-THE MUSKOKA PIONEER, DEATH AND BURIAL - AND THE FOLKLORE IT HERALDED
"THE BURIAL OF A PIONEER"
"THEY WASHED THEIR BODIES SO WHITE AND CLEAN, THOSE MEN OF THE PIONEER DAYS; THEIR BLOOD THEY LEFT TO SET IN THEIR VEINS, IT WAS THEIRS AND IT IS THERE TO STAY," WROTE FAMILY HISTORIAN, BERT SHEA, IN AUGUST 1962. THE POEM WOULD LATER BE PUBLISHED IN "THE COMING OF THE SHEAS, AND BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP."
AN AMBITIOUS HISTORIAN, WITH KEEN INTEREST IN PIONEER TRADITIONS, COULD WRITE A FAIRLY THICK BOOK ON THE TRADITIONS, OF PIONEER FUNERALS, AND THE FOLKLORE, THAT GENERATED FROM MORTAL ILLNESSES, DEATHS, VIEWING, BURIALS AND WAKES, ON THE ONTARIO HOMESTEADS OF THE 1800'S. THERE ARE MANY FASCINATING STORIES DEALING WITH PIONEER FUNERALS, THAT GO BEYOND THE BOUNDS OF FUNERARY PROTOCOLS AND THE MORTAL PROCESS OF GRIEVING AND RECOVERY. BERT SHEA HANDLES THIS QUITE EFFECTIVELY, IN THIS SHORT FOLK STORY, PRESENTED AS A POEM.
"THEY COMBED THEIR HAIR AND FOLDED THEIR HANDS, THEIR EYES THEY CLOSED WITH CARE; AND A CLEAN PRESSED VEST THEY GIRDED ON, AND COMBED OVER THEIR WHISKERS THERE. IN THE CASKET MADE FROM CLEAN WHITE PINE, THE CHOICE FROM THE FOREST GROVE, WITH PINS OF OAK TO JOIN IN TIGHT, BY STROKES OF THE HAMMER DROVE.
"SO THEY LAID HIM THERE, TO REST IN PEACE, WHILE THEY YEARS IN HURRY FLY; TILL THE DAY WHERE EARTH AND TIME SHALL CEASE; TO WAKE AT THE TRUMPET'S CRY. AND THERE HIS IS RESTING IN SILENCE LONG, HIS SLUMBER UNMARRED BY THE CLAY, THE STORMS PASS ON, THE SEASONS CHANGE, AND THE WILD FLOWERS SPRING WITH MAY. BUT STILL THERE IS A MURMUR AT EVENTIDE, AS THE BREEZES WHISPER LOW, AND MEMORY STEALS O'ER THE GRASSY SPOT, AS SOFTLY, AS THE FALL OF THE SNOW. THEY HAVE LAID HIM THERE WITH LOVING CARE, AND THEIR TEAR DROPS, DAMPENED THE SOD; AS THE GOOD MAN COMMENDED HIS BODY TO EARTH, BUT HIS SOUL, IS AT REST WITH HIS GOD."
THANKS TO BERT SHEA, SOME OF THESE CRITICALLY IMPORTANT OBSERVATIONS, OF PIONEER DEATHS AND FUNERALS HAVE BEEN PRESERVED, THAT PAINT A PORTRAIT OF THOSE EMOTIONAL EVENTS. FEW OTHER HISTORIANS FOUND THEM TO BE RELEVANT, UNLESS THEY WERE FUNERALS OF COMMUNITY LEADERS AND POLITICIANS. HERE IS AN EXAMPLE OF HOW THIS MUSKOKA HISTORIAN, PORTRAYED THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF A THREE YEAR OLD CHILD IN THE UFFORD SETTLEMENT, VERY EARLY IN ITS HAMLET HISTORY.
IT IS CONTAINED IN THE SECTION CAPTIONED, "COMING OF THE MORLEYS."NEWS OF THE ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST SON TO PIONEER PARENTS IN THE VILLAGE, AND IN WATT (TOWNSHIP OF PRESENT MUSKOKA LAKES), WAS RECEIVED WITH JOY BY ALL INHABITANTS, AND NEEDLESS TO SAY, HE WAS THE CENTRE OF INTEREST. BUT JOY DOES NOT ALWAYS REIGN AND OFT TIMES GREAT SORROW FOLLOWS CLOSE AT HAND, AND THE LITTLE COMMUNITY WAS SMITTEN BY SHOCK AND SORROW, WHEN THE LITTLE THREE YEAR OLD DAUGHTER OF THE SUFFERNS, WHILE AT PLAY BY ACCIDENT, FELL INTO THE CAMPFIRE AND LATER DIED OF BURNS.
