MUSKOKA HAS BEEN INTERPRETED BY VOYEURS, PASSERSBY, VISITORS, TOURISTS, SEASONAL RESIDENTS - SINCE SETTLEMENT BEGAN
SO WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT? A LOCAL PERSPECTIVE WOULD BE NICE FOR A CHANGE
MANY OF WHAT ARE CONSIDERED, THE BEST PROMOTIONAL BOOKS, ABOUT MUSKOKA, WERE WRITTEN BY THOSE WITH LEAST EXPERIENCE LIVING AND WORKING IN THIS DISTRICT. THE BOOKS, MAGAZINE ARTICLES, AND BROCHURES, ADVOCATING THE GOOD AND HEALING GRACES OF MUSKOKA, WERE COMPOSED BY TRANSIENT AUTHORS, WRITERS AND POETS, WHO NEVER ACTUALLY LIVED HERE, LET ALONE TILLED A RURAL "YARD" OF FARM FIELD. IT HAS BEEN THE CASE, THAT THOSE SELLING THE VIRTUES OF OUR REGION, AS A TOURIST DESTINATION, FROM AS FAR BACK AS THE 1870'S, DID SO BECAUSE THEY WERE BEING PAID FOR THEIR SUBMISSIONS. THEY RESEARCHED AND WROTE THEIR OVERVIEWS FOR PROFIT, NOT JUST BECAUSE THEY THOUGHT MUSKOKA NEEDED SOME TOURISM PROMOTION. EVEN WELL KNOWN POETS LIKE WILSON MACDONALD, WHO COMPOSED MANY POEMS ABOUT HIS SUMMERS SPENT ON TOBIN'S ISLAND, OF LAKE ROSSEAU, WAS AS A VISITING BARD, NOT A WRITER-IN-PERMANENT-RESIDENCE, HAVING SET DOWN ROOTS IN THE MUSKOKA SOIL. WE HAVE BEEN A REGION "FOR SALE," YOU MIGHT SAY, IN A WIDE VARIETY OF WAYS, SINCE THE BEGINNING, AND THERE ARE TIMES, WHEN SOME OF US LOCAL ARTISTS, DISLIKE THE WAY OUTSIDE POINTS OF VIEW, ARE COMPOSED, ALMOST AS CHALLENGES TO PREVIOUS THOUGHT, AND ESTABLISHED TRADITIONS. I AM NOT SUGGESTING, THAT A WRITER, FOR EXAMPLE, ISN'T ENTITLED TO OPINE ABOUT A TRIP THROUGH OUR REGION, FOR A LITTLE PROFIT ON THE SIDE. BUT SHOULD THAT WRITER, PRESENT INACCURACIES AND FALSEHOODS ABOUT, ESPECIALLY OUR HERITAGE, IT BOTHERS US PROFOUNDLY; CONSIDERING THAT LOCAL HISTORIANS ARE EASY TO LOCATE, AND MEET WITH, WHEN REQUESTED. WHEN SOME OF US CRANKY LOCALS, READ, OR HEAR STATEMENTS ABOUT OUR REGION, THAT ARE BLATANTLY IN ERROR, WELL, WE USED TO WRITE LETTERS TO THE EDITOR TO COMPLAIN. MOST OF US HAVE JUST GIVEN UP TRYING TO CORRECT THE MEDIA IN THIS REGION, RESIGNING OURSELVES TO CORRECT THESE MISTRUTHS, AND EXAGGERATIONS IN OUR OWN WAY, VIA OUR CHOICE OF MEDIA VEHICLE. IF YOU WONDER WHAT SETS ME OFF, THESE DAYS, IT'S THIS RECKLESS HANDLING OF OUR MUSKOKA VALUES, THAT WE, AS STEWARDS, HAVE UNOFFICIALLY PLEDGED TO RECOGNIZE, EVEN IF WE CHOOSE NOT TO UPHOLD THEM, AS A MATTER OF PERSONAL PRIVILEGE.
I WON'T OPEN THE PANDORA'S BOX, TO DISCUSS THE MILLION THINGS WRONG WITH THE MODERN DAY BASTARDIZATION OF "MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE," WHICH MEANS POOR FOLKS NEED NOT APPLY. THE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE I KNOW, WAS A HARD, AND UNRELENTING ONE, THAT HAD EVERYTHING TO DO WITH LONG WINTERS AND SHORT SUMMERS, AND HELPING THE TOURISTS HAVE FABULOUS VACATIONS. TODAY, THE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE, IS AIMED AT THOSE WITH EXCEPTIONAL RESOURCES, WHO THE LOCALS WILL RESPECT, AS BEING THE ONES WHO GRANT US ALL, OUR ECONOMIC SURVIVAL. AFTER A LIFETIME OF HEARING AND FEELING THIS, I'M MOUNTING A NEW OFFENSIVE, TO PROMOTE THE REAL MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE; WORK, WORK, AND MORE WORK. WRITING ABOUT MUSKOKA WHILE BEING ROOTED HERE. AND NOT JUST FOR THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES.
THE FOLLOWING IS THE BIOGRAPHICAL ACCOUNTING OF A NEW "LOCAL" TRYING TO BECOME A FULL BLOODED-LOCAL! IT IS A FIRST, IN LOCAL HISTORY, AT THE SAME TIME, BECAUSE IT AS MUCH, PROFILES THE DEATH OF ITS SIGNIFICANCE. THAT IT IS NO LONGER A BIG DEAL, TO BE CONSIDERED "LOCAL," AS IT WAS IN MY DAY. "LOCAL" NOW, CAN MEAN FIFTEEN MINUTES OF RESIDENCY, AS MUCH AS SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS. THERE IS NO SPECIAL PRIVILEGES GRANTED TO LONG-TIME LOCALS ANY MORE AND IN FACT, THE LONGER YOU'VE BEEN HERE, TODAY, MEANS YOU'VE PROBABLY OVER-STAYED YOUR WELCOME. PEOPLE WHO MOVE TO MUSKOKA FOR WORK, PROBABLY LIVE HERE FOR NO MORE THAN FIVE YEARS ON AN AVERAGE, AND THEN MOVE ON TO BECOME "LOCAL" SOMEWHERE ELSE. ALMOST WEEKLY, I HEAR OR READ ABOUT THE PHILOSOPHIES OF SOME OTHER NEW PERSON TO OUR COMMUNITY, CHALLENGING MY VIEW ON LOCAL HERITAGE, THAT I'VE STUDIED FOR DECADES. THEY GET PUBLISHED IN PRINT, OR QUOTED VIA ELECTRONIC MEDIA, AND I SIT AND GNASH MY TEETH, AT THE ARROGANCE BY WHICH NEWCOMERS FEEL COMFORTABLE, RE-WRITING HISTORY TO SUIT THEIR MANTRA. IF IT WAS A PUZZLE THEY WERE WORKING ON, THEY WOULD FEEL IT QUITE ACCEPTABLE, TO WHITTLE ONE OF THE PIECES TO FIT IN THE OPENING, VERSUS TRYING TO FIND THE RIGHT ONE, SOMEWHERE IN THE PILE ON THE TABLE. THIS IS THE NEW REALITY. IF IT DOESN'T FIT, IT'S OKAY TO BANG THE BEJESUS OUT OF IT, SO IT WILL! WHEN THESE LIBERALITIES ARE TAKEN, AND EVEN ENDORSED BY GOVERNING BODIES, THAT'S WHEN US SEMI HISTORICAL PURISTS, GET REALLY OUT OF SORTS. WHY WEREN'T WE CONSULTED FIRST, IN ORDER TO SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT? SIMPLY BECAUSE WE ARE CONSIDERED, FOR THE MOST PART, TOO "LOCAL" FOR OUR OWN GOOD.
