NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING A SMALL TOWN WITH BIG PLANS
BUT WHEN THE CITY DECIDES OUR FATE - WELL, THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER STORY
A CHRISTMAS SEASON SKETCH OF GRAVENHURST
I HAVE A CHRISTMAS SEASON CONFESSION TO MAKE. IT MIGHT EXPLAIN MY PENCHANT FOR USING THE DESCRIPTION "SMALL" AS ALMOST WISHFUL PERSUASION, THAT GRAVENHURST WILL NEVER BECOME A BOOMING, GYRATING METROPOLIS…..FOR THE SAKE OF MY KIDS AND THE GRANDKIDS I'M HOPEFUL OF HAVING, SOME YEAR DOWN THE DUSTY, COUNTRY ROAD. SNOW-LADEN COUNTRY ROAD, AT THIS TIME OF YEAR, OF COURSE. I DON'T WANT ANY ONE TO SUFFER BECAUSE IT DOES REMAIN A SMALL TOWN. I KNOW LOTS OF FOLKS WHO WOULD LIKE TO SEE IT GROW BIGGER AND SPRAWL OUTWARD AND UPWARD. JUST NOT ME.
WHEN THE BOYS WERE YOUNG, WE DECIDED THAT THE WAY BRACEBRIDGE WAS SPRAWLING WITH COMMERCIAL DEVELOPMENT, IN FACT, OVER A PASTURE, KNOWN AS "BALL'S FLATS" WHERE WE KIDS USED TO SKATE POND TO POND, (ALONG HIGHWAY 118 NOW A PLAZA BONANAZA), WAS JUST NOT A CHARACTERISITIC WE DESIRED IN A FUTURE HOMETOWN. WHEN I REFERENCED RUNNING FOR TWO MUNICIPAL ELECTIONS, IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG, MY PLATFORM WAS TIGHTLY AND CONTROVERSIALLY, "ANTI-URBAN SPRAWL IN A SMALL RURAL TOWN." IT WAS A VOTE KILLER, BECAUSE MOST OF THE POPULATION WANTED GROWTH AND ITS PROSPERITY. SOMETIMES, YOU KNOW, IT'S NOT A PRETTY PACKAGE. I ALSO RAN ON ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUES, IN THE LATE 1980'S ELECTION, AND I ALSO FOUND THE ELECTORATE HAD NO INTEREST IN MY "SAVE THE PLANET" MISSION STATEMENT. AT LEAST AT THAT TIME. I WAS AN EDITOR OF THE LOCAL PRESS, AND THAT DIDN'T HELP EITHER.
NOW AS MY FORMER HOMETOWN, HAVING ARRIVED THERE IN THE MID 1960'S, AND BEING THE PLACE I MET MY WIFE, STARTED OUR FAMILY, AND WHERE SUZANNE AND I BOTH SAID FAREWELL TO OUR PARENTS, BRACEBRIDGE WILL ALWAYS BE IMPORTANT TO ME……REGARDLESS HOW I STILL FEEL ABOUT URBAN SPRAWL. I'VE EVEN BEEN KNOWN TO SHOP IN PLACES CLEARLY DEFINED AS URBAN SPRAWL. SO THIS ESTABLISHES BY WISHY-WASHY POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. I ARRIVED IN THE TOWN WHEN IT WAS DEFINABLY A VERY SMALL TOWN. WE LEFT WHEN IT WAS GROWING OUT OF ITS FORMER MODESTY, WITH TOO MUCH DEVELOPMENT, TOO SOON FOR ITS OWN GOOD. THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT OF ECONOMIC TRIALS AND ERRORS EVER SINCE.