"EVERY EXPRESSION OF TENDER SYMPATHY WAS EXTENDED TO THE SORROWING PARENTS. LITTLE THERE WAS THAT COULD BE DONE; LITTLE THEY, THE HUMBLE PIONEERS HAD TO DO WITH, BUT TENDER HANDS PREPARED THE LITTLE BODY FOR BURIAL. JOHN L. SHEA, WHO ALWAYS SEEMED TO FILL THE PLACE OF THE NEED, MADE FROM THE WHITE PINE BOARDS, CLEAN AND SMOOTH, AND FASTENED THEM TOGETHER WITH FINE OAK PINS TO FORM THE LITTLE CASKET. NO, DEAR READER, THERE WERE NO NAILS OR SAWN LUMBER IN HER NEAT LITTLE BOX LINED WITH THE BEST THEY HAD, AND HER HEAD LAID ON A PILLOW OF DOWN. SHE WAS GIVEN CHRISTIAN BURIAL TRUE; THERE WERE NO CLERGYMEN PRESENT, BUT THE MEMBERS OF THE COMMUNITY GATHERED ABOUT THE LITTLE GRAVE SURROUNDING THE PARENTS, AND ONE WHO THERE ALWAYS IS, TO FILL THE NEED, STOOD BY HER HEAD AND IN TREMBLING VOICE DECLARED THE WORDS OF THE MASTER FROM THE OLD BOOK. 'I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE. HE THAT BELIEVETH IN ME, THOUGH HE WERE DEAD, YET SHALL HE LIVE,' AND THEN THEIR VOICE ROSE IN PRAYERFUL SONG; 'ABIDE WITH ME,' THEN THE PRAYER FOR COMFORT AND CONSIDERATION TO THE SORROWING AND ABIDING PRESENCE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT WITH ONE AND ALL, AMEN'."
THE AUTHOR WRITES, "HEADS THAT WERE BOWED AND EYES THAT WERE DIMMED, ROSE TO VIEW THE HILLS THAT SEEMED TO STAND IN SILENT REVERENCE, AND LASTING WITNESS TO SORROWING COMMUNITY, AS THEY TURNED FROM THE GRAVESIDE. LITTLE GROUPS GATHERED TO TALK QUIETLY, SOME HELD THE HANDS OF THE PARENTS AND LED THEM GENTLY AWAY FROM THE GRAVE, THOUGH THE SUN SHONE BRIGHTLY, A DARK CLOUD HUNG HEAVILY OVER THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE OF THE COMMUNITY. THAT WAS NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN, EVEN IN OLD AGE, AS JOHN L.SHEA RELATED TO THE WRITER AS MUCH OF THE ACCOUNT AS WE KNOW. THERE WAS YET REMAINING IN HIS MANNER THE TRUE INDICATION OF THE SADNESS OF THE WHOLE AFFAIR; BUT THE WRITER REGRETS TO SAY HE FAILED TO ASK THE OLD VENERABLE THE EXACT PLACE OF HER GRAVE AND AT THIS DATE, THERE IS NONE ALIVE TO ASK; ALL WHO KNEW ARE NUMBERED BY MANY YEARS AMONG THE NOBLE DEAD, AND THE PLACE OF THE LITTLE GRAVE SHALL TO US REMAIN UNKNOWN."