HERE'S HOW IT BEGAN FOR THIS "LOCAL" AND HAS NEVER REALLY CHANGED; BUT IN MANY WAYS, DOUBLED BACK, IN A MOST CONTRADICTORY WAY.
When our family moved to Bracebridge, in the mid 1960's, as I've written about, at least a trillion times before, it was made clear, in oh so many ways, by the proclaimed resident "locals," that the three of us would be "outsiders" for the rest of our lives. In other words, forget being called "Muskokan," or a "local." As that didn't really bother us, because we hadn't expected to remain in Bracebridge, until the end anyway, we just went about our business, and tried the best we could to be good home-towners.
It was said, that being considered "a local," was a big deal. At a young age, I found out in the school yard, what it meant to be a "city kid," and that involved three weekly beatings, at the hand of the said locals. I'm assuming in retrospect, these toughs believed they could beat the "city" attitude out of me, by punching me in the face. I really never believed I acted high and mighty, as they claimed. If this is what it meant to be "local," I wanted to head back to the city, where I was never once, attacked in the school yard, as a result of not acting "local." The only reason I kept attending classes at Bracebridge Public School, was because of Father Bernard Heffernan, of the adjacent St. Joseph Catholic Church, who would come over to the playground at recess, and lunch, and draw the bullies and their victims into a game of football. He was a master at that, and there wasn't a kid on the field, who could say no to Father.
I was a better football player than the bullies, and in a round about way, I got some revenge, running touchdown plays, after Father would pull of a Hail Mary out of his hat of plays, as starting quarterback for both teams. I have written a lot about Father Heffernan, and not once, in the past, have I mentioned the fact, I was scared of going to school, because of some rather wicked Irish / Canadian lads, who did make my life then, a misery. Father on many occasions, showed up at the right time, just as these kids were licking their lips, and clenching their fists, thinking it was time to teach the city kid a lesson. I have a bad jaw today, because of the beating then, and it would have been a lot worse, if not for Father Heffernan's interventions. He had no idea, just how much I looked forward, to seeing him run over from the church, with a football tucked under his arm, just as these thugs were closing in on me. The whole beating-the-crap-out-of-me thing, was an excuse to single out a city transplant, for recess recreation. Apparently, it was said amongst the band of bullies, that I deserved to be taught a lesson, thinking I was better than they were, and the fact I had nicer pants and shoes. This by the way, was pointed out to me, between right hooks to the jaw. It was a school yard violation, in their minds, to even dress like a city kid. I remember another kid, who I thought was my friend, knocking me over one day, in front of four or five of my female classmates. "That'll teach you kid. Go back to the city." This is the point, where another school chum, Paul Duff, stepped-in, and knocked the kid to the ground in my defense. If Paul had known about my beatings, at the hand of these other thugs, I know he would have done the same thing. But in this case, I counted on Father, to give me some inspiration, on how to handle the problem myself.
Father, in his own way, being highly competitive, and a tad rough in his play, reminded me that my success at school, and not just in academics, was going to depend on my ability to be as resilient, as when I was breaking through defenders, and then catching his downfield pass. It gave me this spark of inspiration, that even though I wasn't a big kid, I could take advantage of opportunity based on my physical skill and finnes. I had the advantage of many weeks, playing football with Father Heffernan, and when I'd whittled the beatings down to only one bad one each week, my confidence level was way up, and things were about to change. One day when the henchmen came for me, calling out "hey, city kid," I knew how it was going to play out ahead of time; sort of like a play Father might have called-out, in the huddle of a game. The lead thug, always had his brother, and two other punks, come to get me, and haul me to a corner of the school yard where there was no supervision. I was told that the beating would be more substantial, if I resisted. So I went quietly. On this occasion, I just wasn't fearful. As I walked through the yard in the company of these stoic individuals, I had concocted a strategy that was going to work. So when we reached the place where the assault was going to occur, I answered affirmatively, when asked if the "city kid" was ready for his lesson of the day. I said I was!
The little bastard liked to jump from side to side on my jaw, so as to spread the bruise evenly. I suppose he had some artistic vein in him, amongst all the rotting ones. So like a sculptor, he planned out his hammering with an eye, to land it squarely, and with high impact. On this occasion, after two punches, he asked if one of his henchmen, would like to have a go at me, and of course, it was like an eagle talking to a crow, about the leftovers of a kill. But it was okay. I was nearing the Hail Mary part of the show.
I was positioned by the chaps, on both arms, for the benefit of my new assailant. I decided in a flicker of thought, that I was twice the athlete, when I got mad, and injury did this for me; so a punch in the chops would give me an adrenalin rush. I let him have a free punch, and it shook my head badly. It was much harder than the one from my usual opponent. For the second punch anticipated, I imagined Father Heffernan, poised to throw me a long-bomb downfield. I positioned myself accordingly. I angled myself, even against resistance, a step back to my right. Now let me make it clear here, and now, that Father Heffernan would never, even if I'd told him my problem outright, have advised me to kick the kid's nuts, like they were a pig-skin, heading for the uprights. But I must confess, I did this, other than for self preservation, based on the sportsmanship Father had bestowed upon us kids, during those recess matches, on the limestone grid-iron. How so? Well, the chaps who were beating the crap out of me, weren't being very good sports, and I felt that, as fair play, I should be allowed the sporting privilege, of fighting back against three hoods. Maybe I stretched the limits of sportsmanlike play a tad, but I did so thinking about football. Let me tell you, if they hadn't been attached to the kid's body, they would have gone right through the centre of the goalposts, on that imagined field, giving the good guys three points.
