Some people think I’m a snob. I’m not in the least. Although I bought a piece of land in Charlevoix with my Sweetheart, my life partner, it was to use my hands to do something other than hold a pen. Some hard physical work, both hands toiling at the soil, nature, ploughing, sowing, harvesting, now that’s what interests me. Please allow me a brief career overview, I took up the pen at the tender age of 5. I am now 50. So this isn’t about snobbery, it’s about necessity!

However, since I first bought this rocky patch of earth, where it’s freezing 8 months of the year, I haven’t been able to set down my pen. It remains bonded to my fingers. First, there were the usual company-related requests: official company number, GST and QST numbers, MAPAQ number and soon UPA, because you gotta have what you gotta have.

Then, a permit request to modify the farm’s roadway layout. This refers to an exchange of land with a neighbour, an arrangement that would save a few square metres of good agricultural soil. Small project with good common sense that requires extraordinary means: filing with the Commission de protection du territoire agricole, hiring a surveyor to certify localisation, drawing, sketch mapping, forms. And I’m still at it.

Another daft idea: building a small shed to store machinery. Another permit request: city inspector, land surveyor to re-survey the property, architect, estimated costs, materials (wood and shingles), height, size and timelines. I have this uncontrollable urge to propose a bright purple plastic shed, just to enjoy their reaction. When dealing with civil servants, you have the feeling that all they want is to make things difficult, but that’s not true, there are occasionally some troublemakers, but for the most part, they’re polite and helpful.

This week I have to get the tractor registered, take care of insurance, get a CSST number (for voluntary workers) and obtain a credit margin. And just like you, I need to fill out the extended Statistics Canada form under PENALTY OF LAW, jail time awaits if I don’t fill out the form.

Plus, there’s the environment issue, the worst of them all. I let one of my neighbours, a pig farmer who survived the current crisis, to spread some liquid manure over my land. My other neighbours aren’t as appreciative, not the least of which is the fact that my land is right next to the prestigious Manoir Richelieu golf course. Furthermore, I am the recipient of “Type A Positive”, so I need a PAEF. Despite my 7 years of university and my degree as an agronomist, I wouldn’t touch this with a 10-foot pole. And like everyone else, I call my coop: Martin, can you take care of this?

My friend Prospère, a farmer from Saint-Hyacinthe, with his knowing, mocking smile, took me aside the other day and talked to me about the financial black hole that is part-time farming. Maybe, but I’m not deterred.

All of this paperwork has a devastating effect on my morale. There are obviously some direct costs – I haven’t stopped signing cheques since I started this – but there are several unpaid hours spent filling out forms. And this is such a small place. I can only empathize with those who want to expand the family farm and document their plan, submit it and hope that the final judgement will be kind.

Let me pass on a message to my colleagues, from civil servants to agronomists to technicians. Paperwork is necessary, of course – we live in a sophisticated society –, but don’t purposely make the process difficult. An invoice is an invoice, and not an opportunity to develop writing skills. If you need information to do your work, please have the ability and the benevolence to do as much as you can rather than transfer your overflow and further burden farmers.

Well that’s it, I’m laying down my pen right here and now, and for what little time I have left, I’ll be picking up rocks….