AS QUOTED EFORE IN THIS BLOG, FROM BERT'S SECOND BOOK, PIONEERS WOULD LATER BECOME VERY FAMILIAR WITH THE SOUND OF THE HORSE HOOVES, THE WHEELS OF THE HEARSE, AND THE DIM FLICKER OF LANTERN FLAMES, IN THE BLACK OF NIGHT, COMING ALONG THE COUNTRY LANE, TO DEAL WITH A HOMESTEAD DEATH. IT WAS NECESSARY, IN THE CASE OF CONTAGIOUS ILLNESSES, LIKE DYPHTHERIA, TO BURY THE BODIES LATE AT NIGHT, TO AVOID HAVING ANY CURIOUS CITIZENS ATTEND THE GRAVE-SITE. THE BODIES WERE STILL POTENTIAL SOURCES OF CONTAMINATION, AND EVEN THE GRAVEDIGGERS AND UNDERTAKER WERE AT SERIOUS RISK OF CONTRACTING THE DISEASE. MANY FOLK STORIES DEVELOPED SURROUNDING THESE "MIDNIGHT" BURIALS, AND THE FEAR-INSPIRING SOUNDS OF THE WAGON WHEELS AND CLOMPING OF HOOVES, PASSING THEIR HOMESTEADS. IT CREATED GREAT ANTICIPATION ABOUT WHO HAD SUCCUMBED, OF THEIR FAMILY, FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS. THESE WERE THE SOUNDS AND EVENTS OF UNFOLDING HORROR, AND THERE WERE THOSE WHO CLAIMED TO HAVE SEEN THE HORSE-DRAWN HEARSE PASS THEM, ON THE ROAD, ONLY TO FIND OUT THEY HAD WITNESSED A PHANTOM UNDERTAKER.....WHEN THEY FOUND NO REPORTS OF ANY HOUSEHOLD REQUIRING THESE SERVICES. IT'S NOT DIFFICULT TO IMAGINE, WHY THESE EVENTS AND SCENES, A SILHOUETTE IN THE MOONLIGHT OVER THE RURAL CLIME, WOULD INSPIRE GHOST STORIES AND CREATE FOLK TALES SHARED BETWEEN NEIGHBORS, AND THE GENERATIONS.
"THAT FAIR YOUNG MAIDEN OF THE CLAN, THE SWEETEST OF THEM ALL, THAT DEATH'S COLD HAND TO LAY ON HER, SHE WOULD BE GONE BY FALL; HER PARENTS CRIED WITH BROKEN HEARTS TO THEIR GOD ON HIGH, TO SPARE THEIR DAUGHTER, THEIR YOUNGEST CHILD, ERE THEY IN SORROW SHOULD DIE. BUT HER GOD HAD OTHER PLANS FOR HER, AND HE FOR HER DID PREPARE; HE TOOK HER FROM THIS WORLD OF WOE, TO BE WITH HIM UP THERE; HE TOOK HER FROM THEIR LOVING ARMS, INTO HIS TENDER CARE. THERE IN THE SILENT NIGHT OF JUNE, IN THE CABIN BY CANDLE GLOW, HER BODY LAY COLD AND STILL, HER BROW AS FAIR AS THE SNOW; THE NEIGHBORS CAME FROM EVERYWHERE, AND BROUGHT FLOWERS KIND; TO SHARE THE GRIEF OF THEIR DEAR FRIENDS, IN THE EARLY SUMMER-TIME. BY JIM AND ALMIRA SHEA THEIR SORROW BORE; THEY KNEW THEIR DAUGHTER IN A BETTER LAND, ON THAT CELESTIAL SHORE, HER SUFFERING O'ER, SHE AWAITS ON THE GOLDEN STRAND." (THE POEM, "MARIA SHEA," WRITTEN IN RESPECT TO THE FIVE YEAR OLD'S DEATH AND BURIAL, IN A CEMETERY, IN THE HAMLET OF FALKENBURG.)