I so surprised the other lads, holding me at the side, that they let me go, and tried to help the attacker, suffering in the fetal position, with pulsating testicles. I was able to break free, and fortunately, I found a teacher around the corner. The perpetrators were kicked out of school, but not before getting the strap, and I got to listen from the adjoining office; God it was swell.
All because I was a city kid, and definitely not a local.
Being Named Editor of The Herald-Gazette Caused Chagrin Amongst The "Locals!" Initially, Until I Married a Local!
When I joined Muskoka Publications, first as a reporter, for the Muskoka Lakes-Georgian Bay Beacon, in MacTier, I found myself in a new community, that in my mind, was a lot tougher than Bracebridge, per square inch; yet I got along famously right from the beginning. I have to thank my old friend Brian Lemkay, for helping me adjust to the local ways and means, and to introduce me to the "locals," with a little more grace, than I first arrived in the school yard of Bracebridge Public. I even got to play hockey with the MacTier Lions, of 1979, which was quite an honor, and it was one of the finest teams I'd ever been associated. I became a local almost at once, and I will never forget the kindnesses of that little community, known for its exceptional athletics, especially in fastball, and of course, rattlesnake dodging. They had no way of knowing the kind of problems I had endured, trying to break into the rank and file of the "locals," in South Muskoka. I worked hard at this job, and as outreach, coached the MacTier Midget Hockey Club, and my God, were these kids talented, and great to work with over that 1979-80 season. Then, I got a call from the publisher, asking if I would do a stint as news editor of The Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge. Frankly, I wasn't sure it was the best thing for me, but a close colleague, a photographer by the name Roger, told me that it was an opportunity I should grasp-up, if I wanted more out of my newspaper career. I hated to leave my job in West Muskoka, but I never forgot those two years spent in the community of MacTier. I was on the brink of becoming an honorary "Do-dadder." I can't really explain it, other than to say it's a neighborhood kind of thing.
I worked just as hard, if not more, to prove that the publisher had made the right choice for news editor, and when I had another opportunity, to be advanced to the "editor's desk," I had no hesitation accepting the offer. But I was still hearing rumors about the "city fellow,' who was now running their newspaper. I was reminded by numerous members of the local governance, that I had a lot to learn about Bracebridge, before I could fill the shoes of former editor / publisher Robert Boyer, who was my unofficial mentor, for all my years at the paper. While I didn't have goons waiting for me, when I left the paper, in the evening, I still had it rubbed in my face, that I would never, ever, be considered a local, because I had one foot of my past, in the urban jungle of Southern Ontario. And then there was the fact I had attended university in Toronto, and that also, apparently, had renewed my city slicker provenance.
To this point, I had initiated the formation of the Bracebridge Historical Society, and the preservation of "The Bird House," better known as "Woodchester Villa," for a new community museum, and enjoyed a stint as a columnist for the Bracebridge Examiner. And I was surrounded by good folks, with home-town pride, who had less time spent in Bracebridge than I did. Even though I had the endorsement of Bob Boyer, well known Muskoka historian, and former MPP for the riding, it didn't seem to matter at town hall. I was a city person, who would eventually head back to the Big Smoke, and all the acts of kindness bestowed on me, would have just been the layers of a stepping stone, to prosperity elsewhere. Although I didn't feel it was necessary, at this point, to prove myself a stalwart "home-towner," I did experience an unspecified amount of resistance in a lot of areas of reporting, because apparently, my genes didn't go back to the town's founding families. I just did the best I could, and began reading every one of The Herald-Gazette printed books, on regional history, that we used to sell at the front counter, of 27 Dominion Street. I read Mr. Boyer's "A Good Town Grew Here," published in 1975, as a place to start, in learning more about our town's chronicle. If you have ever read through Bob's book, you would realize how near impossible it is, to get everything out of it, on the first, or even tenth time. It has a million important facts in the text. After ten years reading ten or so pages twice a week, I got an excellent education on the unique heritage of the town, named after a book, written by American Author, Washington Irving.
I can so clearly recall, the day, that town hall was buzzing with news of an upcoming wedding. The city-slicker at the helm of The Herald-Gazette was getting hitched. Well, that wasn't the news that was sparking attention. It was the fact I was marrying a "local" gal, with kin-folk connections all over the place; in fact, having a meaty family history, going all the way back to the founding settlers of Watt Township, in the present Township of Muskoka Lakes. It's funny how that worked. I couldn't be a local myself, no matter what I did to help the home community and region, but by marrying a local, I was somehow a "local by wedded association." I hadn't thought about this in advance, honestly, and it would never, on its own, have been the reason to marry someone. Right?
I can remember going out on interviews, with some of the town's long time citizens, and being greeted with some skepticism, as to why Mr. Boyer hadn't come along to do the story instead. When they'd ask for my pedigree, and reasons why I should be allowed to do their particular story, they'd gasp when they learned that I was marrying John Shea's granddaughter, (Norman Stripp's daughter), Suzanne. John was a former township clerk in Watt, and a member of a family, that had a well known reputation of being scrappers, and physical combatants, when it came to matters of family honor. Norman was a long serving member of the Windermere and District Lions Club, and marina owner, on Lake Rosseau, who knew just about everybody in that area of the township,
"Say, do you know about the Sheas," the oldtimer would inevitably ask, if he or she were truly part of the Muskoka legacy. Suzanne had warned me about this reference, before we were engaged. "I could tell you stories," the subject of the interview would state, with some confidence, the legend I'd heard was true. "They were known as the 'Three Mile Lake Wolves,' those Shea fellows; mean bunch, and you didn't dare get in the way of them, when they came to town." One fellow reminded me about the dust-up at Higgins, Queen's Hotel, on Manitoba Street, on the occasion a number of the Sheas, had come to down for supplies. While being served their lunch, the waiter made the mistake of stepping on their dog, "Shep's" tail, sticking out from under the table. The Sheas took great exception to the insult to the dog's tail, and beat the man relentlessly. The same as they had done, on their arm-clenched marches down the centre of Manitoba Street, looking for any Catholic to challenge them, by blocking their path. I have to tell you, that it was the most empowered I had ever felt, because some of these folks half expected, I was, by immersion, just as aggressive as my Shea in-laws; mine, of course, was the kind of fighting exercised with words. So at least you know the chronology, leading to this point. I became local as a result of marriage, and an honorary Shea, by approval, and that means a lot to me. Honest to God, the doors that opened to me, as a reporter, was nothing short of amazing, all because of my association, and eventual marriage, to a family that arrived in Muskoka in 1862. There is a dug-out canoe, at the Muskoka Lakes Pioneer Musuem, in Port Carling, made by those pioneer Sheas; and paddled all over the Muskoka Lakes. It felt real good seeing that canoe, especially every time I attended meetings, as a member of the museum's board of directors, back a decade or so. I'd always think of my public school attackers, at moments like this, and wish very much, to have a chance to address the same group, today, just to yell out, with a generous amount of spit, "I'm local now; in your face a--holes!"
