pulling her pony cart. Or escaping. Coke was the finest escape artist I've ever seen, and would run directly to our neighbour's horse farm at every available opportunity. She was also pretty healthy for her age but was susceptible to founder, and it seemed like every spring we'd have to soak her aching foundered feet in the pond. Other than that, she was never sick, so it came as a real shock to us last weekend, when Cocoa suffered through a severe bout of colic and was put down Mon- day afternoon. We'll all miss you, sweet pony. Rad fh | 2 ¢ : i awa EE a SE