THERE IS AN INTERESTING OVERVIEW, OF ANOTHER DEATH IN THE THREE MILE LAKE HAMLET, THAT I THOUGHT IMPORTANT TO INCLUDE IN TODAY'S BLOG ABOUT DEATH AND BURIAL. GEORGE HOLDICH, AN UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN, HOMESTEADING IN THE AREA, HAD GONE OUT FISHING ON THREE MILE LAKE, IN ORDER TO PROVIDE FOOD FOR HIS FAMILY. THEY WERE STRUGGLING PIONEERS, AND AS MANY HOMESTEAD EXPERIENCED IN THOSE EARLY YEARS, AGRICULTURAL SUCCESS WAS LIMITED TO NON-EXISTENT.....HARDLY ENOUGH TO SUSTAIN THE NEEDS OF A FAMILY. IT'S WHY THE LOGGING INDUSTRY PROVED TO BE A WINTER AND SPRING BOON TO THE HOMESTEAD ECONONMY. IN THIS CASE, HOWEVER, THE GOOD MR. HOLDICH UPSET HIS CANOE, AND WAS FOUND FLOATING NEARBY, ON A SEARCH CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM SHEA. IT SEEMED A GALE HAD MET THE LONE PADDLER, AND CAPSIZED HIS HANDMADE CANOE. AS IT WAS STILL COLD, IN APRIL, THE MAN HAD BEEN WEARING HEAVY CLOTHING, WHICH WEIGHED HIM DOWN WHEN HE ENTERED THE WATER. WHEN WILLIAM FOUND THE BODY, HE TOWED IT TO A BEACHFRONT, AND BECAUSE HE HAD TO SECURE LAWFUL ASSISTANCE, TO DEAL WITH THE ACCIDENTAL DEATH, HE HAD TO POUND A STAKE INTO THE GROUND, AND ATTACH A ROPE TO IT AND TO THE BODY, SO THAT IT WOULDN'T DRIFT AWAY. THE WATER WOULD TEMPORARILY PRESEVE THE BODY'S CONDITION. THE SAME THING WAS DONE TO CANADIAN LANDSCAPE ARTIST, TOM THOMSON, WHEN HIS BODY WAS FOUND IN ALGONQUIN PARK'S CANOE LAKE, IN JULY 1917.
WHAT BOTHERED WILLIAM, AND FAMILY, WAS THAT MR. HOLDICH'S DROWNING DEATH, WHILE BAD ENOUGH, DESTINED HIS YOUNG FAMILY TO GREAT SUFFERING, AS HE WAS THEIR PROVIDER. BERT SHEA WRITES, "THIS TRAGEDY CAUSED A SHROUD OF GLOOM TO FALL OVER THE COMMUNITY, AS GEORGE HOLDICH WAS A MAN OF VERY FINE QUALITIES. BELOVED BY ALL, ESPECIALLY THE SHEAS. A MAN WHO WAS STRUGGLING AS THEY TO FEED THEIR CHILDREN, IN A LAND AND A DAY WHEE THERE WAS NONE TO SPARE; AND NO SOCIAL LEGISLATION IN FORCE. UNNUMBERED AND UNKNOWN ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE WOODS WHO ARE LEFT IN THEIR COMFORTABLE HOME NEST, WHILE THEIR MOTHER GOES OUT TO SEEK FOOD FOR HERSELF AND HER FAMILY, BUT NEVER RETURNS, HAVING FALLEN PREY TO SOME EVIL BEAST OR BIRD OF THE DAY, OR NIGHT, WHEN HUMAN FAMILIES ARE LEFT WITHOUT THEIR SOURCE OF SUPPORT, THIS HAS BEEN THE LOT OF FAR TOO MANY OF OUR PIONEER FAMILIES, WHO LIVED AND FELT THE CHILLING WINDS OF LIFE IN BODY AND MIND, OR DIED OVERCOME IN THE STRUGGLE."
ON THE UPBEAT SIDE, BERT SHEA CONCLUDES, "HOWEVER, THROUGH IT ALL, THE HOLDICH FAMILY CARRIED ON THROUGH THE HARD AND TRYING TIMES AND IN LATER DAYS HAVE BEEN NUMBERED AMONG THE SUCCESSFUL AND INDEPENDENT PEOPLE OF THIS, OUR BELOVED AREA."
DEATH AND BURIAL IN THE DAYS OF STRUGGLING HOMESTEADS, WERE PROFOUNDLY SPIRITFUL COMMUNITY EVENTS, AND TRADITIONS THAT RAN DEEP TO THE CORE OF NEIGHBORHOOD VALUES......SUCH THAT EVERYONE WAS IMPACTED, AND THRUST INTO MOURNING....BECAUSE IT WAS SEEN AS GOD'S WILL......THE RESULT, POSSIBLY, OF THEIR MORAL, RELIGIOUS FAILINGS. THESE WERE BLOWS TO THE WELFARE OF THE COMMUNITY GENERALLY, AND GIVEN A PROFOUND LEVEL OF RESPECT; JUST AS MUCH AS IT INSPIRED FEAR ABOUT WHAT MIGHT LAY AHEAD FOR THE MOST VULNERABLE....OF WHICH THEY COUNTED THEMSELVES IN THAT NUMBER. BERT SHEA HAS CLEARLY SHOWN THIS IN HIS POEMS AND OVERVIEWS OF THESE FUNERARY EVENTS.