Both my sons are "Muskoka-billies," as some call them, but they'll always be spared being called "outsiders," and "city kids," because they have a pedigree going back to the days of Upper Canada, and the first homesteads carved into the pine woods of the Disrict of Muskoka. Yup, like their mother, they were born in Muskoka. Genuine locals!
But the whole issue, does bring up the matter, of who really is the true spokesperson(s) for our region of Ontario. Would it surprise you, that this entire "local" pedigree, is lost, when it comes to the actual depiction, and profiles, written about our towns and region, for the consumption of so-called city-slickers. It's been this way as far back as those first homesteads, I've been writing about, for the past thirty-five years. Maybe this is why there has been so much mistrust of urban transplants; because of all the overviews written about Muskoka, by non-residents, since the earliest years of sportsmens' publications, dating back to the 1860's and 70's, for magazines, and related hunting and fishing publications. We have been characterized and promoted around the world, from that century onward, by folks who had only a passing knowledge, of what it meant to live in Muskoka. Let's just say, these writers and early promoters, in the business sense, didn't give a hoot about being considered "local." They had a job, and it was to make money by promoting Muskoka, and I can remember one author, in the early 1870's, profiling a desperate family of failing pioneers, who were eating maple buds for sustenance, because their crops had failed. They exploited the values of the lakeland, and dumped on the locals as being rather uncouth, and wretchedly poor, but at the very least, able to supply wood for building, from those same failing homesteads, and firewood for the hearths, of those elegant new hunting and fishing lodges, opening around the lakes. And they beat me up, in the new and enlightened age, because I was an outsider. I guess they didn't know how contradictory and redundant it was, to beat up the kid, for his lack of home roots; who would go on, to become the most prolific local writer / defender, of all things Muskokan; who without compensation, has a circulation of nearly 100,000, in two Ontario publications, where the stories are all Muskoka based. I have just been asked to provide more Bracebridge heritage content, to one of these publications, as it has been requested by local advertisers. I can't describe the jubilation, and at the same time, the irony of the current events, that a writer, of the local ilk, can finally catch a break, to be considered someone to be trusted, for representing the best interests of local historical record.
When, at times, I seem to fly off the handle, editorially, about the "local" rights and privileges, given to "outsiders" who have only worked here for a short while, it is from this depth of experience, attempting to qualify as a "local,' that makes me furious. I want to say to some of these "locals of considerable authority,' that it isn't fair, or sportsmanlike in any way, to all of a sudden drop the requirements of "local status," because of a new awe for outside opinion. It is happening a lot these days, and while I'm not opposed to new citizens exercising their democratic rights, and privilege to be taken seriously, damn it, I won't be compromised ever again, when it comes to my own hard-earned, trial by fire, induction, as an authority on local history. As I rebelled against bullies in the past, I know it will now be one of those intellectual challenges, where local opinion isn't considered important, and local experts, unworthy of consultation; because purportedly we're out of the loop. More like, kept out of the loop. It's a different type of bullying these days, and honestly, I have no compunction letting these talking heads, from all other places than here, know their positions are in error, and their theories are nothing more than a weak tea in a tiny cup.
Wouldn't you like to hear, or read about, one of our town councils, contacting local authorities, in specific areas of expertise, because of their intimate knowledge of the area; for useful input on regional issues? This would be a change from the normal fare; consultants being sought from everywhere else, but here, to resolve a civic conundrum; or to get a clarification on a matter involving history's chronicle, taken care of, by a simple, respectful local history lesson. It just tears into your heart, when once again, consultation on a matter of local significance, is referred to a firm from the city, who then have to contact me, (or associate historians) for a situational upgrade. So why wouldn't they have come to us directly? It's not like we're hard to find. This isn't just about me. It happens all the time to many professionals, in a wide variety of fields; that local governments will seek expertise from anywhere but here, for something that needs to be handled with local expertise. It's disheartening to say the least, because Muskoka is jam-packed with incredible talent, and although we're not as well populated, it doesn't mean we're incompetent to meet a lot of unique challenges.
From the local historian's perspective, I'm telling you first hand, how things have changed in Muskoka, from the days when our family tried so desperately to be considered worthy "locals." To be included as fellow home-towners, in social events; but being informed we were still a long way from achieving that status. But then, Merle and Ed always expected to move back to the city to be closer to family; a family by the way that couldn't believe it, the day my mother informed them, the Curries were heading north to Muskoka. Very few of them ever visited, because it was in the rural clime, and they were full blooded, committed urbanites. But strangely enough, my parents saw through the "local" versus "interloper" situation, and never let it get in the way. They liked Bracebridge and Muskoka-living enough, to spend their last mortal moments, in the hometown that had never been too sure of their loyalties. I don' know whether dying in Muskoka, as a genuine resident, would qualify one as "finally, and ultimately local."
Today, it is a much different situation, in both Gravenhurst and Bracebridge. I can't speak for Huntsville, but having known that town then and now, from the mid 1960's, I'm presuming it's much the same. The huge infiltration of urbanites, and so called "outsiders" from other areas of the province, country and world, have made "local" a somewhat lesser concern. So much so, that I suspect the city kid, would no longer be beaten up because of this "non-local" status, and instead, casually thumped because he spoke to another person's girlfriend or boy friend, without prior permission to do so. I don't really know how I feel about this, because I had to break trail for us city transplants, at a time, when it was a pretty brutal exercise, to prove commitment to local traditions. Now it's hard for a local to get a word in edge wise, when it comes to community planning, and what may prevail in the future. In some ways, the whole "local is best" scenario, is gone the way of the dinosaurs. Maybe it is a good thing. It comes too late for me. I had to pay to be localized, and considering that I have suffered with jaw issues for most of my life, as a result of those beatings, it's hard to reconcile with this new order of things. Such as this week, reading in the regional press, which to me isn't very local at all, and finding out once again, how a new-person employed at town hall, here in Gravenhurst, is now an economic historian, telling us about the recession we have suffered through recently; when we hadn't noticed one at all. I have to fall back in my old, and tutored local ways, to reason thusly, that it really is necessary to know something about local history and economic tradition, before re-designing history to suit an opinion and agenda. Balderdash I say. Let the locals weigh-in for gosh sakes. When I write about having earned my rank, when, for example, you watch me talk, and will notice my jaw doesn't close and open as it should. Yea, I earned my stripes all right. Now I have respect for what it takes to represent local values, without the imposition, and overlapping, from those who have no idea how the chronicle has been notched, since those first furrows dug into the Muskoka soil. Is it the end-all? Is being local all its cracked up to be? Does it really have attached rights and privileges, after all these years? Are we right, even when we're wrong, just because we're local? Truth is, we are an endangered species, and a little irrelevant in a lot of cases. So we aren't so full of ourselves or even mildly boastful, as locals were once known to be pretty cocky, about the status of the pecking order. Is this better or worse than previously in history? I don't really know, because I'm too busy adjusting to new realities. This is the one, where I have to convince the home-towners now, that I'm still really a city-slicker at heart.....and only half "local". I'd like to have the best of both worlds, for a change.
