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Page 2 - Cont'd
"If you're over 25, you've eaten
our flour," says Matthews confidently. That's because for
70 or 80 years, the Arva Flour Mill supplied soft white
flour to McCormick's
here in London. "Every time you picked up an icecream cone,
it was Arva flour. Baskin-Robbins' sugar cones too, and
the coloured wafer cookies you can get at Loblaws. That was
all
Arva flour." McCormick's was big business for the mill, but
the contract ended in 1985 when its Imperial Cone plant moved
to the U.S. following a labour dispute. That was a blow, but
the Arva Flour Mill persevered, continuing to make flour "just
for the locals", and animal feed for the neighbouring farms,
nurturing business out of its little store--a spruced-up
former
storage area--since 1978.
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Much of preserving the
Arva mill's identity is simply keeping it viable as a business,
and so has not precluded the use of modern tools, such as an automatic
debit machine in the store or a fax machine. As for its marketing,
there are conventions, press releases and a website to manage. The
latter is crucial now that, since February of this year, the Arva
Flour Mill is a certified organic miller of wheat, and they want
prospective corporate clients everywhere to know about it. "Once
our name went into the computer (as being an organic mill), we've
had a lot of reaction," says Matthews. An attractive Canadian dollar,
coupled with its ability to make organic, "white, white flour,"
as Matthews calls it, has opened up business for the mill in the
U.S. He and his crew now ship locally grown spelt and wheat flour
to Buffalo, N.Y., Lansing, Michigan, Annaheim, California, among
other places.
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In the near future, a rabbi will be
coming by the mill to put his blessing on kosher bagel flour they
will produce, also destined for an American market. Matthews hopes
that in the few months, the 'K' symbol (signifying kosher) will
appear on all their four bags. Becoming a certified organic mill
is a labour-intensive proposition, and comes with a raft of bureaucratic
headaches, what with fending off well-meaning health inspectors
who'd like to shine the old place up a bit. The biggest deal by
far is vacuuming. Every 21-28 days, every nook and cranny of this
181-year-old mill needs vacuuming to break the breeding cycle of
grain-loving moths. Under every sack of feed and flour, every window
sill and beam. Although, Matthews laughs, "it breaks my heart to
break anyone's breeding cycle," it must be done religiously in lieu
of pesticide sprays. Still, if Matthews has been milling regular
flour and gets a contract to mill certified organic grain, he has
to vacuum and flush out the system of pesticide-treated wheat with
up to 800 pounds of the higher-priced, organically grown grain,
which he must, in turn, sell for the price of his regular flour
(a best-kept secret).
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For Matthews, it's all worth the
trouble. His previous gigs--at sea with the navy, and as a petrochemical
industry inspector--were arduous. To him, the mill has always
meant "a good living, and an easy-going pace." But these days,
Matthews thinks about retirement and leaving the mill with his
three twenty-something children (Julaine, 26, Steven, 24, and
Mike, 21), who've dragged hi, scoffing good-naturedly and only
half-resisting, into the late 20th century. (To wit: Two jet-skis
float in the pond above the mill.) After having briefly entertained
notions of starting up a Bellamere-style farm market operation,
the Matthews family is happy to have finally found a little
niche for the mill in organic. This way, it can continue to
do what it's always done best within London's changing landscape.
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