A FEELING FOR HISTORY I CAN'T EXPLAIN
A PREVIOUS LIFE? MAYBE! BUT WHAT A CRAZY ADVENTURE
I WILL STOP ALL OF A SUDDEN, BUT SOMEWHAT EXPECTED ON MY HISTORIC WALKS, TRUNDLING THROUGH THE OLD LOG BUILDINGS, WHEN BRUSHED EVER SO GENTLY, BY THAT HAUNTING FEELING, I NEED TO PAY ATTENTION TO MY SURROUNDINGS.....VERY MUCH AS IF I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE IN A PREVIOUS LIFE. WE ALL HAVE THESE FEELINGS. WE CAN'T EXPLAIN THEM, WE JUST HAVE A LITTLE SHIVER, MAKE AN ANECDOTAL COMMENT LIKE, "SOMEONE JUST WALKED OVER MY GRAVE," AND CARRY-ON, OCCASIONALLY LOOKING BACK.....AS IF EXPECTING TO SEE A GHOST. I'M SURE YOU'VE HAD SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPEN TO YOU. IT'S PROBABLY NOT ENOUGH TO WARRANT CONTACTING A GHOST BUSTER, OR A RESEARCHER OF THE PARANORMAL, BUT IT WILL STILL STICK WITH YOU FOR AWHILE AS A BELIEVE IT OR NOT.
I WILL HAVE ABOUT FOUR OF THESE SITUATIONS, WHILE WALKING THE GROUNDS AND BUILDINGS OF STE. MARIE, AMONGST THE HURONS, IN MIDLAND, THE RECLAIMED SITE OF THE 1600'S JESUIT MISSION, THAT ENDED BADLY FOR THE MISSIONARIES AND ASSISTANTS. OF ALL THE HISTORIC SITES I'VE VISITED, INCLUDING IN ENGLAND AND UNITED STATES, THE MOST COMPELLING BY FAR, FOR ME, IS THE JESUIT MISSION. IT'S NOT A FEARFUL FEELING, BUT RATHER, A SENSE OF BELONGING TO THE HISTORY OF THIS REMARKABLE ACREAGE OF HURONIA LANDSCAPE, A SHORT WALK TO THE FAMOUS MARTYRS SHRINE, ONCE VISITED BY THE POPE.
WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME WHY I HAVE MADE A LIFE, AND PROFESSION FROM HISTORY, I CAN'T REALLY ANSWER WITH ONE LIMITED-WORD RESPONSE. I CAN'T EXPLAIN WHY I HAVE ALSO SPENT A LIFETIME BEING COMPANIONED BY SPIRITS, I SEEM TO BE ABLE TO DRAW OUT OF THE STRANGEST PLACES.....AND CIRCUMSTANCES. IN A NUTSHELL, I AM DRAWN TO PLACES WITH HISTORIC AURAS, AND PATINAS OF PAST LIVES AND TIMES. WRITING RECENTLY ABOUT GRANNY BOWERS, A MUSKOKA PIONEER, WHO LIVED IN BOTH FALKENBURG, AND ON THE FRASERBURG ROAD, IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND THEN THE ICELANDIC SETTLERS WHO ARRIVED IN OUR REGION IN THE 1870'S, I HAVE FELT DRAWN INTO THEIR LIVES FROM THE VERY FIRST HOUR I BEGAN READING THEIR JOURNALS.