I will undoubtedly spend the last days of this mortal coil, living in this magnificent region, of Ontario. Probably to the end, I will have some lingering regrets, about it having taken so long, to earn my "local" stripes; because having that sense of belonging was, and is important to me, especially when I was writing for one of the most historic publications in the district. I came to respect local traditions, and social norms of rural living, and I really did exercise due diligence, learning about the heritage of the communities and region; well before I began offering opinions on the subject. If there is any complaint, I offer, more than others, it's that historical knowledge comes first, lecturing about it, comes a distant second, or even third. When I tell readers, that I have volunteered my services, at any time, to clear up heritage misconceptions, or offer an opinion about a matter that requires an historian's input, I am being sincere. It pains me to admit, I have never been asked.
If, at times, I spout off about things like this, there's good reason. Most of our councillors in the region, unfortunately, have very little interest in local history, yet they wish to govern as if they do. The constituents of our towns and region, can change this, and demand due diligence from future representatives. You can't defend heritage issues, if you don't know what the heritage is all about. The real project for heritage groups in Muskoka, is to make sure these folks are up to speed, and getting information upgrades, so that they don't have to seek help from outside the area, when they run into a situation, they believe has no local solution. We might surprise them with our capabilities.
Thanks for joining today's blog-atorial.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
THE BEAR, THE MOOSE AND THE OMEN - A FOLK TALE ABOUT THE INTERACTIONS OF CIVILIZATION ON NATURE
BUT IT WAS OUR PAST! GOOD OR BAD!
I'M A LITTLE SLOW TO START THIS BLOG TODAY BECAUSE OF AN ADVERSE CIRCUMSTANCE, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. AS I LIKE TO SHARE MY LIFE STORY, HERE'S ONE MORE PARAGRAPH TO THE BIOGRAPHY, MY BOYS WILL LIKELY DECIDE TO NEVER, EVER PUBLISH IN BOOK FORM. SO I'L OUTSMART THEM, AND PUBLISH IT NOW FOR THE WHOLE WORLD TO GAZE UPON.
JUST FINISHED DINNER. WONDERFUL. HELPED WITH THE DISHES, THREW THE RECYCLING IN THE BIN, FED THE CRITTERS, PATTED THEM RESPECTIVELY, AND THEN BY GENERAL MISFORTUNE, HAD TO CHASE CHUTNEY, OUR SMALLEST CAT, AROUND THE BACKYARD IN THE DARK.....THROUGH THE SPRUCE GARDEN. IT HAPPENED LIKE THIS: I OPENED THE BACK DOOR, THE CAT WAS STARTLED ON THE TOP OF THE CHINA CUPBOARD, FELL OFF, AND LANDED ON ALL FOURS, ON THE STEP OF THE OPEN DOOR. WELL SIR, IT TOOK ABOUT THREE SECONDS FOR CHUTNEY TO FIGURE OUT, SHE WAS BY HAPPENSTANCE, STARING INTIMATELY AT THE GREAT OUT OF DOORS. I USED TO BE ABLE TO DIVE, DART AND DO THE SPLITS AS A GOALTENDER, BUT THAT WAS IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS. I BENT OVER AS FAR AS MY BACK WOULD ALLOW, AND BY THAT TIME, SHE WAS ON HER WAY TO THE NEIGHBOR'S PORCH.
SUZANNE WITH FLASHLIGHT AND BLIND AMBITION, THROUGH THE THICK EVERGREENS, MADE A FLYING TACKLE ON THE LITTLE BUGGER, AND SAVED THE DAY. CHUTNEY IS A WANDERER, AND OUR NEIGHBORS DON'T LIKE CATS. ANY CATS. ALL OUR FELINES ARE HOUSE-CATS, ALTHOUGH BUDDY GETS SOME TIME IN THE YARD, ON A LEASH. WE DON'T INFLICT OUR TASTE IN ANIMAL-KIND UPON OUR NEIGHBORS. AND I'M HURTING AT THIS MOMENT, AS I UNCEREMONIOUSLY TUMBLED INTO THE BRAMBLES (WE TOLERATE HERE) OF WHICH I'M STILL PICKING OUT OF MY ARMS; SO EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, I HAVE TO STOP WRITING, TO SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE. SUZANNE JUST SHAKES HER HEAD AND APPLIES MORE ANTISEPTIC TO MY INJURIES. GOOD TIMES. MEMORABLE MOMENTS AS PET OWNERS.
THE SUPERSTITIONS OF NAVIGATION, OF COURSE, GO ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE BEGINNING OF MARITIME EXPERIENCE AND ECONOMIC ENTERPRISE. IT MAY NOT BE A STORY-WORTHY TO SOME, WHO ARE INFINITELY MORE INTERESTED TO READ ABOUT THE OPERATIONS, OF SAY, THE BOAT'S STEAM PROPULSION SYSTEM, AND ABOUT ITS PORT OF CALLS. BUT THE SUPERSTITIONS ATTACHED TO MARINE HERITAGE ARE NUMEROUS AND FASCINATING. ALTHOUGH THESE MANIFESTATIONS OF SUPERSTITIOUS BELIEFS, DIDN'T ALWAYS MAKE THE GRADE OF FOLK STORY, REGIONALLY, THERE ARE A FEW THAT ARE FAIRLY SIGNIFICANT.....IF YOU BELIEVE IN THESE THINGS. MARINERS OFTEN SEE THINGS THAT JUST CAN'T BE EXPLAINED; ENCOUNTERS ALL TIMES OF DAY AND NIGHT, THAT MAY BE CONSIDERED THE MIND PLAYING TRICKS, THE SCENERY TAKING ON A SURREAL APPEARANCE, THAT MAY HAVE CREATED A SUSPICION OF A PENDING, INTRUSIVE OMEN. ONE OF TWO STORIES TODAY, HAS A MILD MORAL SIDE, WHILE THE OTHER POSSESSES A LITTLE PARANORMAL "SHADOW OF DOUBT". YOU BE THE JUDGE. BUT ONE THING'S FOR CERTAIN. THEY ARE BOTH NEAT FOLK STORIES, THAT ENHANCE OUR VIEWPOINT OF WHAT THE HISTORY OF MUSKOKA WAS LIKE, BEYOND THE BARE BONES OF ITS RECORDED HISTORY.
THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR EVERYONE. IF YOU'RE A LITTLE SQUEAMISH ABOUT CRUELTY TO ANIMALS, YOU MAY WISH TO BYPASS TODAY'S BLOG, BECAUSE IT INVOLVES THE VERY POOR TREATMENT OF A MOOSE AND A BEAR, ONE THAT JUST HAPPENED TO GET IN THE WAY OF A STEAMSHIP, AND A CREWMAN WITH A GUN.
CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, IN HIS BOOK, "HISTORY OF MUSKOKA," WRITES THE FOLLOWING, ABOUT THE INCIDENT WITH A VERY LARGE MOOSE:
"WILD LIFE AT THAT DATE (LATE 1800'S) WAS PLENTIFUL THROUGHOUT MUSKOKA. PARTRIDGE, DEER, BEAR AND AN OCCASIONAL MOOSE WERE TO BE SEEN. A STORY WAS TOLD OF THE KILLING OF A MOOSE IN THE FENN'S POINT SETTLEMENT. FATHER FLEMING WAS HOLDING A WEEK-DAY MASS AT THE HOME OF THE KELLYS. FROM THE HOUSE COULD BE SEEN THE LAKE AND AN ISLAND IN THE DISTANCE. DURING THE SERVICE SOMEONE NOTICED WHAT THEY THOUGHT WAS A LARGE DEER OVER ON THE ISLAND. IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF HUNTING SEASON AND SOME FRESH MEAT WOULD BE VERY WELCOME, SO THE MEN DECIDED THEY WOULD TRY TO GET THE DEER. A LAD OF FIFTEEN OR SIXTEEN SAID HE WOULD GO TO THE ISLAND WITH A DOG, AND DRIVE THE DEER INTO THE WATER TOWARD THE FARM. THE LAD AND THE DOG SOON PICKED UP THE DEER'S TRACK AND WERE HURRYING ALONG, THE DOG NOW KEEN ON THE SCENT, LEFT THE BOY BEHIND. THEY WERE NO NEARING THE SHORE, BUT SO FAR THE LAD HAD SEEN NO DEER, WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN THE DOG CAME RACING BACK WITH HIS TAIL DOWN, AND CLOSE BEHIND HIM, APPARENTLY IN NO HURRY, WAS THE LARGEST ANIMAL THE LAD HAD EVER SEEN; A HUGE MOOSE. AS THE DOG CONTINUED TO FLEE, THE LAD, FOR SAFETY, CLIMBED THE NEAREST TREE AND REMAINED THERE UNTIL THE MOOSE WAS DISPOSED OF." THE MOOSE, SENSING THE INTRUDER HAD BEEN TAKEN CARE OF, TURNED AROUND, SNORTED, AND LEFT THE SCENE.
"IT WAS NOW EVIDENT THAT THE MOOSE WAS NOT GOING TO SWIM TOWARD THE FARM, SO A GUNMAN WENT OVER TO TRY FOR A SHOT AT THE MOOSE ON THE ISLAND, BUT BY THIS TIME THE ANIMAL HAD TAKEN TO THE WATER, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ISLAND, AND WAS OUT OF GUNSHOT RANGE. SEVERAL MEN HAD COME OVER WITH ANOTHER BOAT; THEY FOLLOWED THE MOOSE AND GOT HIM, SOME DISTANCE OUT, AND TOWED HIM TO SHORE. THE ANIMAL WAS SO LARGE THAT IT TOOK SEVEN OR EIGHT MEN TO DRAG HIM ACROSS THE BARN, WHERE THEY AT ONCE SKINNED AND DRESSED THE CARCASS. THE MEAT WAS DIVIDED AMONG THE NEIGHBORS, A CHOICE CUT OF FIFTEEN OR TWENTY POUNDS, GOING TO FATHER FLEMING. NEXT MORNING AS FATHER FLEMIING WAS TAKING THE BOAT, A DECK HAND RUSHED OUT TO TAKE HIM ONE OF HIS GRIPS (SUITCASES), GETTING THE ONE CONTAINING THE MOOSE MEAT. HE SAID, 'WHAT ON EARTH FATHER, DO YOU CARRY IN YOUR GRIPS TO MAKE THEM SO HEAVY.' FATHER FLEMING REPLIED, 'OH I CARRY MANY THINGS, IF IT IS TOO HEAVY FOR YOU, I WILL TAKE IT MYSELF. I HAVE LEARNED TO BEAR BURDENS, MY OWN AND THOSE OF OTHERS.' A FEW DAYS LATER, A NEIGHBOR FROM SOME DISTANCE, WHO WAS NOT IN AT THE KILL, STOPPED AT THE KELLY HOME FOR DINNER, AND DURING THE MEAL REMARKED THAT MRS. KELLY'S BEEF WAS CHOICE STUFF. THE LADY ASKED HIM IF HE REALLY THOUGHT IT WAS BEEF. HE ANSWERED YES AND THE VERY BEST OF IT. SHE TOLD HIM IT WAS MOOSE MEAT, ALSO TELLING HIM HOW THEY GOT IT.
