A WITNESS TO THE CHRISTMAS SEASON IN MUSKOKA - AT HOME
THE GAD-ABOUT TO SEE WHAT WE'RE MADE OF HERE IN THE COUNTRY CLIME
"AMIDST THE GENERAL CALL TO HAPPINESS, THE BUSTLE OF THE SPIRITS, AND STIR OF THE AFFECTIONS, WHICH PREVAIL AT THIS PERIOD, WHAT BOSOM CAN REMAIN INSENSIBLE? IT IS, INDEED, THE SEASON OF REGENERATED FEELING - THE SEASON FOR KINDLING NOT MERELY THE FIRE OF HOSPITALITY IN THE HALL, BUT THE GENIAL FLAME OF CHARITY IN THE HEART. THE SCENE OF EARLY LOVE AGAIN RISES GREEN IN MEMORY BEYOND THE STERILE WASTE OF YEARS, AND THE IDEAS OF HOME, FRAUGHT WITH THE FRAGRANCE OF HOME-DWELLING JOYS, REANIMATES THE DROOPING SPIRIT - AS THE ARABIAN BREEZE WILL SOMETIMES WAFT THE FRESHNESS OF THE DISTANT FIELDS TO THE WEARY PILGRIM OF THE DESERT." (WASHINGTON IRVING, "THE SKETCH BOOK."
I READER ASKED ME THE OTHER DAY, IF I EVER RAN OUT OF THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT. "I'VE NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE, ACTUALLY" I ANSWERED, FEARING MOMENTARILY, THAT I HAD JUST THEN JINXED MYSELF. NOW I WOULD THINK ABOUT IT! A LOT! THE STORY BELOW, MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN A LENGTHY WRITING CAREER, SPEAKS TO THAT QUESTION. THE BRIEF CHRISTMAS-SEASON TRIP INTO THE MUSKOKA COUNTRYSIDE, WITH GOOD FRIENDS, WAS A SORT OF LIBERATION FOR ME…..THAT SEEMED TO FOREVER REMOVE THE WRITING BARRIERS I FACED EVERY WEEK, WORKING THE COPY-MILL GRIND, AT THE NEWSPAPER. THE WAY I CAME TO FEEL, ON THAT DAY, LOOKING OUT OVER A MUSKOKA LANDSCAPE I HAD NEVER REALLY SEEN, IN THIS WAY BEFORE, WAS A LIBERATION BEYOND ANYTHING I'D KNOWN AS A WRITER. I SUDDENLY FELT FREE, AND UNINHIBITED. READY TO LIVE THE LIFE OF A WRITER. BREAKING AWAY THE SHACKLES OF THE STRICT WEEKLY PROTOCOLS, PARTICULAR SUCKING-UP TO ADVERTISERS. "THEY PAY YOUR WAGES, MR. CURRIE," REMINDED THE ADVERTISING MANAGER, THAT BROKEN RECORD THAT PLAYED, WHENEVER I ARGUED ABOUT DOING SICKLY SWEET ADVERTISING FEATURES…..ABOUT BUSINESSES THAT HAD NOTHING TO INTEREST ME, OR OFFER AS NEW OR MARGINALLY EXCITING ADDITIONS TO THE SAME OLD-SAME OLD. I NEVER KNEW HOW PENT-UP AND MISERABLE I'D BECOME, UNTIL THAT TRIP INTO NEVERLAND.
AS A STORY-SPINNER, AND TALL TALE WEAVER, I HAVE ONE CHRISTMAS SEASON STORY, ABOVE ALL OTHERS, THAT CONTINUES TO BE MY FAVORITE. I HAVE TOLD IT BEFORE, TO THOSE WHO COULDN'T ESCAPE MY HEARTHSIDE REKINDLING, AND HAVE WRITTEN SMALL SEGMENTS ABOUT IT, AS RECENTLY AS THIS PAST SPRING, AS A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE, UPON HEARING OF THE PASSING OF OUR FRIEND, JOHN BLACK, OF GRAVENHURST. I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT HOW I WOULD WRITE THIS STORY, IN FULL, SINCE JOHN'S PASSING, AND EVEN IF I SHOULD, CONSIDERING THE SADNESS ATTACHED, AT LOSING SUCH A BRIGHT YOUNG MAN, SO FULL OF ENTHUSIASM FOR HIS LIFE AND FAMILY…..WHO MISS HIM DEARLY. I'M NOT SURE JOHN EVER READ THE ACCOUNT OF OUR CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE, THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE, WHEN IT WAS FIRST PUBLISHED, BACK IN OUR NEWSPAPER DAYS, WORKING FOR THE FORMER HERALD-GAZETTE, IN BRACEBRIDGE. JOHN THEN WAS OUR ACE NEWS AND FEATURE PHOTOGRAPHER, AND IN FACT, WAS ONE OF THE MOST TALENTED STAFF MEMBERS I HAD EVER WORKED WITH…..AND HE MADE US LOOK GOOD ON THE NEW STANDS IN THOSE DAYS. HE HELPED US KEEP OUR JOBS. JOHN COULD TWEAK ANYTHING TO MAKE IT BETTER. I COULD HAND HIM REALLY BAD NEGATIVES FOR REPRINT, AND HE COULD MAKE THEM FRONT PAGE CALIBER. OF COURSE HE DID REFER TO ME, TO OTHERS ON STAFF, AS "A CHALLENGE."