BOTH THESE STORIES HAVE BEEN VERY INFLUENTIAL FOR ME, OVER A LENGTHY CAREER STUDYING AND WRITING ABOUT LOCAL HISTORY. I AM TRULY ABLE TO WALK INTO THE LIVES OF THESE OLD SOULS, AND EXPERIENCE WHAT THEY HAD TO DEAL WITH DURING THESE FRONTIER YEARS.....WHICH FRANKLY MAKE MANY HARDSHIPS TODAY, SEEM MUCH LESS SIGNIFICANT. CONTEMPORARIES WILL ARGUE THAT THE HARDSHIPS EXPERIENCED NOW ARE PROPORTIONAL TO THE ERA, AND THUS EACH PERIOD DEALT WITH ITS CHALLENGES ACCORDINGLY. SOME WILL SUGGEST THAT IT WOULD BE AN UNFAIR SITUATION, TO PUT TODAY'S YOUNGSTERS IN THE PIONEER ENCAMPMENTS, LIKE HEKKLA CIRCA 1873; EQUALLY SO, TO PUT SETTLERS INTO THE PRESENT WORLD ENVIRONS. TRUE ENOUGH. I STILL BELIEVE IT WAS MUCH MORE DIFFICULT THEN THAN TODAY, TO HURDLE SO MUCH, SO FREQUENTLY, JUST TO SURVIVE.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
LIVING THE LIFE - ONE ERA TO ANOTHER WITHOUT TOO MUCH CHAGRIN
I am just one of millions of folks who dwells.....or better stated, dawdles in the past, by choice. I feel comfortable wandering around historic buildings, and houses, and museums that subtly and gently, take me on adventures I hadn't even thought of, before entering the site. I do feel paranormal activity in a lot of these interesting places, either from the buildings, or from the artifacts and antiques in the collections. I'm never repelled by these situations, although I have talked to many visitors who dislike these strange interventions. As a former manager of Woodchester Villa and Musuem in Bracebridge, which is the octagonal former home of woollen mill founder, Henry J. Bird, the paranormal was just a day to day reality of the marvellous 1880's house, overlooking the rapids of the Bracebridge Falls. Some members of staff didn't like the ghostly, spirited stuff, but the older volunteers and guides couldn't have cared less about apparitions or anything else malevolent. I didn't find the house threatening, just occupied by the family history of which it was perfectly entitled. I have sensed paranormal entities in dozens upon dozens of older homes I've visited, but I didn't make a habit of telling the hosts their humble, nicely appointed abodes were haunted. Maybe they knew or didn't care.
When it comes to the reasons why I imbed myself in history, it comes down to the comfortable feeling and the reward of reliving it, that keeps me delving further and seeking out new avenues to stroll. I don't ever go anywhere seeking out ghosts specifically. I do head out on my travels around Muskoka, looking to be immersed in history, and since I worked on the creation of the Bracebridge Historical Society, and Woodchester Villa, back in the late 1970's, I've never been without a hand in some heritage project. This has included a stint as director of the Muskoka Lakes Museum in Port Carling, and Curator of the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame at the Memorial Arena. I've been in the antique trade since I was twenty, and had my first shop in Bracebridge, at 22. I just like the feeling of old stuff.....but when I say that to my partner Suzanne, the scorn sears through my soul. So I don't make jokes about age. Her birthday is tomorrow and I'm thinking about buying her something......old. Like me, she's hooked on antiques. Sewing materials, quilts and hand-made items in particular. So there you go. Antique dealers give each other antiques for special occasions. Thus, birthdays, anniversaries, and Christmas can get pretty expensive. In regards to supply and demand, antiques are pricey.
There's something powerful about holding a painting that is one hundred and fifty years old, or a quilt that was made by a group of village women by the light of an oil lamp, in a drafty old farmhouse. There's is a definite aura attached to fine lace work done by a pioneer, carried over as tradition, from a long line of crafters from Europe. I have handled a sampler from the 1770's, and felt the imprint of the letter press, from the same vintage, in one of my many old books, some that have dated as far back, as 1602.......which was a goat skin covered German Bible, that I purchased from a former bookbinder who worked for Hunter-Rose in her youth. I have felt the strong, positive aura, holding onto Irvin "Ace" Bailey's skates, and Roger Crozier's goal stick, from the 1966 Stanley Cup playoffs, both of which I was once in charge, as hockey collection curator. Arguably, some people don't care about provenance. They wouldn't feel a spirit if it bit them on the forehead. That's okay. It's not imperative to feel the presence of the other side, still wandering the earth. But it is part of my profession, as a writer / historian, and antique dealer. Every one of our family members knows what it means when someone in our company says, "It spoke to me. I had to have it." It doesn't mean there was a ghost rider attached. It does mean, there was a vibe we couldn't avoid or neglect. I've brought home a lot of things like that, and yes, some of the items did have ghosts attached......if you believe in ghosts in the first place.