"SOMEHOW THE KILLING OF THE MOOSE LEAKED OUT (ALTHOUGH THEY WERE PRETTY SURE IT HAD COME FROM THEIR DINNER GUEST), AND TWO MONTHS LATER A GAME WARDEN (MICHAEL WOODS) AND A CONSTABLE (ROGER MAHON), ARRIVED AT THE KELLY HOME, TO SEARCH FOR EVIDENCE OF A VIOLATION OF THE GAME LAWS. THE LADY, I AM TOLD, WAS A BIG WOMAN, COMMANDING AN ELOQUENT FLOW OF LANGUAGE WHEN THE OCCASION REQUIRED IT. SHE NOW PROCEEDED TO POUR OUT HER VIALS OF WRATH ON THE CONSTABLE WITH WHOM SHE WAS ACQUAINTED, WHILE MICHAEL SEARCHED THE HOUSE. THE ONLY EVIDENCE OF THE MOOSE WAS THE HIDE WHICH WAS IN A SMALL OUTHOUSE ENTERED BY A DOOR FROM THE KITCHEN. THE KITCHEN WAS LINED WITH V-JOINT AND THERE WAS NO CASING AROUND THE DOOR. THE WALL APPEARED AS THOUGH THERE WAS NO DOOR. MICHAEL, NO DOUBT, WAS ANXIOUS TO COMPLETE THE SEARCH OF THE HOUSE, AS THE TIRADE WAS IN NO MANNER COMPLIMENTARY, SO HE MISSED THE DOOR THAT CONCEALED THE EVIDENCE. HE THEN SEARCHED THE BARN WITH THE SAME RESULT; WENT ON TO JOE FENN'S, AND GAVE HIS PREMISES THE ONCE OVER, BUT JOE HAD NOTHING HIDDEN, SO MICHAEL FOUND NOTHING. THE BOY AND THE DOG RETURNED SOME HOURS AFTER THE KILL. WHEN ASKED WHERE HE HAD BEEN, HE REPLIED, 'IF YOU HAD SEEN THAT DOG RUNNING AWAY, YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME AS I DID; CLIMB THE FIRST TREE YOU CAME TO." ME THINKS, HOWEVER, THE HUNTING VIOLATION WAS NEVER PROVEN, WHICH WAS A GOOD THING FOR FATHER FLEMING....AS IT WOULDN'T HAVE LOOKED VERY GOOD TO HIS FLOCK, IF HE'D BEEN BUSTED FOR ILL-GOTTEN MOOSE MEAT.
NOW IN THE WORDS OF CAPTAIN LEE, AS QUOTED IN CAPTAIN FRASER'S HISTORY, THERE IS A UNIQUE STORY ABOUT AN ILL-FATED BRUIN, IN THE WRONG PLACE IN NATURE, CROSSING THE PATH OF A STEAMSHIP, AND A CREWMAN WITH A GUN....UNAFRAID OF FIRING IT WHILE TRAVERSING THE LAKE WITH PASSENGERS ABOARD.
"SAILING ON THE MUSKOKA LAKES HAS ALWAYS BEEN MORE OR LESS FASCINATING TO THOSE ENGAGED IN IT. OF ALL THE CAPTAINS ON THESE LAKES, DURING THE LAST 50 YEARS (BEFORE 1942), ONLY A SMALL NUMBER HAVE LEFT FOR OTHER OCCUPATIONS; CAPTAIN JACKSON, CAPTAIN W. BOARD, AND CAPTAIN E.E. TAYLOR, LEFT THE WAVES FOR THE FARMS; CAPTAIN GEORGE PARLETT WENT INTO THE LUMBER BUSINESS; NEARLY ALL OTHERS HAVE MADE OF IT A LIFE JOB.
CAPTAIN FRASER, AS AN INTRODUCTION, WRITES OF HIS FRIEND, IN THE FOLLOWING DESCRIPTION: "CAPTAIN LEE RELATES THE STORY AS FOLLOWS - 'IT WAS A NICE COOL MORNING. WE HAD LEFT PORT COCKBURN. IT WAS THE STEAMER NIPISSING. CAPTAIN GEORGE BAILEY IN CHARGE. I WAS MATE. WE HAD GOT DOWN NEAR ROUND ISLAND. I WAS AT THE WHEEL, CAPTAIN BAILEY WAS AT BREAKFAST, WHEN A LADY PASSENGER, SITTING NEAR THE BOW OF THE BOAT ASKED ME WHAT WAS CAUSING THAT STREAK ACROSS THE SURFACE OF THE CALM WATER. SHE THOUGHT IT LOOKED LIKE A BIG SNAKE CROSSING SOME DISTANCE AHEAD OF THE BOAT. I LOOKED AND AT FIRST, THOUGHT IT WAS A DOG, BUT AS WE GOT CLOSER, I PERCEIVED IT WAS A BEAR, AND A BIG FELLOW AT THAT. I AT ONCE CALLED THAT A BEAR WAS CROSSING OUR BOW. THE CAPTAIN ALMOST IMMEDIATELY APPEARED ON THE DECK WITH A RIFLE. BY THIS TIME, WE HAD SLOWED DOWN AND WERE VERY CLOSE TO THE BEAR. THE CAPTAIN FIRED TWICE BUT FOR SOME REASON OR OTHER, BOTH SHOTS MISSED; UNDER ORDINARY CONDITIONS BAILEY WAS A REAL MARKSMAN."
WHAT'S IMPORTANT, IN TERMS OF FOLK HISTORY, ABOUT THIS ENCOUNTER WITH THE BRUIN, AND THE FACT THAT BAILEY WAS INDEED A GOOD SHOT, (AND SHOULD HAVE STRUCK THE BEAR EASILY, FROM THAT DISTANCE).....IS THE CURIOUS SUGGESTION, A SORT OF CURSE WAS ENVELOPING THAT WOULD STRETCH OUT FOR SOME TIME AFTER.
ACCORDING TO CAPTAIN LEE, "THE BOAT WAS STILL GOING AHEAD AND BY NOW WE WERE RIGHT ON TOP OF THE BEAR. A PADDLE WHEEL CAUGHT THE BEAR, AND PULLED HIM UNDER. WE THOUGHT, OF COURSE, HE WAS DEAD BUT IN A FEW SECONDS HE APPEARED ON THE SURFACE, SNORTING AND SHAKING HIS HEAD, AND SWIMMING AS STRONGLY AS EVER. BY THIS TIME WE WERE GETTING CLOSE TO THE SHORE. THE CAPTAIN FIRED AGAIN AND CALLED US TO BACK UP. I SIGNALLED TO REVERSE THE ENGINES AND IN A FEW TURNS THE PADDLES. OF THE BIG WHEEL. ONCE MORE CAUGHT THE BEAR AND PULLED HIM UNDER, AND AGAIN HE CAME TO THE SURFACE APPARENTLY UNHURT. ANOTHER SHOT, HOWEVER, TOOK EFFECT AND THE BEAR'S HEAD WENT UNDER WATER. HE WAS NOW QUITE DEAD. WE AT ONCE LOWERED A BOAT AND PULLED OUT THE BEAR. TO GET HIM TO THE STEAMER WE WOULD HAVE TO PUT A ROPE AROUND HIS NECK AND TOW HIM IN. HE HAD PUT UP SUCH A FIGHT FOR LIFE, AND HAD BEEN SO HARD TO KILL THAT WE WERE IN NO HURRY PUTTING THE ROPE AROUND HIS NECK. HOWEVER, WE AT LAST HAULED HIM ON BOARD.