AT THE CROSSROADS, AND WANTING A SMALL TOWN LIFE FOR OUR KIDS, WE HAD THREE CHOICES. STAY RURAL WHERE WE LIVED AT GOLDEN BEACH NEAR THE OLD BANGOR LODGE. IT WAS INCONVENIENT AND DEMANDED TWO CARS ON A TIGHT BUDGET. WE HAD A CHANCE TO LIVE IN WINDERMERE, SUZANNE'S HOME-VILLAGE, BUT THAT AGAIN WAS A WONDERFUL CONCEPT, AND A RENEWAL OF HER FAMILY'S LIFE THERE, EXCEPT IT WAS HUGELY INCONVENIENT TO THE JOBS WE HAD AT THE TIME. I WAS A FEATURE EDITOR WITH MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, AND MANAGING WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM, WHILE ALSO WORKING AS A STRINGER (FEATURE WRITER) FOR THE OLD CHAY FM IN BARRIE. SUZANNE WAS TEACHING AT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL. WE WOULD HAVE SPENT MOST OF OUR DAY COMMUTING. WE DID STAY FOR A PERIOD AT THE FAMILY COTTAGE, ON LAKE ROSSEAU, BUT IT WAS EXHAUSTING. THE OTHER CHOICE, WAS TO MOVE TO NEARBY GRAVENHURST. EVEN WHEN WE WERE LIVING IN BRACEBRIDGE, WE SPENT A LOT OF TIME HERE, ROAMING ABOUT, ENJOYING GULL LAKE PARK AND OF COURSE, THE WATERFRONT OF MUSKOKA BAY, BEFORE IT WAS RE-FASHIONED INTO A LAKEFRONT COMMUNITY.
WE OBVIOUSLY DECIDED ON GRAVENHURST. WE DIDN'T LISTEN TO OTHERS, WHO THOUGHT WE WERE MAKING A HUGE MISTAKE. WE TRUSTED OUR INSTINCTS, AND WE VERY MUCH LIKED THE FACT, MUCH OF THE SMALL TOWN CHARACTER WAS STILL IN PLACE IN HERE…….A RESPECTED AND CONSERVED WAY OF LIVING, THAT WAS REMARKABLY DIFFERENT THAN WHAT WE FOUND LIVING IN BRACEBRIDGE. WE WERE ABLE TO BUY A TINY, NEW, AFFORDABLE BUT PLEASING WOOD-SIDED BUNGALOW, ON SEGWUN BOULEVARD, WHICH WE CALLED BIRCH HOLLOW, AND ENJOYED THE FACT WE WERE ACROSS THE ROAD FROM A FASCINATING OPEN SPACE, WE CAME TO CALL "THE BOG." IT WAS A DEAD END STREET, AND WE HAD THE COMPANY OF A NICE COLLECTIVE OF NATURE-LOVING NEIGHBORS. THERE WASN'T A SINGLE DOUBT AFTER THAT FIRST MONTH, THAT WE HAD MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE. WE DIDN'T FEEL ALIEN WHATSOEVER. THEN THE BAD STUFF STARTED HITTING THE FAN. AND BOY DID IT EVER. IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR THE PEACE AND NEIGHBORLINESS WE FOUND IN GRAVENHURST, WE'D HAVE MOVED ON BY THE SECOND YEAR, CONSIDERING THE ONSLAUGHT OF NEGATIVE KARMA…..AND FAMILY THAT THOUGHT WE SHOULD JUST WALK AWAY FROM OUR QUICKLY DE-VALUING HOUSE. WE LISTENED TO OUR HEARTS…..AND BOY OH BOY, DID THEY GIVE US GOOD ADVICE.
BEFORE CHRISTMAS WE LOST A CAR, I LOST THREE JOBS, GOT ANOTHER ONE, REAL ESTATE BUBBLE BURSTS
We were having interior decorating work done on the house, as far as paint and wallpaper, and three doors that needed to be hung. As I was the Mr. Mom designate, I was keeping the kids out of the work crew's way, when I got a phone call from a teaching colleague of Suzanne's, informing me that she had been involved in a significant accident, on the way to work, right at the intersection of Muskoka Beach Road and District Road 4. The early Christmas gift was that Suzanne had escaped uninjured. An out of control Firebird, hit our almost new Oldsmobile 98……and the fact it was a huge "boat" of a car, the tumble into the ditch kept her safe inside. The other car didn't fare quite as well. Suzanne's neck had been injured but outside of a few days off work, she was back on the job in short order. Not before we were informed we had no replacement car allowance on our insurance. So it took a lot of phone calls to make this right. Suzanne had to hitch a ride with a neighbor teacher. Eventually, the chap who caused the accident, had to have his insurance company rent us a replacement vehicle. The story seemed to have a happy ending, but it didn't as far as the car went. The insurance company refused to right-it-off, and it's correct what they say about getting rid of a vehicle after an accident. Everything went wrong with that car from this point, and it cost us a fortune. It would actually stall at sixty miles per hour, and as you can imagine, it took considerable driving skills after that kind of malfunction…..especially if I was in the passing lane in heavy after-work traffic. The starter quit three times, in the next two year odyssey, and I was finally told to just to get a long screwdriver, and start the car that way……head, arms and screwdriver in the engine compartment. You can imagine what the police thought of this procedure to jump start the car without a key. I had to do this once, in a blinding snowstorm, in the Village of St. Jacobs, with two little kids in the car. It only faltered when the car got into a snit with me. I could start that car five hundred times, without a problem. This always happened with the car dealership. "No, it works fine." At the grocery store, five minutes later, it wouldn't start because of ignition failure.
