Dome Chronicles

The Dome Chronicles: Shelter in Place

The Dome Chronicles: Shelter in PlaceGarry Leeson It was day forty of our isolation, but I wasn’t complaining. Unlike many other people, I have lots to keep me busy here on South Mountain: chores at the barn and heaps of firewood to process. Tilly, our border collie/sheltie cross, had spent the better part of the day on top of our pile of oak logs barking incessantly and trying to dig her way down to something concealed near the top. My first thought was that a squirrel had scampered in ahead of her and was busy teasing her. Tilly and the…
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The Dome Chronicles: Mush

The Dome Chronicles: MushGarry Leeson In 1972, a boxcar from Toronto containing a menagerie of farm animals and an eager young couple pulled into the station platform in Kingston, Nova Scotia. They were bound for a deserted hundred-acre farm on the South Mountain, determined to preserve the foundations of farmsteads past while constructing a geodesic dome. They were pioneers of the future, armed with respect for tradition and an irrepressible sense of humour. They didn’t call themselves farmers. They were back-to-the-landers. Farming was industry and their calling was sustainability. Over the next forty years, through flood and fire, triumph and…
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They Built a Dome: The Dome Chronicles Book Launches December 14

They Built a Dome: The Dome Chronicles Book Launches December 14Emily Leeson (with Zoe D’Amato) “Can you hear that?!” My mother was yelling into her phone. “Hear what?” I whispered back, lowering the volume on my receiver. I was in class, but I have a policy of always picking up when family calls…well, when my parents call, that is. They have a habit of getting into some sticky situations — like when Dad got stuck down the well, or when they crashed the wagon into the woodpile (everybody including the horses ended up upside — down, but ultimately fine). “I…
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The Dome Chronicles: Skunked

The Dome Chronicles: Skunked By Garry Leeson In 1972, a boxcar from Toronto containing a menagerie of farm animals and an eager young couple pulled into the station platform in Kingston, Nova Scotia. They were bound for a deserted hundred-acre farm on the South Mountain, determined to preserve the foundations of farmsteads past while constructing a geodesic dome. They were pioneers of the future, armed with respect for tradition and an irrepressible sense of humour. They didn’t call themselves farmers. They were back-to-the-landers. Farming was industry and their calling was sustainability. Over the next forty years, through flood and fire,…
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The Dome Chronicles: Percy’s Pickup

In 1972, a boxcar from Toronto containing a menagerie of farm animals and an eager young couple pulled into the station platform in Kingston, Nova Scotia. They were bound for a deserted hundred-acre farm on the South Mountain, determined to preserve the foundations of farmsteads past while constructing a geodesic dome. They were pioneers of the future, armed with respect for tradition and an irrepressible sense of humour. They didn’t call themselves farmers. They were back-to-the-landers. Farming was industry and their calling was sustainability. Over the next forty years, through flood and fire, triumph and catastrophe, they persevered, unwittingly sowing…
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The Dome Chronicles: Apple Pie Time

In 1972, a boxcar from Toronto containing a menagerie of farm animals and an eager young couple pulled into the station platform in Kingston, Nova Scotia. They were bound for a deserted hundred-acre farm on the South Mountain, determined to preserve the foundations of farmsteads past while constructing a geodesic dome. They were pioneers of the future, armed with respect for tradition and an irrepressible sense of humour. They didn’t call themselves farmers. They were back-to-the-landers. Farming was industry and their calling was sustainability. Over the next forty years, through flood and fire, triumph and catastrophe, they persevered, unwittingly sowing…
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The Dome Chronicles: Mr. Hill’s Opus

The Dome Chronicles By Garry Leeson In 1972, a boxcar from Toronto containing a menagerie of farm animals and an eager young couple pulled into the station platform in Kingston, Nova Scotia. They were bound for a deserted hundred-acre farm on the South Mountain, determined to preserve the foundations of farmsteads past while constructing a geodesic dome. They were pioneers of the future, armed with respect for tradition and an irrepressible sense of humour. They didn’t call themselves farmers. They were back-to-the-landers. Farming was industry and their calling was sustainability. Over the next forty years, through flood and fire, triumph…
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The Dome Chronicles: The Trade

The Dome Chronicles: The Trade By Garry Leeson In the early nineteen seventies, the barter system was still alive and well among the small farmers of the Annapolis Valley. One morning in May in 1974 I loaded my pickup truck with a second-hand saddle horse, a crate of roosters, and a runt pig. I was hoping that someone at the Lawrencetown Cattle Auction might take a shine to them and take them off my hands for cash or kind. I guess I hadn’t checked the calendar because when I arrived at the site where the auction was normally held I…
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The Dome Chronicles: The Eye Of The Beholder

The Dome Chronicles By Garry Leeson In 1972, a boxcar from Toronto containing a menagerie of farm animals and an eager young couple pulled into the station platform in Kingston, Nova Scotia. They were bound for a deserted hundred-acre farm on the South Mountain, determined to preserve the foundations of farmsteads past while constructing a geodesic dome. They were pioneers of the future, armed with respect for tradition and an irrepressible sense of humour. They didn’t call themselves farmers. They were back-to-the-landers. Farming was industry and their calling was sustainability. Over the next forty years, through flood and fire, triumph…
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The Dome Chronicles: This Was My Father

The Dome Chronicles: This Was My Father By Garry Leeson My mother wanted a large garden when they moved to a small farm on the Blue Mountain outside Meaford, Ontario. Dad agreed to do the hoeing but after a couple of days of fighting the weeds, he came up with a better idea. He disappeared into his workshop and when he emerged it was behind a one of a kind self-propelled row crop cultivator of his own creation. An old make or break one-lung gas engine, belching smoke and banging away, was mounted on a wooden frame above two cast…
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