I HAVE INCLUDED SEVERAL MORE OF MUSKOKA ARTIST, RICHARD KARON'S LANDSCAPES, WITH TODAY'S BLOG. WE ARE JUST WRAPPING UP A FEW DETAILS, BEFORE MONDAY EVENING'S LAUNCH OF THE RICHARD KARON BIOGRAPHY, AND THE YOUTUBE VIDEO TRIBUTE TO HIS LIFE AND WORK. I HOPE YOU WILL BE ABLE TO JOIN ME, FOR PART ONE OF THIS INTERESTING SERIES OF DAILY BLOGS, CO-PRODUCED WITH THE ARTIST'S SON, RICHARD SAHOFF KARON.
ME AND A TREE, AND MR. DREW - THE AWAKENING
I THINK WAYLAND DREW AND RICHARD KARON WOULD HAVE HAD A LOT TO TALK ABOUT
WE ALL HAVE TURNING POINTS IN OUR LIVES. WE DON'T KNOW WHEN AND HOW THEY WILL BE PRESENTED TO US, AND WHETHER THE CIRCUMSTANCES WILL BE GENTLE AND OBLIGING, OR DIFFICULT AND POTENTIALLY TRAGIC. MOST CAN REMEMBER THE PRECISE MOMENT WHEN THEY HAD A PROFOUND CHANGE OF HEART. A COMPLETE TURN-AROUND OF OPINION. IN SOME CASES IT MAY HAVE FELT LIBERATING. FOR OTHERS, IT COULD HAVE BEEN PERCEIVED INITIALLY, AS BURDENSOME, AND ISOLATING, FROM ALL YOU HAD EVER DONE, OR KNOWN IN YOUR LIFE. I'VE HEARD MANY CANCER PATIENTS, IN REMISSION, REMARK ABOUT THEIR NEW AND ENLIGHTENED PERSPECTIVE OF LIFE, AND FROM THE LISTENER'S PERSPECTIVE, SEEM SO MUCH MORE WILLING TO TAKE CHANCES, AND CELEBRATE THE LIFE MOST AGREE, HAD BEEN TAKEN FOR GRANTED…..TO THE MOMENT OF THEIR DIAGNOSIS.
WHEN I ARRIVED BACK IN MUSKOKA, AFTER UNIVERSITY, I HAD TO MAKE SOME DIFFICULT CHOICES. ONES THAT MADE ME DREADFULLY UNHAPPY. MY GIRLFRIEND, AT THE TIME, A WONDERFUL GIRL I CARED A GREAT DEAL ABOUT, HAD BEEN RECRUITED FOR HER COMPUTER TALENTS, BY A MAJOR CORPORATION. I WAS A FLEDGLING WRITER, ASPIRING HISTORIAN, AND A LOVER OF ANTIQUES. SHE WANTED TO LIVE AND WORK IN THE CITY. I WANTED TO GET AS FAR AWAY FROM THE CITY AS POSSIBLE. HER WORK AT UNIVERSITY WOULD EVENTUALLY EARN HER A GREAT DEAL OF MONEY IN HER LINE OF WORK. MY INTEREST IN THE ARTS AND WRITING, IN PARTICULAR, DESTINED ME TO A LIFE-LONG STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE FINANCIALLY. SHE LEFT FOR THE CITY. I STAYED IN MUSKOKA.
I WAS SO DAMN ANGRY, AND HURT, I PUT MYSELF TO WORK BECAUSE I COULDN'T STAND ANY IDLE TIME, THAT I MIGHT THINK-TOO-HARD ABOUT THE POTENTIAL DISASTER I HAD SET MYSELF UP FOR. IT WAS PROBABLY THE BEST THING THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED, BECAUSE AS A COUPLE, WE WEREN'T ALL THAT COMPATIBLE. WE MET IN ENGLAND, ON A HIGH SCHOOL BAND TRIP, AND IT WAS ONE OF THOSE SENTIMENTAL RELATIONSHIP THINGS THAT DEFY COMMON SENSE, FOR AWHILE, BUT NOT FOREVER. THE FACT I FELT THE NEED TO KEEP MYSELF BUSY, WAS JUST WHAT I NEEDED TO GET A START IN THE WRITING PROFESSION, AND IN THE FIELD OF LOCAL HISTORY. I WORKED IN AN ATTIC LOFT, LOOKING OUT ONTO THE SPARKLING NIGHT-LIGHTS OF MEMORIAL PARK, AND THE BLUR OF TRAFFIC ON MANITOBA STREET, COMING AND GOING. I HATED THE FEELING I WAS MISSING SOMETHING. BEING LEFT BEHIND. SO I WORKED HARDER AND LONGER. I'D SOMETIMES WAKE MYSELF UP, SNORING, SLUMPED OVER THE TYPEWRITER AT MY DESK, THE WHITE NOISE OF THE TELEVISION SET ALMOST DEAFENING.
