He got his first cow at the age of four.
Fifty-one years later, Kerry Arksey gave away the last of his livelihood – one defiant slab of frozen hamburger at a time.
It was his last act as a farmer – a life that gave him three good decades followed by seven disastrous years – as well as one of the strangest protests ever to hit the provincial capital. His aim was to draw attention to Canadian cattle farmers, whose plight has driven him out of the industry.
"Hello, my name is Kerry Arksey and I'm a recovering farmer," he joked with the parade of Winnipeggers who approached his red Toyota Tacoma, strategically parked across from the neo-classical columns marking the Legislature's entrance.
Some took a single pound of hamburger, others demanded a whole lot more.
"That one guy took a whole box and said he'd send me a cheque, but I'm not so sure."
They all walked with a little bit of Mr. Arksey's prized Simmentals, pure-bred cattle that once demanded upward of $1700 a head. A few weeks ago, he auctioned off most of his herd for just over $800 an animal.
In May, 2003, a single cow carcass from Alberta tested positive for the brain-wasting disease known as Bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or BSE.
The lives of Canadian beef producers have never been the same.
"We were basically debt-free until BSE hit," Mr. Arksey said, hunkering inside his truck, his hands cold from the -30 wind chill outside. "The government said it was fine to grind up cows and feed them to other cows."
Foreign markets quickly slammed their doors to Canadian beef. Most have been reopened, but with restrictions so onerous that Canada exports just three-quarters of the beef it did in 2002, according to Canadian Beef Export Federation.
Since the BSE crisis broke, Mr. Arksey and his wife, Sharron, have lost over $200,000. And that doesn't include the $200,000 hit they've taken on the value of their property, over 1,000 acres of Langruth, Man., ranchland that's been in Mr. Arksey's family since 1901.
His 18-year-old son has no interest in the family business. "He's too smart for that," Mr. Arksey said. "He's in university taking classics."
Four years ago, his nephew, Tim Wilson, had expressed interest in quitting the Canadian Forces and taking over the ranch. Mr. Arksey told him to wait a few years.
Master Corporal Tim Wilson was the 10th Canadian soldier to die in Afghanistan.
"He's why I'm here doing this," said Mr. Arksey, wearing a Tim Horton's ball-cap from the coffee chain's Kandahar location. "Somebody has to stand up and fight, just like he did over there."
His neighbours are facing the same succession woes. In his municipality, roughly 150 kilometres northwest of Winnipeg, three farmers sold-out over the fall. He expects two more will do the same in the coming months.
As for Mr. Arksey, he plans to get a job, maybe in Alberta or the Yukon. Or maybe he'll stage another protest. "I was going to chain myself to the front door of the legislature," he said. "And if I froze to death, at least they couldn't say there were no problems in the industry."
The Province knows of Mr. Arksey's woes. Minister of Agriculture Stan Struthers met briefly with him today and plans to take his concerns to a ministers' meeting in Toronto next month.
"There's a shortage of silver bullets out there to solve these problems," Mr. Struthers said. "The Province has done a number of things for folks like Kerry. The question for me is can we do better."
The answer to that – at least for the Arksey's – is a no-brainer. A recent government assistance program offered him $3800, and even that he couldn't collect.
"It doesn't help," Mr. Arksey said. "It's like you're drowning and every now and then someone throws you a brick."
Patrick White