THE STORY ISN'T VERY EXCITING, SO YOU DON'T NEED TO FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS, OR HAVE A BELT OF BRANDY BEFORE READING IT. AND CERTAINLY NOTHING HAPPENED THAT WAS OUT OF THE ORDINARY, FOR WHAT ONE EXPECTED TO FIND HAPPENING THROUGHOUT MUSKOKA, AT THAT TIME OF THE YEAR……ON A SLOW DAY OR A BUSY ONE. I WILL ADMIT, WITHOUT ACTUALLY CALLING IT A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE OR AWAKENING, THERE WAS A ZEN-LIKE QUALITY TO OUR TRAVELS, THAT DAY I BELIEVE, WHICH PUT THREE FRUSTRATED NEWSPAPER STAFFERS TOGETHER, ON THEIR CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY. TO SHARE A LITTLE UNFETTERED COMPANIONSHIP; AND THE DISCOVERY WE MADE, OUT THERE, WAS QUITE ACCIDENTAL. WE ALL HAVE OCCASIONS AND MOMENTS LIKE THIS, WHEN CIRCUMSTANCES PREVAIL UPON US, TO THINK BEYOND THE ACTUALITY OF THE MOMENT, INTO THAT NEBULOUS UNIVERSAL RECKONING. FEELING SMALL IN THE VASTNESS OF LIFE, BUT SENSING, AT THE SAME TIME, WE MUST CARRY-ON WITH LIFE AS IT PRESENTS TO US. "BUT WHAT IF WE TAKE THIS TURN INSTEAD?" WE DID. MANY TIMES THAT DAY. TRAVELING THE LONG RODE THAT BECKONS US; THE ADVENTURE WE SUSPECT AWAITS OUR ARRIVAL, OVER THE VERY NEXT HILL, AROUND THE BEND, OR WAITING THERE AT THE CROSSROADS TO SHOW US THE WAY. OR MAYBE NOT!
WE DIDN'T FIND THE GHOST OF BLUES' GUITARIST ROBERT JOHNSON, AT THE CROSSROADS. OR THE DEVIL FOR THAT MATTER; BUT MAYBE WE FOUND OURSELVES. WITHOUT SIGNING ON TO ANY INTENTIONAL MISSION OF PERSONAL DISCOVERY. FOR ME, IT WAS A SLOW WHAM! LIKE, "WOW, WHAT IS THIS PLACE, AND HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE," AND WITHOUT DRINKING A DROP. EVEN A COFFEE BEFOREHAND. IT WAS AS IF, SUDDENLY, ALL THAT HAD CHAINED ME DOWN, WAS SUDDENLY CUT AWAY, AND AT FIRST, I WAS TOO GIDDY TO FULLY RECOGNIZE FREEDOM WAS BECKONING. WHEN IT DID HIT ME…..BOY OH BOY, DID I HAVE SOME CHANGES TO MAKE. FOR ONE THING, HAVING A CHAT WITH MY MULTIPLE BOSSES. I CAN'T SPEAK FOR MY MATES THAT DAY, BUT MY TIME WAS SPENT RECONCILING WITH THE FREEDOM I'D UNKNOWINGLY LOCKED AWAY IN MY PYSCHE, WHEN I FIRST BEGAN WRITING IN ORDER TO EAT, AND OCCASIONALLY MAKE RENT.
ONE OF MY FAVORITE BOOKS IN UNIVERSITY HUMANITIES, WAS "ZEN AND THE ART OF MOTORCYCLE MAINTENANCE." ON THIS DAY, WITHOUT MY BUDDIES KNOWING IT, I WAS FULFILLING CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK…..AT MY OWN SLOW, MEANDERING PACE.