TO BURY MY EMOTIONS, I COULD HAVE JOINED THE FRENCH FOREIGN LEGION, FOR A FEW FORAYS IN ARMED CONFLICT; TO LOSE WOES TO STRICTLY IMPOSED REGIMENTATION, I KNEW WOULD WORK. BUT INSTEAD I DECIDED TO BE UPWARDLY MOBILE MYSELF. IN ONLY A FEW YEARS I'D HUSTLED MY WAY TO AN EDITORSHIP WITH MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, AND A DIRECTORIAL ROLE WITH BOTH THE NEWLY ESTABLISHED BRACEBRIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, AND WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM. I HAD FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES, INFLUENTIAL COHORTS, AND A FEW YOUNG LADIES WHO LIKED THE FACT I WAS INVITED TO INTERESTING SOCIAL EVENTS, OF WHICH THEY ALSO FELT DESERVING ON MY ARM. I GOT COCKY. I STARTED TO BELIEVE MY OWN BULLSHIT. I DIDN'T SEE THE JERK I WAS BECOMING, WHEN I LOOKED INTO THE MIRROR. I WAS REMINDED OF THE JERK I WAS, WHEN I PINCHED BY DATE'S BUM, OR WORSE, IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE AT A COCKTAIL PARTY, OR THEATRE GALA. I WISHED EACH OF THE GIRL'S I HAD TREATED, IN THIS FASHION, HAD SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE. MAYBE I WOULD HAVE SNAPPED OUT OF MY SELF-ADMIRATION SOONER. INSTEAD, THEY'D JUST BLUSH, AND OFFER THE APOLOGY TO THE HOST, "TED HAS HAD A LITTLE TOO MUCH TO DRINK TONIGHT. I'D BETTER GET HIM HOME." WHAT AN UNDERSTATEMENT. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOSSED ONTO A CATAPULT AND LAUNCHED OUT OF TOWN.
THE PROBLEM WITH THIS ATTITUDE, WAS THAT IT BECAME MY NEW NORMAL. WHILE I REFRAINED FROM BUM PINCHING AT WORK, I THOUGHT ABOUT IT ALOT. THAT WASN'T GOOD. IT WAS, YOU SEE, A GROWING ARROGANCE, AND OUT OF CONTROL EGO. IT INJURED ME IN SO MANY WAYS, PHYSICALLY WITH THE BOOZE, AND EMOTIONALLY, BECAUSE I REALIZED, AT HEART, I HAD HURT A LOT OF PEOPLE, BEFORE THE RECKLESSNESS GROUND TO A HALT. I HAD KNOWN WAYLAND DREW FROM MY FIRST DAYS BACK IN BRACEBRIDGE, FOLLOWING MY STINT AT YORK UNIVERSITY. I MET HIM WHEN I WAS TRYING TO ESTABLISH THE BRACEBRIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, IN THE EVENTUAL PLAN TO SAVE THE OCTAGONAL FORMER HOUSE, BUILT BY LOCAL WOOLEN MILL FOUNDER, HENRY BIRD…..SITUATED ON THE HILLSIDE OVERLOOKING THE RAPIDS ABOVE THE BRACEBRIDGE FALLS. WAYLAND WAS A TEACHER AT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL. HE WAS ALSO, ONE OF CANADA'S REVERED WRITERS, OF CONSIDERABLE ACCLAIM. ONE OF HIS BEST RECEIVED EFFORTS, WAS THE BOOK HE HAD WORKED ON, WITH PHOTOGRAPHER BRUCE LITTELJOHN, ENTITLED, "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE." HE WROTE MANY MORE BOOKS THAN THIS, FICTION AND NON-FICTION, AND WAS ONE OF THE MOST TALENTED AUTHORS I'D EVER KNOWN. THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT I'VE EVER RECEIVED, IN MY OWN CAREER, WAS WHEN JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO, ALSO A LEGENDARY CANADIAN WRITER, COMMENTED IN A LETTER ONCE, THAT MY WRITING REMINDED HIM OF WAYLAND DREW. WAYLAND HAD ONLY RECENTLY PASSED AWAY, AND JOHN DIDN'T KNOW WAYLAND AND I HAD BEEN FRIENDS……OR THAT WE HAD PARTNERED IN NUMEROUS LOCAL HISTORY PROJECTS.
