Eliguk Journal – April 5, 2025.

Reflection - Part Two:

The Lee Valley Settlers

Long before he earned the nickname 'Mountain Man' (the last decade here at Eliguk), Aron Toland was shaped by the untamed beauty of a 300-acre farm deep in the backcountry of Northern Ontario. Born in 1963, growing up the youngest of three older sisters, the farming burdens fell upon him. He was the last child at home with much older parents, and his father was fifty years old when Aron was born. The eldest daughter had already moved out of the farmhouse and was married before Aron was born - needless to say, it was an unexpected pregnancy for his mother, who was nearly in her forties.

In the heart of rural Northern Ontario, a young boy immersed himself in the art of survival, cultivating skills ranging from hunting and exploring to bush-crafting amidst a landscape of lush forests and sprawling fields. Here, neighbors lived like whispers on the wind, each homestead miles apart, echoing the resilient spirit of early settlers from the late 1800s. Their stories of perseverance and determination are woven into the very fabric of this land. Being raised by older parents put a burden on him to stay on the farm and care for his aging parents; his father's legacy and the two fathers before him were the dream of keeping the farm alive and operational.

The legacy of hard work and self-reliance has seen Aron's ancestors through five generations since the Tolands' first arrived in Lee Valley in 1893. (The only recorded proof they were here during this year is by the date printed on the oldest tombstone in Lee Valley Cemetery.) This rugged lifestyle instilled in the boy not only mechanical and farmhand skills but also a sense of purpose—a true grit that became his guiding light. He mastered self-discipline, embraced a strong work ethic, and honed his problem-solving abilities, becoming a jack of all trades. In this beautiful, untamed wilderness, he learned to navigate life's challenges, carrying forward the spirit of resilience and hope that the generations before him cherished.

The Toland farm, rich in history, was established by Aron's great-grandparents, Joseph Toland (born 1855) and Ellen Toland (born 1858). They, along with Joseph's great-great-grandmother, Elizabeth Craig Toland (born 1821), made the brave journey from Ireland to Canada in search of opportunity and a fresh start.

No land was open for settlement, which would encourage settlers to come in. The C.P. Railway made arrangements to bring three train loads of settlers to the district of Algoma and wanted to make provisions to receive them. The only way for the government to overcome the difficulty was to step in between the lumberman and the settler. Let the government give the settler all the timber on his lands besides the pine. Let the government, if need be, pay the lumberman for the timber other than the pine, and in so doing, settlers will have some encouragement.

Upon arriving, Joseph Toland built a small dwelling where the family lived until they could construct a sturdy farmhouse, followed by a sprawling barn. They worked the fields to create a sustainable operation for raising cattle. Determined to build a life, they settled in the Township of Hallam, now known as Spanish River Township in Massey, which was a day's drive by horse and buggy from any known settlement along Lee Valley Road.

Meanwhile, Aron's very young Grandfather (Joseph's son, George A. Toland, born 1882) had also come over from Ireland but, for some reason, settled further west in Swift Current, Saskatchewan, in the early 1900s. His passion was horses, and the Canadian West boasted pastures as far as the eye could see. In 1905, the attraction that drew him there was the 'Dominion Lands Act', permitting settlers to acquire one-quarter of a square mile of land to homestead and offering an additional quarter upon establishing a homestead on the condition that they experiment with crops to see what they could best grow in the area.

Trying to raise a family in a barren land in Saskatchewan, where there wasn't a tree around, meant living in a sod-chanty (soddie) until a more permanent structure could be built. Constructed of prairie grass which is thicker rooted than regular grass, sod pieces were laid in an overlapping fashion creating walls. The floor was dug out about 3 feet to help with the frigid forty-below temperatures of a six-to-seven-month winter. Burning buffalo chips, or dried cow and horse manure in wood stoves, was one of the only heating sources. A metal container stuffed with dried prairie grass was turned upside down on the firebox and connected to the wood stove - reportedly could hold a hot fire for up to two hours if tightly packed. Instead of working a team to death hauling in firewood from twenty miles away, cutting extra hay and putting it up in place of firewood was one method of not freezing to death over a long, harsh winter.