A TRIP INTO THE FUTURE
It was back in the early 1980's, when Herald-Gazette staff writer, Brant Scott, John Black and I, were the front-liners with Muskoka Publications, in Bracebridge. Each of us contributed to other papers being produced, at the time, courtesy our small print empire, including the Muskoka Advance and the Muskoka Sun. We always seemed to be short of editorial copy and photographs, and in this era for the community press, business was pretty good. We had enough advertisements every week, to provide a lot of white space between ad copy, for the writers and photographers to fill. Sometimes it got pretty crazy trying to come up with enough material to do this, and that's where my old friend John Black, was the white knight of newspaper production. John always had lots of images to choose from, and when the writing staff couldn't fill the paper, we knew a trip to the darkroom would save the day. He was prepared for our shortfalls, having a huge bank of photos to splice in when required. We required it a lot.
I think it's safe to say (write), that the three bachelors, all gainfully employed, with enough money in the weekly pay packet, to at least pay the rent, with a few coins leftover for food and beverage, were all eager to make more of our respective existences. Each of us knew there was much more to accomplish, and there was no true or lasting satisfaction with anything that had to do with status quo, as it pertained to career. We were always shopping for more lucrative opportunities in our respective fields of interest. Brant was by far, the writer who influenced me the most, and John influenced both of us, because he had so much raw enthusiasm and passion for self-improvement. Always chasing after the elusive holy grail of photographs, that would make the front cover of the daily news. I just liked being associated with these two gents, who made me look good every week, as editor of the paper. I trusted both friends as if they were family, and when we had a chance to work more closely together, on feature projects, what great fun we had just doing our jobs. The company of my partners in the news business, made our newspaper a leader and not a follower. We couldn't get enough adventure to satisfy ourselves….and that meant we searched further afield; spent more hours on the job than we ever got paid for, and inspired each other to want more of the journalism experience. We always had big plans. Some came to fruition. Others were just put on hold, temporarily. We did have social lives, you know!
Personally, and it's just my opinion, we might not have been as happy as we could have been, based on the reality we were working at dead end jobs, fundamentally single, dating, but nothing that seemed to inspire us about lifetime commitments or future prosperity. I can't speak for John and Brant, but I was seriously and emotionally discontent. I loved my job as we interpreted the mission. I wasn't fussy about my employers. The fact I had, a few years earlier, come unhinged from a five year relationship with a former girlfriend, still made me miserable, especially at Christmas. It was my self-loathing period, as far as relationships were concerned. I had asked if she would like to get married, you see, and she responded, "To Who?" I was so out of there, as they say!
On this particular outing, just after Christmas, my recollection is that we were all feeling a tad disconnected, from the way it was supposed to be…….and pondering more than usual, what the future held in store. Not just work. Each of us craved having female companionship though we sure didn't talk about it, for fear we'd lose our mission statement, of being tough newshounds. Nothing like being overly sensitive to ruin a truth-seeking mission. We were "manly men," looking for news to break out…..anywhere. We needed to expend a half dozen years of unspent hubris, welling up inside.
It was the memorable Christmas season, in the early 1980's, when we didn't have snow until well after New Years. It was still cold but a very odd looking Christmas scene unfolding, in Muskoka, without its trademark (postcard pretty) mantle of white, to adorn both woodland and pasture. Brant and John were at loose ends, and we all acknowledged the need to grab some fill photographs, and maybe find some spot news to bank for the coming holiday paper. John welcomed Brant and I to hop in his Volkswagon (I think it was), and go on a Pre-New Years gad-about throughout the district. It was the first and only time we did this, and it just happened to be a unique time in Muskoka, without the snow, and at a time when we really needed to bond as reporters, to figure out our futures. This was by happenstance of course, as our futures all depended on the next pay cheque, or job offer to come down the pike. Things were slow. That frustrated us more than anything else. We always needed to feel as if we were moving, and accomplishing things……and it left a lot less time, to think about love lost, and the quest for true happiness. We just worked. Short of joining the French Foreign Legion, to lose our identities, we just found creative ways of staying busy. This journey of discovery was a clear example, of trying to find ourselves through the rigors of the profession. Self imposed as it was! We made our best discoveries this way. Immersion. The sink or swim theory, to create good from adversity. If we didn't drown first.
We started out on the motor trip with lots of film for our three cameras. John always had a couple of extra cameras in his bag. Although Brant and I both were competent news and feature photographers……we, without saying so, understood our flicks were not quite as good as the master, who on this day, was driving us into the future. It was a sunny, beautiful and inspiring day, even for the down-hearted, as we might have defined ourselves, to any lady friends we met along the way……as a conversation starter. If we could get a hug, with a sob story, we considered it the fruits of our labors. Sweet fictions I think we called them. We had lots of stories to amaze an audience. Especially the local gals. Nothing like camera gear slung over the shoulder to get questions like, "Are you guys news photographers?" "Would you take pictures of us?" What a conversation starter. It's legend that day, and a wee bit of hearsay, we spent a few hours at the Red Dog (I think it was actually called the Redwood Inn), in Rosseau, recollecting our day in the snowless field.