WAYLAND, BEST KNOWN AS "BUSTER", WAS SOFT SPOKEN, VERY MEASURED ABOUT THE WORDS HE SPOKE, AND THE ADVICE HE WAS ABOUT TO GIVE. HE WAS PASSIONATE ABOUT NATURE, AND IT WAS INTEGRAL TO HIS WAY OF LIFE….HIS VALUES, AND HIS VERY REAL INTEREST TO PROTECT THE ENVIRONMENT. WHEN YOU READ THROUGH "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE," YOU CAN'T GET MORE THAN A COUPLE OF PAGES IN, BEFORE YOU ARE ENVELOPED BY HIS ENTHUSIASM FOR NATURAL HISTORY, AND THE RELATIONSHIP OF FIRST NATIONS TO THE HISTORY AND RICH LEGENDS OF THE GREAT LAKES. WHEN I RECEIVED WORD WAYLAND HAD DIED, I HASTILY, BUT THOUGHTFULLY WROTE, "THE MAN WHO INSPIRED ME ABOUT THE ART OF NATURE, AND THE NECESSARY OBSESSION OF THE ARTIST, THEN, TO TRUTHFULLY REPRESENT IT, AS THE MEANING OF LIFE." I REMEMBER SITTING AT MY TYPEWRITER, STARING AT WHAT I HAD JUST WRITTEN, AND FEELING I COULD NOT WRITE ANOTHER WORD. IT WASN'T PROFOUND TO ANY ONE ELSE, BUT IT WAS DEEPLY SO TO ME. OF ALL THE ARTISTS AND WRITERS I HAD KNOWN AND INTERVIEWED FOR THE PRESS, WAYLAND STOOD OUT IMMEDIATELY, AS SOMEONE WHO WOULD TEACH ME BY ASSOCIATION, WHAT I NEEDED TO KNOW……IN ORDER TO FULFILL MY LIFE. I JUST DIDN'T KNOW HOW DEFICIENT I WAS IN KNOWLEDGE AND SPIRIT. THE ONLY SPIRITS I HAD IN MY SYSTEM, WERE THE ONES I PURCHASED AT THE TAVERN.
There was a situation that had developed at the museum that needed some urgent attention. The public works department, in Bracebridge, wanted to cut down a large pine….and there may have been two or three others, in this directive from town hall. The idea was, in order to get a fire truck up to the house, or a snowplow for winter maintenance, the trees were too close to the narrow lane, to allow the bigger vehicles to pass safely. This came down to an insurance issue as well, and there just wasn't much room on the side of the lane to widen it, without carving into the embankment. There was a special meeting called at Woodchester, for directors of the board, and I found myself at odds with Wayland over whether the pines should be cut or not. Wayland and several others, vehemently opposed, chainsawing these beautiful, century old (not exactly sure of the age) evergreens, buffering the restored estate. I was pissed-off, because it was a busy Monday at The Herald-Gazette, and the work was piled pretty high on my desk that afternoon. When I stopped editing, the typesetters went ballistic. So I had to get this meeting over fast. Well, Wayland gave an impressive and compelling presentation, why the trees were important to the property, and historic to our town; and ecological reasons why they should be left alone, for the benefit of the many species (lifeforms) that called the tree "home." I wasn't impressed. Even though I had tremendous respect for Wayland, and his kindnesses to me over the few years I'd known him, I hit him with a barrage of pressing realities that, like repeated, hard jabs to the kidney, knocked him off balance. I wasn't basing my argument on anything frivolous, and by siding with the town, which I thought was important, especially when it came to fire-fighting, I was acting quite responsible. I wasn't alone either. I think on that day we out-numbered the tree huggers by about four votes. Despite some very good, and emotionally charged retorts, from Mr. Drew, that also made sense, he just couldn't muster enough votes to even securer a tie, which he had obviously hoped would buy some time. Possibly to lobby a few fence-sitting directors, and several others who hadn't been able to attend the meeting.
I was pleased to have helped our side win the vote. I was crushed to see the expression on the face, of the wonderful man I had just clobbered without mercy. My arrogance, during my presentation, was far more harmful to the situation, than me simply voting against his plan of conservation. He had known me as an ally. He had tutored me, and taken the time, out of his schedule, to give me a better course of study than I'd paid for, at university. There was never a time, as long as I knew Wayland Drew, that he wouldn't take the time, to discuss issues with me, and correct what needed restoration. But on this occasion, as much as he felt bad about losing the trees, I think it was the sense of betrayal he had witnessed, by the historian he had mentored, that was most discouraging. It was like a long, sharp arrow, that day, that pierced my soul. How could I have ever, voted against this most passionate, nature-loving teacher, in the fashion of self-righteousness, I'm sure I wore that day, as if I'd proven my superiority……the student now the teacher.