After a decade marked by failed crops, resulting from the relentless harsh winters and the extreme droughts of arid summers, it is remarkable that the local populace managed to endure with such limited resources. During this difficult time, larger cattle companies moved in, seizing vast tracts of grazing land and reshaping the agricultural landscape. In 1914, amidst this backdrop of struggle and adaptation, George and Winifred Toland joyfully welcomed their first child, George E. Toland II, who would be affectionately referred to as Elmer to avoid confusion. With hope in their hearts, the family embarked on a journey to Lee Valley, Ontario, where they would reunite with George's elderly parents, Joseph and Ellen Toland, on their cherished family farm, embodying resilience and the enduring strength of familial bonds in the face of adversity.

I want to shine a light on a quirky slice of Canadian history here! All these photos come from our Toland family's old albums, and as a self-proclaimed poultry fanatic, I can't help but be captivated by those chickens—especially the grand old Ridley Bronze Turkey strutting its stuff in Saskatchewan before Aron's father even had a chance to wear a pair of pants (1914, for those counting!). Now, let's talk turkey: the Ridley Bronze is the only Canadian Heritage breed turkey, and fun fact—these feathered stars were developed in Saskatchewan by a fella named John H. Richardson in the 1940s. Fast forward to the 1970s, and the University of Saskatchewan swooped in to adopt a flock of these turkeys, dubbing them "Ridley Bronze" in honor of the Ridley family, who had been doing some serious breeding alongside Richardson. Can you believe how many decades have flown by since then? It’s like that turkey has seen it all! I should probably send this photo out into the world, but I have no idea where to start—to think that it could have been called the Toland Bronze Turkey (I really should submit this photo to someone - not sure where to start there?)

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Decades later, in a war-ravaged Estonia, a young woman named Agnes Kapral (Aron's mother) found herself widowed shortly after the birth of her first child. Her soldier husband was killed when Stalin invaded with an iron fist, and her entire family, along with around 20,000 Estonian souls, were captured. With the help of a Black German soldier, she managed to escape from a prison camp with her newborn daughter, Mai. This part of her story is complicated, as it has never been fully discussed or documented. It’s a story shrouded in mystery, tangled in the whispers of the past, and left largely unspoken—no one even remembers the name of her first husband, and for some reason, it has been erased from history. Agnes eventually naturalized in Canada; Yet, regarding her status, records painted a picture of a ‘stateless’ wanderer, claiming to have relatives across the ocean. Among those estranged connections was an uncle who resided on Lee Valley Road in rustic northern Ontario. A family reunion awaited, but little did she know the twists and turns her journey still had in store.

In her early 20s, she faced unimaginable adversity, having been separated from her family and imprisoned in a camp. Remarkably, she did not succumb to the tragic fate that befell most people in her situation. I recall her sharing how distraught she felt, experiencing moments of sheer terror intermingled with grief as she swaddled her newborn in a war-torn country, grappling with the recent loss of her husband. I’m not sure how she managed to board a flight out of the country—perhaps we will never know, as ancestral records indicate that she died instead of escaping, embarking on a journey toward freedom in another land.

While her parents were tragically captured by Stalin's regime and lost their lives within six months, their legacy of resilience and strength continued to live on in her. Despite the heartbreaking loss, her bravery and determination to carve out a new path testify to the human spirit's ability to overcome even the darkest times.

As history in the Toland family unfolded over decades, the Lee Valley farm was the backdrop for many significant events. The stories of the past were told from that creaky old farmhouse. One such story is of Agnes meeting Elmer. This significant event occurred when Elmer, somehow learning that a neighbor miles down the road was abusing his niece who had just arrived from Estonia, offered her immediate safe haven. It was a moment that sealed their fate. Agnes, who spoke Estonian, German, and several other languages fluently, found herself in a situation where English wasn't one of them.

Back in Estonia, Agnes' siblings endured the harsh realities of imprisonment, punished for their courage to stand against oppression. Their story, marked by struggle, is also one of hope, reminding us that love and courage can inspire generations even in despair. The young Irish Toland men sought to forge their own paths in life, embracing each bump in the road as a vital step toward resilience. This journey reflects our unyielding strength, encouraging us to rise above challenges and seek a future filled with promise.

It's essential to recognize that every nationality carries its own story of struggle and resilience. Generational trauma is real and affects many, regardless of background. In Canada, we have the opportunity to foster understanding and compassion, acknowledging that privilege is not solely defined by skin color but is shaped by unique experiences.

Everyone has a story to tell; this is where Aron’s story and mine begin.