What was amazing on our gad about, through the Muskoka countryside, was the extraordinary opportunity, to navigate all the back roads and narrow cottage lanes, without getting stuck in the snow. It gave us access, by car, to a seasonal, leafless, barren Muskoka that we had never experienced before, so deep within……naked of snow in late December. We saw lots of people out and around, also feeling rather liberated by the prevailing, non intrusive weather, that seemed to us, likely to last for the whole month of January. We'd been driving for a couple of hours, and we had stopped ten or more times, to grab photographs of cows in pastures, a tractor digging in a field, horses with riders, in light autumn attire, several owls on stumps at roadside, two golfers hitting balls into the lake, and my favorite……a came of pond shinny, on a local farm, that provided some spectacular photographs.
I remember us running up the adjacent hill, and whipping out all the photographic gear, to capture this certain front page image. What could be better for the New Years' issue, than farm pond hockey without the snow. We could frame in the barn and silo, the house, the sheds, the rail fence, a few cows, and what appeared to be a four on four game between mom, pop and the daughters, against the wee lads, and a cousin or so. We talked to them after taking the photographs. It was such a nice, Muskoka-perfect image, of a snowless Christmas scene, but at no loss of winter recreation. The kids wanted to pose for the camera. But we just wanted them to play and play hardy……to forget we were on that knoll above. This was an iconic Canadian image that we could have sold throughout the nation…….but we saved the best for our publications here at home. I wrote two huge feature articles for that New Years' issue, based on different aspects of what we had witnessed……of that scene…..that family recreation……in the sun of a glorious December afternoon. We saw our district, just as amazing and alluring, without its mantle of seasonal snow. It was enthralling and liberating……just as it was free of the harshness of winter, allowing us to linger on the hillside to make sure we had the best images possible.
We were reluctant to get back in the car. It was just one of those moments when you just want to run off somewhere, and celebrate nature and life and all that freedom stuff. You just aren't sure what to do first. There was something intoxicating about the universality of our experience…..sensing that we had just seen something that was both historic and futuristic at virtually the same time. In the same photographic frame. It was all there. But we didn't feel overly contemporary about the exercise. It was surreal in its dimension, of what I can only refer to now, in retrospect, as "the abstractly picturesque." It was like being a color molecule, inside a Norman Rockwell painting. We became part of it. If some other photographer had come by, just then, he or she would have caught an image of the three of us, taking photos of the eight of them….playing pond hockey…… in the hilly, snowless embrace, of a rural Ontario farmstead……in the midst of a Canadian winter. It was poetry actualized. Realized for me. Whether my buddies on this excursion, knew that I'd been bitten hard, by enlightenment, well, in hindsight, I expect not. It was a day of excitement and liberation for me, but I was far more bound-up and humorless than they were, to start with. It was my news trademark. Being a miserable old sod, sticking to the protocols handed down to me…..that I didn't even half respect. This was the experience I needed most in my life…..at the most critical time, for it to instill something remarkable and progressive upon what can only be described as serious emotional constipation.
I began at this point, to change my writing ambitions, and my work place ethics. I got some. Not borrowed ethics or imposed ethics, but ones I forged myself, based on what I could live with and still remain employed. We all had appreciation for that day of discovery, each garnering from it what was needed, to move on, move up, and grab that very next pay cheque……to pay for the very next round at the pub. My two important partners, for so many years, helped with my recovery into the real world……that I wanted to be part of……not just as a voyeur, which was what I had settled for, unknowingly for all the years previous. I'm not suggesting that this was a turning point for each of them. But when we talked about the future……and we did, I would say from what has happened ever since, that we were more visionary than we could have imagined. Each of us married. Me first. Brant may have been next. Then John. We got what we hoped for, finding wonderful, caring life-partners……, having children to boast about, each of us achieving, in profession, what we had speculated, in coffee-time chit-chat, was possible to accomplish. Brant became a well known writer, John a well respected Fire Chief……and Ted, a hometown blogger, columnist and antiquarian.
I recall the evening John came over to the house, to visit, some years after we'd all taken the marital plunge, reminiscing about that winter excursion, and our hiatus at the old Red Dog on the cusp of New Years Eve. We didn't have anything profound to say about it then……and we really couldn't say that it changed our lives……but it was obvious, to three lonely bachelors at Christmas time, that it wasn't the way we wished to live……and of this, nothing else needed to be said at all. But then nothing at all, could stop change from heartening…..brightening our futures with significant others. It was a great loss for all of us…..friends and community, to have lost John this year. I will cherish all the memories I have of this fine man……and good friend.
Thanks so much for dropping in, for a hearthside visit. Say, would you throw another log atop the fire?
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