It was a long time ago. I can not remember how and by what intervention, those trees were spared. I do know that I recanted by time I hit the bottom of the laneway that day. I knew the way I had acted, and the pomposity of the moment, had slapped an old friend, with a reality he hadn't expected. I'm sure he expected a more enlightened argument from me. Especially after what we had often talked about. History and nature. And like the young ladies who hadn't corrected my bad behavior, I had initially felt as if there was nothing that could stop the momentum of the editor / historian. I could step on anyone and anything, to achieve what I wanted. But like the moral of Ebeneezer Scrooge, I too was visited by spirits. Many of them. Spirits of the water, and rocks, sky and trees. Spirits of the four seasons. Spirits of the universe. And they beat the pomposity out of me, without mercy. Where I had not known humility, or sensitivity, I had been re-introduced to the dutiful, responsible life I had once enjoyed. On occasions when I would normally have been boastful and ridiculously buoyed by hubris and booze, I felt deflated and defeated. I realized that if this kind and caring soul, had cared so much for those few trees, then I should have paid attention to his arguments. He could not have been wrong, on the points he had been arguing. He was a brilliant historian, and a powerfully alluring writer, and I should have given him the respect he warranted, for his experiences. Here I was, a junior in every way, without any significant accomplishment to compare between a titan and his sprite, and a cheap, unexpected blow, that felled a hero. I had just done the equivalent of beating-up "Shane," from the book and movie. I went against everything I had been brought up to respect, and preserve in life. I had dishonored my own upbringing, for not having tried to negotiate a better deal….for the trees and the town, and for the really nice chap, I deeply hurt in the process.
When I set out to do this research, on behalf of the family of former Muskoka Artist, Richard Karon, I had this strange recollection of Wayland Drew, almost from the moment I emailed back, that I wanted to proceed on the project immediately. It was back in January, and as I've always got one or more of Wayland's books, on a shelf by my desk, I sat back in my chair, and just started looking through the softcover edition of "Superior." I always find something in his books, that helps me sort my thoughts, and set out a plan for what I may be working on, in the near future. I turned the corners on a couple of pages, that contained passages I liked. Short editorials reminding me of his professor-like appearance, reclining patiently in a chair, thoughtfully planning and measuring his response, to the 1,001 questions I used to ask. I know to some it might seem ridiculous to feel this way, about a few trees on a river bank. Yet my awakening was thusly so profound, I have very much become that opposite, of once, who would now argue vehemently, against the destruction of natural resources. This book was my constant companion, the summer our neighborhood, here in Gravenhurst, had to fight, in order to save what we now call "The Bog," a beautiful wetland and forest, on a small acreage above Muskoka Bay. I hoped then, as I do now, that in spirit, "Buster" recognizes, that I left my curmudgeon-self behind, many years ago.
The first quote that inspired me to take-on the biography, of Richard Karon, began like this: "On calm evenings the caress of the lake on the island's beaches, is so gentle that it moistens only a narrow band of pebbles. Gulls curve over the eddies beyond The Breeders, and skimming so close to the surface that they lose themselves in the reflected sun, little flocks of mergansers sprint from one bay to the next. On such evenings the calmed elements unite. Journeys cease. Earth and sun move imperceptibly together, fusing at last into ochre and grey situations, as delicate as agate. Sometimes with dusk the 'jebi-ug nec-idewand,' the spirits of the dead, will begin a high restless dancing among the stars, and sometimes, the aurora will fall in shimmering wings to the horizon, spreading like a benediction across all the meetings of earth and water."
As for conservation, he wrote, " In theory, rarity ought to force us to protect any species, because 'harvesting' should become uneconomic before a critical point of depletion is reached. If this theory were fact, bird, fish and mammal species would not be dying into extinction at such an alarming rate. Its weakness is that it makes no allowance for either disease or destruction of habitat. Furthermore, where man's whim and technology are concerned, rarity often increases demand, as we have learned to our shame in the case of the whaling industry, or in the case of furriers, foolish customers and great cats. 'You'll love yourself in fur….' said a recent American advertisement. 'Top right; Canadian Lynx."
The Shaman, Igjugarjuk, to Rasmussen, stated, "All true wisdom is only found far from men, out in the great solitude, and it can be acquired only through suffering." (Taken from Superior; The Haunted Shore)
I would very much have liked to be in the room, to benefit from the conversation, between the two men I had such great admiration. Wayland Drew and Richard Karon, who both, in fact, lived a very few miles apart here in Muskoka. Both knew nature as art. Both respected the environment, as a life force in the universe. One would represent nature in art, the other in writing.
This is the inspiration behind the biography of Richard Karon. Please join me on Monday evening, beginning at 8:30 p.m., on this site, for the commencement of part one of this multi-chapter story. There will be a YouTube link provided, to see a tribute video fro Richard Karon, as performed by Gravenhurst singer, Dani O'Connor, and guitarist, Robert Currie. The biography was researched and written from my home base, at Birch Hollow, here in the charming town of Gravenhurst. It is a Muskoka story, I am so proud to share with you!
Thank you so much for visiting this blog-site today. Please visit again, soon.
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