"A GENTLEMAN ON BOARD BOUGHT THE BEAR AND WAS TO TAKE IT ASHORE, A DISTANCE FROM THE GRAVENHURST WHARF, SKIN IT AND SINK THE CARCASS. TWO WEEKS LATER, AS WE WERE NEARING THE LITTLE ISLAND OUT FROM THE GRAVENHURST WHARF, THE CAPTAIN SIGHTED SOMETHING UNUSUAL IN THE WATER. HE CALLED TO ME, 'WHAT IS THAT IN THE WATER RALPH?' AS WE DREW NEARER I RECOGNIZED IT AS THE BEAR'S CARCASS. WHEN WE GOT TO THE DOCK, THE CAPTAIN ARRANGED WITH A MAN TO GO OUT, AND MAKE A SURE-JOB OF SINKING THE BEAR. NEARLY A MONTH LATER, WHEN APPROACHING THE WHARF, WE AGAIN SIGHTED THE BEAR'S CARCASS, BUT THIS TIME IT WAS NEARLY TWICE THE SIZE. WHEN WE LANDED, THE CAPTAIN GOT A BOAT, SOME OLD IRON AND SOME WIRE; HE ALSO TOOK ALONG A BUTCHER KNIFE. ARRIVING AT THE BEAR, HE COULD SEE NO WAY OF FASTENING ON HIS SINKERS AS THE BEAR'S LIMBS WERE ALL UNDER THE WATER, AND THE CARCASS WAS TERRIBLY INFLATED. IN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW THE JOB WAS TO BE DONE, THE CAPTAIN THOUGHT THAT BE PIERCING THE BALLOON SHAPED CARCASS, HE MIGHT BE ABLE TO GET AT IT BETTER; SO HE PLUNGED THE BUTCHER KNIFE INTO THE CARCASS. BUT ALAS, THE THING EXPLODED, AND WITH SUCH FORCE AND SUDDENNESS, THAT THE CAPTAIN'S FINE UNIFORM WAS BESPATTERED WITH DECOMPOSED BEAR. THE STENCH SO SICKENED THE CAPTAIN, THAT IT WAS WEEKS BEFORE HE AGAIN COULD ENJOY A GOOD MEAL. AFTER HAVING TAKEN HIS REVENGE, WHAT WAS LEFT OF THE BEAR SETTLED PEACEFULLY INTO THE DEEP, AND WAS SEEN NO MORE."
ACCORDING TO LEVI FRASER, "THE STRANGE PART OF THE STORY, IS THAT IT WAS ALWAYS THE NIPISSING'S CREW THAT CAME UPON THE CARCASS IN THE WATER; NO ONE ELSE EVER REPORTED HAVING SEEN IT. THE CREW OF THE NIPISSING AT THAT TIME, WAS CAPTAIN BAILEY; MATE RALPH LEE, ENGINEER C, MCARTHUR, PURSER W. LINK, BOB SIMMONS, JAMES MCCULLEY, JOE MORTIMER, AND BOB MCINTYRE, WERE THE OTHER MEMBERS."
HAD THE BEAR BEEN TAUNTING THE STEAMSHIP CREW? KILLING THE BEAR TO EAT, FOR SUSTENANCE, WAS ONE THING. TO KILL THE BEAR ONLY FOR ITS SKIN, WAS WASTEFUL, ALTHOUGH AT THE TIME, THE BEAR POPULATION WAS CONSIDERED INEXHAUSTIBLE. POSSIBLY GOD DIDN'T FEEL THE SAME WAY, AND LET CAPTAIN BAILEY KNOW ABOUT THIS INDISCRETION, ALL FOR THE PRICE OF A FEW DOLLARS' PROFIT.
I'VE GOT SOME GRAVENHURST AND BRACEBRIDGE CHRISTMAS STORIES TO SHARE AS WELL.
HEY, HERE'S AN IDEA. AS WE WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATIONS AROUND MUSKOKA, IN THE PAST AND PRESENT, WHY NOT DROP US A NOTE, AND WE'LL PUBLISH IT VIA THIS BLOG-SITE. WE'D LOVE TO HAVE MORE PROFILES FROM THE SMALL COMMUNITIES, VILLAGES, HAMLETS AND CROSS ROADS OF OUR DISTRICT, AND A REPRESENTATION OF WHAT IT WAS LIKE IN THE LEAD-UP WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS; THE FESTIVALS, PARTIES, CHURCH PLAYS AND MUSICAL EVENTS....AND OPINIONS.....I LOVE OPINIONS, ABOUT WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO LIVE RURALLY, DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON. WE'VE GOT ENOUGH ROOM AT HEARTHSIDE FOR ONE AND ALL. PULL UP A CHAIR AND GET COZY.
SO AS NOT TO BYPASS THE TOWNS FOLK, WE'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM THESE CITIZENS AS WELL. IT'S ALL PART OF THE HISTORY OF OUR REGION, AND BEST OF ALL, THE FOLK HERITAGE WE ARE TRYING TO PRESERVE, FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS TO ENJOY AS WELL.
THIS, AS IT HAS BEEN FROM THE BEGINNING, IS AN INTER-ACTIVE BLOG. WE CAN ONLY BE AS GOOD AND RESPONSIVE, AS THE MATERIAL WE ARE WORKING WITH.....AND MY HUNCH, IS THAT WE COULD BE EVEN BETTER, WITH THIS ALL-MUSKOKA PROFILE, WITH MORE INPUT FROM OUR READERS AND LOCAL CITIZENS. FRED IS OUT THERE HUNTING FOR THE REPRESENTATIVE PHOTOGRAPHS, THAT DEFINE OUR HISTORIC, TRADITIONAL AND EVEN CONTEMPORARY CELEBRATIONS OF CHRISTMAS, HERE IN THE MAGNIFICENT HINTERLAND. PLEASE HELP US RECORD THIS FOLK HISTORY OF OUR REGION.
YOU ALSO HAVE THE OPTION WITH THIS BLOG-SITE, OF ARCHIVING WHATEVER PAST FEATURE COLUMNS YOU LIKE.....SOME A LITTLE SALTY, SOME VERY POLITICAL, MOST OF THEM, KIND OF SENTIMENTAL AND SHAMELESSLY BIOGRAPHICAL. THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT OF OUR WORK TO REPRESENT THE MUSKOKA STORIES YOU WON'T SEE ELSEWHERE.
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