I don't live in a haunted house. It's just mildly enchanted. I don't seek out haunted houses, buildings, fields or forests. We just kind of find each other, and the same can be said for items touched by the paranormal. Which leads me back to places like Ste. Marie, where I could actually live.....if they'd let me.....and I'd feel as if I'm home again. Was I a Jesuit Missionary in a former life? Maybe the builder of the structures, or chap in charge of the community gardens? Maybe the paddler of the birch bark canoes? Digging the outhouse holes? But if you are reading this, and you've got this far in the copy, I'm willing to bet you have had similar experiences, and made note of where and why, and the frequency. The deja-vu situation. The "I must have been in this place during another life." "Say, that smells like apple pie baking...like the ones my mother used to make." Yet there is not an oven in the vicinity, or a restaurant. The smell of your grandmother's flower garden, you remember from playing around it, during your childhood. When some sensory influence comes along, out of thin air, surely you ponder, even if you are a disbeliever, if there is a chance the deceased are trying to remind you of something?
A lot of misunderstanding about this comes from the fact that Hollywood has established, in hundreds of depictions on film, what they and their art departments, believe ghosts look like, and what it is like to have a paranormal experience. The kind of ghostly encounters I've had, wouldn't make very good movies. There are no thunder storms and lightning when I visit with paranormal circumstance. I don't need an eerie moss-covered Victorian mansion, or any murder or bloodshed to feel elevated to communication with the dearly departed. It's all very casual and innocent, but whenever it happens, and wherever the message or reminder comes along, I take the time to ponder just what this could have been. It's true. Some times I do find a baking pie in the oven. Suzanne makes good pies. If the scent arrives while on a cross country hike, or in the middle of the night, after a cursory look for a source, I just say hello to all the family members who have passed, and who had invited me into their kitchens, as a youngster, or young man, to visit. There are reasons for feeling this way, and science would explain it differently than those who subscribe to life after death. There are mediums, like John Edward, who might suggest someone who has passed, is trying to get a message to you or assistance from you, to extend the message to another person or acquaintance. As John Edward indicates that it is important to validate these messages, I have been doing this my whole life anyway, with some pretty interesting results. Whether I'm talking to thin air or not, who cares. If people see me talking to myself, or talking into the void of thin air, out into a field of wildflowers, in a forest glen, or in an otherwise empty attic, then they can think what they wish. I've had others approach me, at an historic site for example, and say, "did you feel that?" "Sure did. Did you smell the cinnamon?" The fresh baking from the cook's handiwork, when no kitchen was in operation? I love this sensory perception stuff. I am always so entertained to involve myself in heritage projects that are thusly enhanced by curious paranormal activity, and keep in mind that this doesn't mean ghosts and wee beasties criss-crossing. It can be as simple as a touch on the back or shoulder, as if your mother or father is guiding you along a path, or hallway, to show you they are with you.....in life and spirit. It can be an aroma you recall from childhood, or a special place you attended, that makes you remember a family time or member, and their reactions. You can brush it off like many do, and never mention the experience. Or you can validate the experience and intervention, as a sign from those who have departed, trying to get you to remember something you may have forgotten.....about your relationship with them in life.
Here's an experience I had this week. Maybe when you read it, you'll say, "oh that's nothing.....just coincidence." I suppose if it happened once in a while, that might be the case. If it happens as frequently as it happens to me, it's an existence I depend on to get my work done. Let me explain.
I have been working on a future feature blog and video, to recognize the 150th anniversary of the naming of the Gravenhurst Post Office, in 1862, by William Dawson LeSueur, in honor of the settlers here, and the British writer / poet, William Henry Smith, after his book that year, "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil." I have a series of blogs and a video ready for the first of August. What I didn't have was the rough notes and photographs I had, when I first did the project back in the late 1990's. It was looking pretty bad when the historian / archivist couldn't find all his notes for a project a week away. For days and days I had a nagging feeling, I had to move a church pew on our front verandah, and take it to the store. Suzanne and I have had an emotional debate about the pew for several years. She's okay with selling it, but I'm a little reluctant, seeing as it was special to her mother Harriet (Shea) Stripp. Seems odd that Suzanne feels it isn't important, as an heirloom piece, but I do. Harriet always liked me. Before she passed, shortly after Suzanne and I were married, she gave me a few very important historical documents and books, relevant to her family, which we still possess. The most important, was the first Muskoka history, written by Thomas McMurray, published as a Settler's Guidebook in 1871. I know every word in the book by now. It had belonged to Harriet's father John Shea, of Ufford, in the Three Mile Lake area, of the present Township of Muskoka Lakes.