Then I was the victim of downsizing at the newspaper, the radio station, and I had finally reached my limit of patience in the museum business. We had opened a small antique shop in Bracebridge, so we did have something to fall back on, besides Suzanne's job. But with faulty cars and home refinishing, including a new driveway, all we needed was a real estate collapse to make everything so special. All I can say, is that this little bungalow saved our marriage and my life……because it was so comforting and inspiring……and by golly, it looked after us as if it had a spirit of its own. When I arrived home here, I might have been furious with all the stuff that had happened during the day, or week, but honestly, a half hour walking through the bog, and I was refreshed and relaxed. Suzanne felt the same. In its modesty, and lack of extravagances, it offered only simple household pleasures, and it kept us safe in all kinds of weather.
The house did what any good home is supposed to do. It was a sanctuary. It was a forgiving place, even when we didn't have enough money to fix it up the way we would have liked. It helped us regenerate ourselves after blistering days, being pounded by merciless reality. When we lost a quarter of the value of our house, within three years, we knew our home's true value was beyond assessment. It was always such a nice place to come home to, when it seemed nothing at all was going our way. When we had maxed-out everything that could be maxed out…..including our own patience, this place was worth every penny of the mortgage. It was a palace to the unfortunates, who hadn't seen the real estate bubble the way others had, who had escaped in time, to avoid the slide into the abyss of de-valuation. When we'd sit around the table, doing the bill-paying-lottery for the month, it was this humble abode, that stopped us from giving up entirely, and walking away….to start all over again somewhere else. If ever there was a haunted house, this one was inhabited by a benevolent aura of goodwill and cheer, that even with my paranormal research, I couldn't quite figure out. If this house was mortal, I would say it had an abnormally big heart and a particularly warm soul.
After a year of employment dilemmas, and having to get legal help to free myself from another job, I did, out of disgust, give up writing for most of the next year. I hated everybody associated with the print industry. I didn't write a letter or even a note to my bride in that time. Suzanne knows that it was a depression brought on by circumstance, and a lot of other intrusive realities going on at the same time. We had family issues, sickness, death, and the diagnosis of son Robert with epilepsy. The ambulance visited here twice, for seizures, and each time, we scared ourselves to a stupor, as parents are known to react. There were a lot of stresses from all sides, and if it hadn't been for the good graces of our new home town, good and caring friends and neighbors, and this wee house above The Bog, I'm really not sure how we would have held it all together.
I started writing after a necessary hiatus, which was about the summer of 1990 until the autumn of 1991, and with some encouragement from both old friends Mark and Hugh Clairmont, a few years later, I was back in the saddle again, writing for Muskoka Today. I also went back and began writing for the former Muskoka Advance, during this resurgence of interest in authordom…..now over the self-loathing part of my life. It was in this house, in this office, with these vintage oil lamps, that make the atmosphere so historic and traditional, in a room where I have received calls about births and deaths, new jobs, and lost jobs……and connected again with friends via this internet thing, that brought the best of my past back for a second run.
When I was a kid, and a sickly one, I would often travel with my father Ed, who was a salesman for Weldwood Lumber, in the Burlington area of the province. Ed had a huge area of Southern Ontario to call on, and if there was no babysitter available to watch me, I got to visit twenty or so small communities a day. It was a lot of time spent in a vehicle, but I loved being with my dad, even if they were for short jaunts down backroads to lumber mills way back in the countryside. I got a chance, at a young age, to see so many of Ontario's small towns, and I often got a chance to play in their parks, and dine at their interesting little cafes. This was in the very early 1960's. I became enamored with small towns. Burlington, in those years of the late 1950's and early 60's, was a reasonably small town…..or at least it acted this way. I loved our neighborhood, a short walk to the shore of Lake Ontario. Living there, I would walk to school with the sound of the foghorns, booming from the freighters passing out on the lake. As a kid, my concept of the town, was only about four neighborhoods. It's all I knew. From our residence on Harris Crescent, to Brant Street. My play area was the ravine where Ramble Creek gurgled over the flat limestone slabs, on its golden journey to the lake. It was a small town to me. It was actually a city, but not what I knew of it…..from my height and range of observation.
When we moved to Bracebridge, I was in heaven. Instead of playing my minor hockey games at three in the morning (no kidding), and sometimes on an open air Kiwanis Rink, I was playing at the Bracebridge arena on Saturday mornings, from eight am, onward, and often even in prime time. In Burlington, this was impossible, if you were in a house league as I was then. In Bracebridge, when I played on all star teams, we came to the old Gravenhurst Arena, which was really neat…….and I'd love to see pictures of it again. I also roller skated here in the early 1970's. I believe it was on the corner where YIGs is located today…..and beside Rubberset. Even from those early days, playing here, I thought it was a great little town……where I'd like to live one day.
On days when Suzanne and I travel on our antique hunting adventures, I am always pleased,….. as I was traveling with my father way back,….. to visit all the interesting towns and villages across this part of Ontario. We stop frequently to sample the local fare. And as I write feature columns for publications that like travel pieces, I'm always on assignment these days. But you know, there is nothing I find more pleasing, and remarkable, than when we turn off the highway, and arrive back in our hometown…..and pass through the gateway, to the main street, and see all our familiar landmarks and citizens……just as we left them that morning. For a guy who speaks out so frequently about the dangers of status quo, I am it's biggest fan. I love the commonplace, of arriving back home, and the sensation of "having returned." Not just arriving at the town in which we reside. Arriving at the place we call our home. When we turn into our driveway, and look at the silhouette of our wee homestead against the light winter sky, and see that tiny lamplight in the window, we quite literally fall into its outstretched embrace……and we feel safe again in its bosom. That's a nice way to feel, don't you think.
There was a time, when I fancied myself a real estate hustler. We sold two houses and made a considerable amount of money. It was put to good use, buying Birch Hollow, and we have no regrets. The 1990's real estate disaster, was the best thing that happened to us…..as a family, because we had planned to flip this property, to buy another house somewhere else. As if God intervened, we had no option but to stay and make the best of it!
It's exactly what we did, and there isn't a single regret. We are all gainfully occupied in this town, and we look forward to each new challenge here. The saving grace, of course, was that we had purchased a house we came to love, and it was….. and still is today, more than just a place to hang a hat.
As a book collector / dealer, and as an historian, I am surrounded by books here at Birch Hollow. The one book I have called upon a thousand times, when a day or week has labored us particularly harshly, is David Grayson's, "Adventures in Contentment." It was given to me by a neighbor, here on Segwun Boulevard, because he thought, as a writer, I might like such a book of interesting philosophical points of view. I have always found something to lift my spirits, and inspire an editorial piece when nothing else would do the same. I have a page marked, with a paragraph that suited me back then, and is still just as poignant to our situation here today. When I stand out in our yard, overlooking The Bog, on a moonlit night like this, I often think of the quotation marked in books first few pages. "I cannot well describe it, save by the analogy of an opening door, somewhere within the house of my consciousness. I had been in the dark; I seemed to emerge. I had been bound down; I seemed to leap up - and with a marvelous sudden sense of freedom and joy. I stopped there in my field and looked up. And it was as if I had never looked up before. I discovered another world. It had been there for long and long but I had never seen nor felt it. All discoveries are made in that way; a man finds a new thing, not in nature, but in himself."
If I become a little sentimental about our move here to Gravenhurst, it is because of this slow re-awakening, to an exciting awareness, of just how inspiring it is, to be part of a charming and historic small town in the beautiful Ontario hinterland. But how many people today, stop and look out over the town, or spend any time whatsoever, trying to figure out what they like about this place we call home. That's okay. It's not a condition of living here, that we must pay it respect on a daily basis. Yet there are times in all our lives, when we should, like Grayson, look up to see our place in this town…..the place of our friends and neighbors…..and nearby family. It is so much more than just a place to live, and it's true we do often take it for granted. Yet it is always here for us, and welcoming, when we return weary from our labors and travel. It is at Christmas, that I feel most strongly, and heartily, that our family's welfare, has been enhanced, and made truly prosperous, by residing in such a caring and generously supportive community……as this one today, that I feel so historically linked, as if I have lived here all my life.
Thanks so much, once again, for taking the time to visit me at Birch Hollow. There's always another spot by the hearth, for another friend, should you be interested in reading yet another seasonal story.
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