The pew was rescued from the former United Church in the hamlet of Ufford, just before it was torn down. The pew was kept in storage for many years at our family cottage on Lake Rosseau, and when Suzanne and I lived there after we were married, I insisted on having the pew on the second floor, along the railing of the staircase. Suzanne was working at the Windermere Golf Club, the day I decided to haul it out of the basement, and carry it up the hillside, and through the cottage, up the stairs by myself. I won't kid you. I nearly died doing it, and Suzanne was furious that I did it without help. Harriet was encouraged about her new history-loving son-in-law, and told me all about the pew. When the cottage was being sold, Suzanne's father gave us the pew to bring home, and it was at one side of the harvest table for most of a decade. When we changed tables, the pew looked foolish, and we took it out for awhile, and stuck it rather unceremoniously on the deck. We even tried to sell it last year at a yard sale. No one had a room for a pew. So it wintered back on the deck.
Suzanne gave me instructions to ship it up to the boys' store this week, and I must admit many reservations. I sort of owed it to Harriet to hang onto the pew for some reason. Strange enough this week, I got the feeling it was time to follow through, and regain our deck for use. The pew clogged it up, with our other more comfortable chairs. Having ignored the urges for three days, I finally got to the point, I had to move the ten foot long bench, that particular moment.....as if I was being told by something beyond, to get the job done now! So without help, I moved it off the deck, and by myself into the driveway. When son Andrew emerged, and yelled at me for trying to kill myself, "by pew moving," he asked if there was anything else he could help me with. I asked if he could please move the piano bench, also on the deck, that had also once been on the second floor of the Windermere cottage. He yelled back at me that there were many papers in the bench, and it was too heavy to move with them inside. I went to have a look, and there they were......ninety percent of my William Henry Smith papers. Only that morning, son Robert, who is my videographer for the William Henry Smith project, was worried about my delays, finding the graphics of Smith and LeSueur, that are supposed to be included in the video, he's been trying to wrap-up. Did Harriet lead me to the cache of resources that I needed on that precise day? You bet she did! She was a lover of history, and she would have known how mad I was, at misplacing the files. If I hadn't moved that pew, in the first place, I would not have looked in the piano bench. In fact, moving the pew allowed me the first access to the bench in over a year. I didn't have a clue how my files got in the bench. Suzanne may have been house cleaning and filed, what she hates of my clutter around Birch Hollow.
As for the pew? I don't know if I can sell this Muskoka / Windermere heirloom, after quite a number of strange occurrences, of which it has played a part since I married into the family.
Another strange aspect of this pew, may be the association to another interest she had in the United Church she remembered as a child. It was the fact she penned a list of all those who had been buried in the tiny cemetery, situated beside the old church, with one special inclusion she never fully researched.....but had wanted to find out about. She had learned that one of the congregation had been a veteran of the American Civil War, fighting as a Canadian, for either the North or the South. We gave the information, some years ago, to local Civil War historian, Tom Brooks, of Gravenhurst, but despite his best efforts, he couldn't conclude if the deceased veteran had actually been a participant, but there had been men with that name who had been enlisted.
Suzanne will tell me that it won't fit behind our new dining room table, and I will argue that we may one day get another table, and an extended family to fill in the space availability. It will of course be another area for the cats to occupy when I want to sit down, and it will collect dust and need regular maintenance to keep in good condition. But for both of us, it will also serve to remind us, of pioneer faith, charity, neighborliness, and durability......like our marriage, to last through all kinds of events and challenges, and obstacles that are part of this grand and to-be-cherished mortal coil.
Maybe we will sell it, or maybe not. We will let Harriet decide. I think she's already spoken, in that soft heavenly way, that we should do what we feel is right. Spirits aren't too interested afterall, in material things, like old church pews from once upon a time.
Thanks for joining today's blog. Please visit again soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment