Home Economics and Efficiencies Are The Antiques and Collectibles In Our Shop Future

HOW THE ANTIQUE MARKETPLACE WILL HAVE TO CHANGE TO MEET THE PREVAILING ECONOMIC REALITIES

AS RETAILERS, WE ARE NO DIFFERENT THAN ANY OTHER SHOPKEEP, WANTING TO KEEP THE DOORS OPEN

     Suzanne and I were talking, just now, over a coffee Andrew brought us, about the antique and collectable shop we would like to have, as a replica, of ones we used to know, in both Huntsville and Bracebridge. We'd like to make this transition, in the not too distant future, being a sort of parallel to some of the general merchandise shops we used to visit as youngsters, growing up in Muskoka. For me it was Bill Elliott's "Five Cents to Dollar Store", which we always called Stedmans, on lower Manitoba Street in Bracebridge. Suzanne remembers her family, driving from the Village of Windermere, to shop at one, (or both) of the Stedman's Stores on the main street of Huntsville, back in the 1960's, and then at the Eaton's Department Store, also on the main street. We both loved the retail experience back then, and it was always at Easter, that I most admired Bill Elliott for the candy counter displays, that were as good as any major city retailer of the era; and it was always the place my parents chose to get my chocolate roosters and rabbits, for the morning of Easter Sunday. It's the kind of nostalgia we would love to re-invent in our own shop, but we have a long way to go in order to replicate the creativity that prevailed back then, of staff members being able to, without a college degree in marketing, set out incredibly effective in-store seasonal displays, to enhance the shopping experience of their customers. All on a budget. I wish we could go back to those former shops to get some ideas, to re-introduce in our contemporary antique shop. They sure had the right idea, and it was always a pleasure to visit those small but unique shops, that so nicely reflected community values, in that era of regional history.
     We used vintage bowls in our kitchen, that not only remind us of our family's food preparation, from the days of antiquity, but remind us daily, how rugged and well constructed they were, from a time when standards were exceedingly high, and quality workmanship a guarantee, the items would be in use for many, many years to come. You hear it frequently, when something newly acquired breaks, just as you were prepared to use it; "they sure don't make things they way they used to!" Most of us, in the antique trade today, recognize this quality issue, and offer the old and reliable housewares once again, for another generational stint in the contemporary household. If you took our old kitchenware away, from Suzanne's kitchen, there wouldn't be much left, including the cats' dishes, which are all vintage by definition of age. We certainly don't feel let down by old stuff, that still serves our modern day needs quite capably. These are the kind of housewares we have in our antique shop, for all those who prefer the old to the new! We plan on bringing in a lot more, because we have first hand experience, just how durable these wares are, in all comparisons, except of course microwave cooking.
     When Suzanne and I opened our Manitoba Street antique and collectable shop, in 1989, we made a fundamental error in judgement. The unfinished basement space, with open ceiling and exposed duct work, wires and iron drains for toilet water, was about the most undesirable spot to locate an antique shop, on the entire main street of Bracebridge. We joined forces with partners, in the collectable trade, who would later abandon us holding the lease. Nice eh? We didn't have too much trouble finding a replacement partner, but we experienced much the same chagrin as from the duo before them, and thinking we might have learned our lesson, we did it one more time, after the second partners vacated the premises. Finally we got wise to the partnership thing, and decided it must be our fault that no one wanted to stay with us for more than a year. We have always assumed our "bulldozer" business attitude doesn't encourage friendships where generating money is concerned. We must have done something right, because we've outlasted the others as Muskoka antique dealers, and we're kind of proud that we survived several recessions, and numerous smaller downturns in the local economy; and of course those dreaded tourist season fluctuations, that can be greatly influenced even by the number of hot, humid, sunny summer days, when cottagers wish to stay lake-side, logically, instead of coming to town for antique hunting.
     From 1989 to 1995, we had no choice but to put our collective already injured shoulder to the mill-wheel, simply because there was no other option. We needed the income our roughly-hewn, little mainstreet shop could produce, especially in those all important summer months. But we had no choice, when it came down to budget, and what our customers wanted in inventory, other than to seriously lower our expectations, and only buy at the lowest prices possible. Instead of tacking-on a mild one hundred percent, when most of our contemporaries were increasing prices upwards of five hundred percent, from the purchase prices (we were at the same sales, so we knew what they had paid originally, versus what appeared on the price stickers in their shops). Many times, to keep our modest inventory turning over, we often made as little as ten percent, on the bigger furniture items, and the middle ground was fifty percent, which did what it was supposed to do; inventory of all kinds, from vintage records, to afghans, quilts, and blankets, was cut in price, to keep cash coming in, and allowing us to change the look of the store weekly. Even with consignments, which we needed to survive, we only took twenty percent, which was the lowest in the region. Even today, we only take twenty-five percent, when the average amount can hit as high as forty percent. In all fairness, the consignors saved our business, back in those horrific years, and I really don't know what we would have done without them. The economy for those years sucked, and sucked some more, and the only way we made it through the eye of the storm, was because of this entire moderation of shop prices, and the kindnesses of our consignors, who kept us stocked-up in affordable collectables and small furnishings.
    For at least three quarters of our little co-operative, which numbered at around twenty, as an average, the money we were able to raise for them, helped keep mortgages paid, debt collectors satisfied, and car repairs funded. We all were having hard times it seemed, and several did lose their houses in the end, but only because they simply ran out of things to sell, and couldn't afford to buy on speculation. We spent a lot of time back then, consoling each other, about our individual bouts with debt, and the shortage of opportunities to escape the economic nightmare, that seemed to have no end.
     Ever since those damning days of the real estate-driven recession, of the late 1980's, up to the mid 1990's, Suzanne and I have understood what it means to be fiscally responsible. There were some years that we were pretty cocky, and had nice pay cheques every week, and opportunities abounding, which ended rather abruptly when the dawn of the 1990's brought with it, a tightening-up at the places I worked. I had three jobs evaporate into thin recessionary air, in a matter of months. Suzanne was fine as a secondary school teacher, but her salary only kept us afloat, in terms of mortgage, utilities, taxes and food every month. The car was a money pit, and the drive from our new house in Gravenhurst to the shop in Bracebridge, was killing the car, and costing us a lot for fuel every month. Then, well, the shop revenue dropped sharply, and kept up the slide, until we figured out how to build an acceptable, more affordably priced, collectable inventory, and turn-over more items each month, to provide money to repair the car, buy our boys clothes now and again, and replenish stock when everything else was paid for. You know, Suzanne was telling me, that she kept her fingers crossed for five years straight, that we would make it to better economic times. "Me too," I said, holding up my own gnarled crossed fingers, as the continuing sign and guarantee of good luck. We made it, but we have the emotional battle scars to prove just how close we came to losing house, business, car and underwear. Not because we were crappy business owners, or had made fundamental errors stocking our shelves, but rather, because we had trusted less than sincere partners, three times in a row; and never anticipating what a full-monty recession could do to us. It was brutal, and although I'm not a regular church goer, I did pray fairly regularly, to get us through the eye of the storm, to see the beauty of economic relief on the other side. The sunny sky of unlimited potential once again!
     I said to Suzanne, the other day, as we were rolling through the beautiful, early spring countryside, of our picturesque region of Ontario, that I was glad we had the opportunity to experience the recession back then, without having the benefit of outriggers; except her job of course which was a fail-safe for sure. I'm sure if we had known what was barreling down upon us, we wouldn't have signed a lease for the shop in the first place, because we already had a little country store, built into our house, on Golden Beach Road, in Bracebridge. Still, being committed to a life-long relationship with antiques, has meant a fair amount of trial and tribulation has come with the territory, and while experience has helped, we still find ourselves confused by the subtle changes in the marketplace, that can pound an antique dealer into the proverbial netherworld. Just when you think you've figured it all out, bazinga, you become the student once again, for the very next lesson of life and profession. We have seen a lot of changes in our industry since the late 1980's, and yes, we've watched many of our colleagues close their shops and quit the trade altogether. I think there are a lot of disgruntled former antique dealers out there, and we might have been lumped with them, if it hadn't been our resolve to roll with the marketplace moods, and change our disciplines as often as required, to keep up with the trends, and the buying interests.
     Continuing on yesterday's blog theme, in part, regarding antique dealer excesses, and mark-ups that are, for some common pieces, unreasonable, as related to the reality of their acquisition prices, Suzanne and I have once again begun to hunker down in our own business, due to what we see out there, in our industry, as tell-tale signs that there's way too much confidence in the assumed spending power, and desires of patrons. Like watching the squirrels and chipmunks gathering a store of food for the winter season, way back in the summer, and all the other signs that the coming change of season will foster a brutal transition, we are pretty sure, from what we have seen and travelled through in the past, is about to present itself once again. You can't have the kind of escalations of valuations, I see out on my travels through antique enterprises, and not expect customers are going to get spooked about shortfalls in investment return. We know, from our own mainstreet shop, here in Gravenhurst, that moderation of price, without any sacrifice of quality, is the only way we will be able to maintain our operation in the coming years. We have no choice, but to roll with the mood of our buyers, and it's been, when looked at closely, a clear period of growing frugality; something we have seen many times before, and is usually the harbinger of more a dire economic unravelling. In other words, we smell a recession out there, and frankly, we don't care what the politicians are saying about the positives of economic growth. They didn't tip us off about the recession of the 1980's, that bulldozed a lot of small businesses, poorly prepared for that era's catastrophic downturn. Although this anticipated change of economy, may not be presenting itself all that clearly, at this moment, we know what our customers are saying, and we know what they expect in inventory pricing. As we have no choice but to bow to their demands, if we want to remain in the industry, we have been working at ways of lowering costs, without sacrificing quality. We did it before, and we can do it again. One of our initiatives, of course, is to keep drawing-in our antique hunting area, which I suspect will be cut down to no more than seventy-five miles, or even less than this, if we start picking up some of the more dire signs, a slowdown is imminent or occurring. Some might call us doomsayers! Go ahead! We happen to know what it's like to be the optimists in the middle of an economic disaster, and honestly, it didn't help much to be upbeat, or laughing out loud, when we'd get our very next "final notice," in the mail. It was our fortune, now that I think of it, to be stubborn competitors, who have always hated to admit we can't finish a project, or meet expectations of us. The bottom line? We began preparing for an economic slowdown as soon as we opened our Gravenhurst shop three years ago. Why? Well, for one thing, we are overdue for a jim-dandy recession. Some critics would argue, our region has been in a slump for the past two years at least, and small businesses have been operating in near-recession economies for the same amount of time or longer. We concur. We listened to our customers, and paid close attention to what they were buying, and the reasons why; which they often confide in, as a matter of basic social intercourse. It was obvious to us, that in order to ride out whatever was coming down the pike this decade, we were going to have to develop a home-economy sensibility, for what we were going to bulk-up on, and that would include everything from cookery materials, kitchenware, including old cookbooks, from those other economic downturns in history, such as the Great Depression, and two World Wars, to give useful, practical alternatives to food preparation, and home canning on a tight budget.
      Was that ever a good move, I don't mind telling you. The list of home economy articles is a long one, from affordable nostalgic afghans, blankets, table clothes, and runners, to vintage sewing machines that still work beautifully, and can be employed to fashion all kinds of cost saving craft and clothing projects. Suzanne is quite willing to tutor those who would like to learn how to sew on one of these fascinating vintage machines, as she used to teach sewing as a Family Studies teacher at Bracebridge High School.
     We are three years into this most recent initiative, to run a mainstreet antique shop, and creating a business plan that can withstand a fair amount of economic downturn, before it can be seriously injured. If Canada is suddenly invaded by the Russians all bets are off. If however, we start hearing about more economic failures, and increasing unemployment, and lagging real estate sales, leading to lesser return on the retail front, we're going to, at the very least, have a running head start, on keeping up with the new and more frugal demands of any customers we have left. We plan on doing this with a pioneering spirit, and the clear vision, that just because the economy sputters, or hits a flat spot, it doesn't mean that all businesses will be adversely affected. It doesn't have to be this way; but being just a little bit visionary, would be helpful, as we sit on a rather precarious ledge in this country, between a diminishing dollar value, and really low oil valuation, waiting to see what happens next. I was a risk taker once. Maybe more than this. Now, I'm a lot less convinced, it will be business as usual by the end of this year. I could never be as cocky as my contemporaries in the antique profession, who seem to believe high prices are not only warranted, but necessary. I get a kick then, listening to them trade stories, about how tough the winter was for sales, and how it might have been better to just close-up shop. Never once, have I heard them say, as an explanation, "Maybe my prices were too high." Well, if it's true that the customer is always right, and there actually were customers to speak of, then possibly, the answer is just that simple.
     We are not trying to establish a consensus amongst our dealer colleagues. It would be an impossible task at any rate, because most would refute our claim of a coming economic adjustment, that may or may not have a dire consequence. We only know what our customers are telling us, and what we know about our home region, and community. And it is pretty clear, we need to accommodate their buying interests, because this is what we depend on to keep our shop open six days a week, twelve months a year. If we don't pay attention, and decide that market conditions are irrelevant, we will then watch as half our revenue disappears, as it was recorded the year previous. I see a lot of antique dealers these days, who have little if any concern, the rock 'n roll of the economy, will affect them in their pursuit of the old buy and sell. History reveals a much different reality, but it's not my place to re-educate those who truly believe they are teflon coated, and can never be thusly hurt, even if a recession was to suddenly blossom before the first hot day of this year's summer season. Well sir, with the number of wars and near-wars happening around the globe these days, and Canada's immersion in several of them, there is reason to be a tad wary of what might come next, in this, an election year as well. Do I recommend closing up businesses, and batting down the hatches? Not at all! My only advisory, would be to go back on what you grandmother, or mother told you as a kid, when you didn't want to leave the party. All good things eventually come to an end. As there are the cycles of economy, and we're due for one pretty soon, we should just expect the party is going to end eventually; but there are ways to secure the business economy before such an adjustment, of the mild variety, or the cruel breed, that hurts everything it passes over.
     Our way to recession proof the antique business. Home economy! Bringing out the heavy duty materials of a bygone era, to make yet another stand for the good of the homestead economy. We Curries eat by the light of our reliable oil lamps, great for the power outages of the modern era. Durable goods from another period in history, that are still worthy of another hundred year jag. Useable antiques and collectables, like quilts that keep us warm in our bedsteads, and vintage mixing bowls that have the quality to take a beating without cracking or chipping. Older pots and pans that while nostalgic in their age, and look, are rugged and cooking-worthy even after being long retired. Vintage glasses, goblets, and silver adornments, just as suitable to a dinner table, as they were in their heyday. All that can be acquired for prices competitive to what is available as new merchandise today.
    As regional historians, this is right up our alley, because we know how the Muskoka economy has survived since the late 1850's, to meet the challenges of this new century. Ask us about it, one day when you're in the neighborhood. We love to talk about history.
There's a lot to learn from the past, to make the future better for all of us. Unfortunately, it seems, the forward minded folks, have little use for the precedents of the past.

The Spoils Of The One Hundred Mile Antique Hunt; Not So Bad At All For Antique Opportunities

A neat find, a hotel sugar bowl with the crest of Canadian Pacific's Royal York Hotel in Toronto. This is it's pre polished look. The logo is a crossed R and Y.

Book on the left is a near mint copy of a Racing Book put out by Amway International in 1972 with insert poster, decals and 45 rpm record of race action The second book on portages along the Minnesota, Canada border was owned and signed by well known Canadian photographer Bruce Litteljohn as noted by the BHl on the dust jacket. Bruce partnered with author Wayland Drew on several books, the most memorable for me, "Superior The Haunted Shore".

BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS - WELL SORT OF - BUT WE CAME WITHIN THE HUNDRED MILE ANTIQUE HUNT

WERE WE ABLE TO FIND GOOD VINTAGE INVENTORY OUT THERE, IN SUCH A SMALL AREA?

     Suzanne and I call this kind of thing our "old-school," way of doing things. No, not that! I mean antique hunting! We used to make our antique adventures a real family event. An on-the-road social occasion. We had more fun than we ever made as net profit, but we were "living the life you might say!" It's what I had always adored about the antique profession. Getting outdoors and travelling about the towns and villages of our province. Truthfully, we always stayed within the hundred mile limit, we felt comfortable with, and admittedly, at the time, it had nothing to do with environmental concerns. It was what our jalopy could handle. And seeing as we have always had pets, and had to leave the cats at home, we always kept our trips of sensible proportion, such that we could get back to handle homestead chores, and they wouldn't feel abandoned. We take our newest family member, Muffin the dog, with us on our outings, and it's surprising how many shops allow pets to accompany owners; as long as they are controlled of course. And no, we will never leave her in a car in the heat of day.
     From Friday morning, until Sunday evening, we did things the old fashioned way, that honestly, we'd pretty much given up on as a shopping option. Getting three days in a row these days, without shop responsibilities is particularly rare. First of all, we set out on Friday morning with the desire to re-discover some of our former values, in the antique profession, that we had without appreciating it, neglected for the past three years of shop operation. We forgot how important it was to hit the open road with a positive, appreciative attitude, for having a day off, and a beautiful snow-laden countryside sprawling out in front of us. A tank full of fuel, some spending money in pocket, and no formal game plan for where we would go, or places to visit. It was all going to be dependent on our general mood, at the time we arrived in places like Huntsville, Baysville, Bracebridge, Orillia and Barrie. It would also very much depend on if the shops we wanted to see, were going to be open on the hour of day we visited. We know where there will likely be items for us to purchase, and just how much exertion we'll have to provide, hunting for "sleeper" collectables, that the vendors may not have valued properly. Every picker does this, and it happens in our own shop. Antique hunters use their specialities and specific knowledge of certain areas of collecting, to their advantage; which works for all of us. We notch the sale, which makes the bookkeeper happy, and the dealer or collectors gets a deal on their purchase. Win, win, as far as we're concerned.
     We don't enter these second hand shops, flea markets or thrift stores, expecting to find a Group of Seven painting, or one of King Tut's relics stolen from his Egyptian tomb. Our expectations are moderate, but we do know how to identify antiquities if they happen to show up by some strange act of fate. Funnier things have happened. What we do open our minds to, whenever we enter one of these collectable havens, is the very real possibility, there will be the potential of numerous old and out-out-print books, undetected panels of original, signed art, whether etching, engraving, historic lithograph, abstract, oil, or watercolor. There is very little chance these days of finding antique china, such as flow blue, because a lot of the charity shops insist on silent auctions on a monthly basis, and thus, have siphoned-off the best pieces that we might buy otherwise, and put them in the showcases for auction bidding. The same can be said of a great many other exceptional pieces, that once used to make it onto the floor of these shops as general inventory. It's not the case they make huge amounts of money off them, even in the auctions, but I don't consider auction bidding, part of our hunt and gather adventures. It just means that a lot of possibilities have been removed from the store shelves, that we used to find quite regularly, and potentially purchase, if we came upon it before our competitors. Today we are forced to line up to bid, and then wait a month for a phone call, to tell us we won the items. I hate the whole process of silent auctions, and would prefer, as many of these shops have now opted, to deal with a somewhat inflated asking price from the get-go, to have the items plopped down on a shelf, on the (shop) floor, for the proverbial early birds to wrestle over. It doesn't mean you can't occasionally get a decent price for an auction item, but the inconvenience is having to wait until the end of the bidding, which could be as long as thirty days, if you register an amount early in the bidding.
     On the first day, we hit four second hand shops, from Bracebridge to Huntsville. For me, the bounty was in vintage and out-of-print books, that were priced incredibly low. Great for me, because we can then price them moderately for our shop. Several of these are illustrated above today's blog. The artwork was pretty picked over, and all the "sleepers", if there had been any at all, were gone by time we arrived in these shops, north of Gravenhurst. Suzanne found a goodly collection of sewing-related items, fabric remnants for some of her own in-store sewing projects, and a lot of bric-a-brac that no decent antique shop could operate without. Some Corning-ware, Pyrex bowls, vintage glass bowls, and a few dandy cookbooks she didn't have previously. She had one of the best outings in months, when it came to buying small collections of buttons, on sale at four of the dozen second hand shops we visited. We didn't come back with Windsor chairs, pine jam cupboards, harvest tables, a random "cutter" (sleigh,) or a vintage Combine Harvester. We did however, come back with several vintage musical instruments, vintage vinyl for son Robert's collection, forty or so significant texts, for my book room, here in our Gravenhurst shop; a couple of nostalgic afghans from the 1970's, for Suzanne, and some vintage cookware, that we have been selling quite regularly, even including this morning. We love vintage and antique glass, so we picked up a few nice pieces for reasonable prices. Antique and vintage glass is typically under-priced, because second hand shop vendors don't know how to tell the difference between originals and reproductions. I've been collecting old glass since the mid 1970's, and Suzanne wasn't far behind me, having taken an early interest in Fenton glass, made at their Ohio factory. She had family friends who lived near the Fenton plant, and she actually visited the operation once, when down for a visit. So it's true, we always look for "sleepers," in the many shelves of re-sale glass wares. We stay away from Depression and Carnival style glass because there are so many frauds, they fool us. We know what can't be replicated easy with vintage glass, especially the flaws. You just have to be patient enough to study the glass closely, and fall back on both years of experience, and what you have picked up from books dealing with identification of antique glass, its textures, weight, appearance, tell-tale signs of manufacture, and coloration. It doesn't mean we can't be fooled by reproduction glass, but at least we mitigate the possibility as much as possible. There are great vintage glass finds that can be made out there, but it can triple the time you spend hunting for, and identifying it; we leave a lot of marginal pieces behind, and concentrate on the oldest, and most of all, what we think our customers will desire.
     Amongst the books, I was able to pick up another four autographed first editions, of non-fiction titles, and some other hard-to-find books I was very surprised to located all in one second hand shop, for an exceptionally low price. Nice relics of Canadiana, which we, of course, choose to specialize. Suzanne picked up several pieces of vintage clothing, and a bag of fabric remnants, that she plans to use for some of her sewing projects, making aprons and small decorative pillows, that she fusses around with here in the shop. She also found a significant number of what we refer to as "smalls," which can include vintage kitchen utensils, cookie cutters, silverware, and other useful and decorative articles, our customers frequently ask for, and are regardless, sensible to stock in a generalist collectable shop like ours. As I noted previously, we didn't come off our three days of hunting and gathering, with pine cupboards strapped to the top of the van, or a vintage juke box, mounted moose head, or shotgun lamp, but we satisfied ourselves, that we had re-engaged with an antique collecting protocol that had always worked for us, and of course, our family; as Andrew and Robert began their vintage music enterprise, working alongside us for all those travelled miles, but instead of buying antiques, they were buying old records, phonographs, radios, guitars, banjos, mandolins, drums and pretty much anything else to do with music. We had a lot of fun in our early days in this industry, and when we got home from trips, it was a real story-book ending, with the crazy mixture of pieces stuffed into, and strapped to the roof racks, garnered from our 100 mile regional hunts.
     If there was one thing in particular, with our countryside dawdling, over this past weekend, that was a little bit contrary to our mission of relaxation, and engaging therapeutic enterprise, for folks always with high-high hopes, but a limited budget for acquisition, it was dropping into several very large antique collectives, that in one way or another, tend to overwhelm us after the first hour of exploration. Me specifically. These are the places that continually remind me, on one hand, about the popularity of antiques, (where seemingly there are a hundred times more dealers than when I got started in the trade), yet also of the excesses possible in our industry; and unfortunately, in minor cases, the way in which some dealers can justify their inventory pricing, based only on "it's mine, I found it, and I don't need the money anyway, so I don't care if it sells," strategy, which is bloody ridiculous, and doesn't do our profession a bit of good in the minds of consumers.
     You have to be able to justify the price you put on antique and collectable pieces. For gosh sakes, many vendors won't do even the basic due diligence of research, which is afterall expected of us, let alone dig deep for a snipit of provenance, even in a small way, to justify what I know is a huge, huge mark-up, that in many ways, is simply unjustified and unwarranted. Walk a few booths and you'll be able to see similar, if not identical pieces, priced differently, and this isn't in the best interests of patrons of the collective itself. Isn't that the real objective here; to make customers so darn happy with their purchases, and the good value they got, that they'll keep coming back to your venue the next time they're in the market for antiques. What made me mad, was how some of the articles we were interested in, weren't even properly cleaned-up, and were obviously missing pieces and otherwise damaged, and not clearly identified on the sale tag.
      Sewing machines interest Suzanne, and we know the averages of pricing, online and in shops, for clean, well maintained and serviced vintage machines. We weren't impressed by much of what we saw, let's just say that; and as we might have come home with several fixer-uppers, if they had been priced appropriately, as it was, we simply couldn't buy any of them. We buy sewing machines based on quality of condition, and we wouldn't have paid the asking prices, even if they had been mint. If we go back in a year's time, I'm pretty sure they'll still be in almost the exact same position we saw them. There sure seems to be an enthusiasm shortfall, with some vendors, and to me, a long time student of antiques, with experience in setting out museum displays, it is pretty obvious when a vendor has just decided to let it all ride, and not fret about how their booth looks, to the parade of customers; which surprisingly seems steady regardless.
     This time, I confess, I just didn't enjoy the experience. I did enjoy the indoor walk because it was very cold outside. I also enjoyed the opportunity to see some unusual and unique antiques, and a majority of vendors did put out good displays, in neat and well decorated booths; but at the same time, I always feel so distressed, at the continuing escalation of antique prices, much of it without solid justification. The demand is not that great. The demand for sensibly priced pieces however, is pretty strong, and dealers who are prepared to play the normal game of marketplace, and traditional retail, will always benefit eventually; and me thinks, earn the kind of reputation for the seller, that is beneficial in the long term, as being the kind of vendor who knows what's going on out there, and understands the economics we all have to play by, in order to make a buck. The problem is, without question, there seem to be, at least in my opinion, and discussion with other dealers, too many financially well-off antique vendors, largely based on the successes of their previous professions; and the retirement mantra of these later-in-life additions to the profession, is commonly, less about turn-over, and more the case of "show and tell." I don't know how many times, I've heard these folks claim, "I don't care if it sells or not; it's mine, and I'm happy to keep it." It's exactly what hurts the profession, because it means the asking price was not realistic to start with, and it was sheer speculation for speculation's sake. Why not open a private museum then, to show all the treasures in one really neat collection. I think it's what some vendors want anyway; bragging rights, to having the nicest booths of antiques that won't sell because the prices are too high. What's the point of having a booth in this regard? If you measure attendance at a particular collective of dealers, and your booth is doing less than all the others, but looking really swanky, then three things are not happening. Traffic is up, sales are low. You have collected, and then offered for sale, items no one else wants (or at least, in the region you are located). Or, the prices you are asking are plain and simply too high for the customers to bite. They tend to blame the collective, or the customers for not shelling out their hard earned money for their wares, without assessing that, possibly, their prices are simply not reflective of the market-place demand for those same items.
      In the real world, of day to day retail, in order to survive, this has to be addressed, or otherwise bankruptcy occurs. A store that prices its bread products twenty-five percent higher than a neighbor shop, is going to have a lot of stale product leftover. Why is the antique professions so much different than all other retail, especially on pieces that aren't particularly rare or one of a kind?
     This is the real nuts and bolts of the issue afterall. There is no shortage of Corning-ware bowls and covered dishes, yet price variations are wild out there. Sometimes even within the same collective. I hate that, because dealers should be travelling around to make sure they aren't out of line with their prices, from the booth thirty feet away, which inevitably comes down to a disservice to customers.
     Just so that you know, antique dealers frequently buy off each other, and are extended minor discounts as a sign of support within the industry. This isn't why we visit these shops and malls, and often times today, the discount isn't given as a general rule. We look for items that will suit our region and our customers. We always attend these places with shopping lists to fill, and it's to be expected, we're more likely to find what we're looking for, where there is a larger than usual inventory to choose from. We might find these pieces in second hand shops, but it's more likely we will find them quicker in collective operations. Today, well, the prices seem overall, too high to even consider making the purchase on speculation. We have to feel right ourselves, about the prices we are asking, and we work hard to compare our inventory with the same articles found elsewhere. We hate the idea that customers in our shop, will come back to us, and say they saw the same piece on sale, in another neighboring shop, for five or more dollars cheaper. It means we haven't done our due diligence, in developing a fair pricing strategy. We should all be doing this as a priority in our trade; or at least closing the gap.
     Bottom line here, we had great food, from various bakeries and restaurants in the 100 mile zone, and even dined by the freight shed on the water, a stone's throw from uptown Baysville. There's still a lot of snow out there, so we didn't get into all the parketes we used to visit on these adventures; but we did the best we could to re-create the way it used to be, and of course, we had so much fun, and success doing it our way, that we have vowed to take more time off to repeat what has become a long serving family tradition in the antique profession. You see, there are some in our field, who only get excited when they sell something. I have always worked in the opposite fashion. Hunting for Suzanne and I, is much more fun. We like the shop, but it's not the end-all to the story.
     If you are planning an antique hunt of your own, for gosh sakes, enjoy the outing. Celebrate the nature of this beautiful region and province, and make it a social / cultural "happening," whether you're on your own, or with friends and family. There's lots of opportunity out there, to meet folks just like yourselves, having fun playing around with the good graces of history.

Muskoka As Walden Is Still My Favourite Respite, As I Believe Nature To Be The Great Restorer Of Faith

FROM THE ARCHIVES; TOMORROW I WILL HAVE AN UPDATE ON OUR 100 MILE ANTIQUE HUNTING MISSION OVER THE PAST THREE DAYS. NO HOLY GRAIL BUT SOME NEAT STUFF

FOLLOW IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE GREAT BARDS? MAYBE WE SHOULD!

MUSKOKA AS WALDEN

QUITE A NUMBER OF CANADA'S BEST KNOWN BARDS…., THE POETS, PHILOSOPHERS AND ASSORTED OTHER CREATIVE MINDS, FOUND THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA A PARTICULARLY INSPIRING PLACE IN WHICH TO CREATE. IN FACT, THEY GATHERED AT THE FORMER MUSKOKA ASSEMBLY, ON TOBIN'S ISLAND, LAKE ROSSEAU, (NEAR WINDERMERE), AS PART OF THE ROAMING CANADIAN CHATAUQUA PROGRAM. ANY ONE WHO KNOWS THIS LOCATION, WOULD AGREE WITH CLAIMS, ABOUT ITS PICTURESQUE QUALITIES.

THE POOLING OF POETS AND PHILOSOPHERS, WAS AT ITS PEAK IN THE 1920'S AND 30'S, AND INCLUDED SUCH IMPORTANT CANADIAN WRITERS AS WILSON MACDONALD, BLISS CARMEN, CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, MARSHALL SAUNDERS (BOOK, BEAUTIFUL JOE) PLUS MANY OTHER LITERARY RISING STARS. MUSKOKA OFFERED A SORT OF SPIRITUAL CONNECTION, AFFORDING AN AWAKENING OF THE SENSES. I TALKED WITH A WRITER, WELL ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHATAUQUA MOVEMENT, AND ITS STAY IN MUSKOKA, AND SHE WAS VERY CLEAR ABOUT THE FACT MUSKOKA IS, AND WILL CONTINUE TO BE, A VERY "SPIRITUAL PLACE." IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN FOR ME, BUT THEN I'M NOT A GREAT BARD, OR REVERED PHILOSOPHER.

AT DAYBREAK THIS MORNING, THE MOON ON THE WESTERN HORIZON, WAS CUT BY THREE THIN, EVENLY SEPARATED LAYERS OF CLOUD. IT LOOKED MORE LIKE AN EMBLEM ON A FLAG, THAN A GENUINE NATURAL OCCURRENCE. IT HAD AN AMAZING WHITE GLOW AND PINK BACKDROP OF SKY. REFLECTING OFF THE DIAMOND-LIGHT OF THE DISTANT, UNDULATING SNOWSCAPE, AND THROUGH THE BRANCHES OF THE MAPLES IN THE YARD, IT LOOKED QUITE FASCINATING TO THE INADVERTENT VOYEUR. I'M SURE THE POET-KIND MIGHT HAVE MADE COPIOUS NOTES ABOUT THE MORNING SKY, AND TURNED IT INTO SOMETHING POETIC…..SOMETHING REFLECTIVE OF LIFE AND BEYOND, AND THE UNIVERSALITY OF IT ALL. I HAVE LONG BEEN A READER OF THEIR WORK. I HAVE FELT MANY TIMES, THAT THESE POETS, FROM OUR PAST, SAW SOMETHING IN THIS REGION THAT WE HAVE COME TO IGNORE. IN THIS DAY AND AGE, WITH TECHNOLOGY SEEMINGLY OUR NEW REASON TO WORSHIP AND HOPE, THE WORK OF THE POETS HAS BEEN RELEGATED TO DARK, DUSTY, COB-WEBBED CORNERS OF LIBRARIES. AT AN ESTATE SALE, OR AUCTION, WE MIGHT BE LUCKY ENOUGH, TO FIND A FEW COPIES OF THE BOOKS WRITTEN AND SIGNED BY WILSON MACDONALD, WHO SPENT CONSIDERABLE TIME IN OUR REGION, WELL BEYOND THE DAYS OF THE MUSKOKA ASSEMBLY. HE WOULD DO READINGS AT SCHOOL AND PUBLIC LIBRARIES, AND SELL HIS OWN BOOKS AFTER HIS PRESENTATION…..OFTEN TO VERY SUBSTANTIAL AUDIENCES. HE WOULD SIT AND AUTOGRAPH ALL THE BOOKS HE SOLD, WITH A LITTLE NOTATION ADDED AT THE TIME….OF HIS OWN CREATION, AND POTENTIALLY EVEN A LITTLE GRAPHIC INCLUSION…..IF YOU WERE TO ENGAGE HIM IN DISCUSSION, WHILE HE STILL HAD PEN IN HAND. I HAVE QUITE A NUMBER OF BOOKS HE HAND-ILLUMINATED, WHILE SITTING, AND TALKING WITH HIS READERS.

I KNOW, AHEAD OF TIME, THAT MOST PEOPLE I TALK TO THESE DAYS, ABOUT MUSKOKA HISTORY, WILL HAVE NO IDEA WHO WILSON MACDONALD WAS….OR THE OTHER POETS OF HIS DAY. YET LIKE THE ARTISTS OF THE LEGENDARY GROUP OF SEVEN, WHO GAVE US A NEW AND EXCITING WAY OF LOOKING AT OUR COUNTRY, THESE WERE THE WRITERS, GIVING THIS COUNTRY ITS LITERARY HERITAGE. MUSKOKA FACTORED HEAVILY INTO THIS LITERARY HISTORY. BUT IT'S NOT LIKELY THAT WILSON MACDONALD, OR BLISS CARMEN OR CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, WILL EVER AGAIN BE NAMES BANDIED ABOUT, OR ON THE TIP OF ANYONE'S TONGUE. SADLY, IT IS A LOSS TO OUR REGION, BECAUSE THESE POETS AND PHILOSOPHERS, AND ARTISTS WHO PAINTED AROUND OUR LAKELAND, DID RECOGNIZE THE HIDDEN SPIRITUALITY OF THE ALLURING HINTERLAND. THE ACADEMICS OF THE PAST, FOUND REASON TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT MUSKOKA WAS A NURTURING GROUND FOR PROGRESSIVE THOUGHT. I HAVE NEVER ONCE, AS A LONG TIME WRITER AND HISTORIAN, SERVING THIS REGION OF ONTARIO, FOUND ANY REASON TO DISMISS THEIR OBSERVANCES ABOUT THE SOURCES OF INSPIRATION, MUSKOKA OFFERS ITS CREATIVE RESIDENTS. ONE NEED NOT GO FURTHER THAN THE LIST OF ACTIVE MUSKOKA ARTISTS AND ARTISANS, WHO HAVE FOUND IDEAL PORTALS ONTO THE HINTERLAND, FROM WHICH TO WORK. YOU CAN FIND MANY OF THESE FOLKS, MEMBERS OF THE MUSKOKA ARTS AND CRAFTS ASSOCIATION, OF WHICH I HAVE ENORMOUS RESPECT. WE ALL HAVE OUR SPECIAL WINDOWS OVERLOOKING THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THIS DYNAMIC REGION.

THERE ARE REASONS WE TAKE THE NATURE OF MUSKOKA FOR GRANTED. IT DOESN'T SEEM AS IMPORTANT AS THE FUNCTIONING OF OUR DAY TO DAY LIVES. IT DOESN'T SEEM, AT TIMES, ANYTHING MORE THAN A FRUSTRATION TO DEVELOPERS……WHEN OPPONENTS USE ENVIRONMENTAL SENSITIVITY TO BLOCK EARTH MOVERS AND TARMAC. WE PASS BY THESE WOODLANDS BY DAY AND NIGHT, AND THINK OF THEM AS A PRETTY BACKDROP ON A SUNNY MORNING, OR MOONLIT NIGHT. WHEN WE HEAR A CHAINSAW SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE, WE ASSUME A TREE THAT IS DEAD, IS BEING FELLED FOR SAFETY REASONS. WHEN WE READ IN THE DAILY NEWS, OR ONLINE, THAT WE HAVE BEEN GIFTED WITH A SPRAWLING NEW DEVELOPMENT, A BOX STORE OR STRIP MALL, WE INITIALLY GET EXCITED THAT MORE JOB OPPORTUNITIES WILL BE CREATED. WHEN WE SEE THE DUMP TRUCKS RUMBLING BY, WITH FULL LOADS OF MOTHER EARTH, WE ASSUME OUR REGION IS FINALLY COMING OF AGE. WHEN WE FIND OUT THAT A MARINA EXPANSION WILL OCCUR, WITH MORE DOCKING SPACE FOR BOATS, IT'S USUALLY ONLY THOSE WITH A VESTED INTEREST, AS NEIGHBORS, WHO FEEL ANY SENSE OF CONCERN ABOUT FUTURE CONGESTION, AND ISSUES OF WATER QUALITY. WHEN WE GET SNOWED IN, WE COMPLAIN ABOUT HORRIBLE WINTERS. WHEN OUR EVENTS ARE RAINED OUT, IT IS NATURE'S FAULT.

I MISS THE RAMBLINGS OF OLD POETS THROUGH OUR WILD PLACES. I MISS THE WAY THEY INFORMED US, THE STAKE-HOLDERS OF THIS AMAZING REGION, THAT WE SHOULD OPEN OURSELVES TO ITS INHERENT SPIRITUALITY…..LET IT SOOTHE AWAY OUR WOES…..INSPIRE OUR FUTURE EFFORTS. I MISS THE EMPHASIS THEY PLACED, ON NATURAL QUALITIES, AND REALITIES WE NEED TO BE CONCERNED. I MISS THEIR CREATIVE ENCOURAGEMENT, TO INSPIRE US TO LOOK BEYOND WHATS PRESENTS AS REAL AND PERPETUATING, TO SEE LIFE AS A GREAT WEALTH….AS AN ENDURING RESOURCE, TO BE USED AND CELEBRATED. ALAS, THE WORK OF THE GREAT BARDS, THE PHILOSOPHERS OF A YOUNG COUNTRY, ARE SELDOM, IF EVER RECALLED, EXCEPT BY SENTIMENTAL FOOLS LIKE ME…..WHO STILL DEPEND TOO MUCH, I SUPPOSE, ON THE SPIRITUALITY THEY FOUND DURING THEIR ADVENTURES. NOW IT IS A NEW SOURCE OF INSPIRATION, FOR TODAY'S INVESTORS ARRIVING IN THE LAKELAND…..TO EXPLOIT WHAT THEY SEE ONLY AS AN UNTAPPED RESOURCE…..NOT A CIRCULATORY VEIN OF ENLIGHTENMENT, SUCH THAT STEWARDSHIP SHOULD OUTWEIGH CAPITALIST FERVOR. WE ARE IN FOR A FUTURE OF EXPLOITATION, BUT NOT BASED ON THE REGION'S SPIRITUAL ESSENCE. BASED ON MARKET VALUE.

"COME NOT THE LEISURE OF THIS DRIFTING MOON, NOR BLAME THE LAZY LOITERING OF STARS, THAT PASS ABOVE THESE ISLES OF BEARDED STONE; NOR WONDER SHOULD THE SLOWLY WHEELING CARS OF ALGOL AND ARCTURUS CRAVE THE BOON, TO EVER REMAIN - AND NIGHT PAUSE LIKE A NOMAD WHO HAS FOUND, IN WOODLANDS STRUNG WITH MOONLIGHT WHOSE PALE RAIN, DESCENDS TO EARTH WITH NEITHER SCENT NOR TONE, THE HAVEN WHITHER AGELONG SHE WAS BOUND.

DARK ARE THESE GROPING WATERS, DARK AS WINE, FROM A WILD CHERRY'S HEART; A LIGHT WIND COMES, WITH SPEED OF FIRE AROUND A WOODED TURN, WITHIN WHOSE DROWSY HAUNTS A PARTRIDGE STRUMS, IN DREAMS, DISTURBING SLUMBER OF THE PINE. HERE THE WHITE POPLARS BOIL, ABOVE THE MOON-FIRES KINDLED IN A POOL, WHEREIN THE DYING HEMLOCK POURS ITS OIL, AND WHERE THE BROWN, DECAYING FRONDS OF FERN, LIE IN A DREAMLESS SLUMBER, SWEET AND COOL."

THE POEM, ENTITLED SIMPLY, "MUSKOKA" WAS WRITTEN BY MADONALD, PUBLISHED IN HIS 1926 BOOK, "OUT OF THE WILDERNESS," INSPIRED BY HIS DAYS SPENT ON TOBIN'S ISLAND, LAKE ROSSEAU.

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL - I COULDN'T FORGET

MUSKOKA AS WALDEN

IT WAS ON DAYS JUST LIKE THIS, THAT I USED TO DON THE CROSS COUNTRY SKIS, AND HEAD OFF OVER THE CONNECTED PASTURES, THROUGH THE SNOW-LADEN WOODLANDS, DOWN A NUMBER OF INTERCONNECTING FARM LANES, LONG OVER-GROWN….AND ARRIVE AT THE HILLSIDE WHERE THE ABANDONED, VICTORIAN ERA FARMHOUSE STOOD. IT WAS A HAUNTED PLACE EVEN IN THE BRIGHT SUNLIGHT OF A FEBRUARY MORNING, JUST LIKE THE BRILLIANT GLOW SHIMMERS OFF THE SNOW THIS MORNING, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW.

I HAD ONLY JUST GRADUATED UNIVERSITY, AND COULDN'T BE BOTHERED HANGING MY FRAMED DIPLOMA ON THE WALL…..THE ONE THAT GAVE ME SOME FORMAL RANKING FOR HAVING SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED STUDIES IN CANADIAN HISTORY. ENGLISH AS A MINOR CONSIDERATION. THE HISTORIAN / WRITER WITHOUT PORTFOLIO. AS I WASN'T QUITE AS EMPLOYABLE, AS I ASSUMED, WHEN HANDED THE RIBBON-SECURED SCROLL, AT GRADUATION, TO A MODEST MUFFLED APPLAUSE, I FELT A FEW TREMORS OF FEAR ABOUT THE FUTURE. I DIDN'T HAVE MANY CHEERLEADERS THAT SPRING DAY AT YORK UNIVERSITY'S OUTDOOR VENUE. FRANKLY, WHILE MY MOTHER AND FATHER APPEARED MODERATELY PLEASED, BY THE OUTCOME OF THEIR FINANCIAL INVESTMENT IN MY EDUCATION, MY GIRLFRIEND SEEMED QUITE PENSIVE, ABOUT WHAT A DEGREE IN HISTORY WAS GOING TO MEAN IN A FISCAL REALITY. AS EMPLOYERS WEREN'T EXACTLY POUNDING THE DOOR DOWN, TO SECURE MY EMPLOYMENT TO THEIR FIRM. GAIL, AT THE TIME, WAS IN A COURSE AS A COMPUTER PROGRAMMING SPECIALIST. EVEN BEFORE GRADUATION, SHE HAD BEEN RECRUITED BY NUMEROUS CORPORATIONS IN ONTARIO. SHE HAD EVERY REASON TO BE CONCERNED ABOUT HER MATE; AS HAVING A DEGREE IN HISTORY WAS NICE BUT NOT PROFITABLE. WITHOUT OF COURSE, STAYING IN SCHOOL A LITTLE LONGER, TO SECURE AN ADDITIONAL DEGREE; SUCH AS IF I HAD DECIDED TO ENTER THE TEACHING PROFESSION. I'M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN A WRONG TURN WITHOUT QUESTION.

IN MY MIND, ALL I WANTED TO DO, WAS EXPLORE THE PLACE I HAD CHOSEN TO LIVE, AND LET THE PIECES FALL INTO PLACE OVER THE COMING YEAR. AND THEY DID. GAIL DIDN'T PREFER THE COMPANY OF A HINTERLAND POET, PHILOSOPHER, WRITER-KIND, DESTINED TO A LIFE OF SACRIFICE AND POVERTY, AS IF A RELIGIOUS CHOICE. I'VE NEVER HAD A SINGLE REGRET ABOUT MY CHOICES. I WOULD HAVE PERISHED, IF I'D DECIDED TO LIVE AND WORK IN THE CITY. I NEEDED THIS LAKELAND. OF THAT THERE IS NO QUESTION. AND IT'S THE COLLECTION OF MEMORIES, ABOUT THOSE EARLY OUTDOOR EXPLORATIONS, FRESH OUT OF SCHOOL, THAT CONTINUES TO REMIND ME I MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE OF DIRECTION AT THAT PERSONAL CROSSROADS.

WHILE I WAS BURDENED SOMEWHAT BY THE CONCERN, I HAD SPENT A LOT OF MONEY TO SECURE A DEGREE, THAT DIDN'T GUARANTEE ME A JOB, I WASN'T GOING TO WASTE MY TIME FEELING BYPASSED BY OPPORTUNITY. I HAD, AFTER ALL, OPENED AN ANTIQUE SHOP PARTNERSHIP WITH MY PARENTS, AND ALTHOUGH IT DIDN'T OCCUPY ALL OF MY TIME, AND WASN'T ENOUGH TO EARN A LIVING, I KNEW THAT I NEEDED TO IMMERSE MYSELF IN THE REGION I PLANNED TO REMAIN. EVEN IN MY EARLY TWENTIES, I KNEW I WAS GOING TO LIVE AND WORK IN MUSKOKA. IT DIDN'T MATTER THAT THIS WOULD MEAN SETTLING FOR LESS INCOME. MY INTEREST WAS IN A FULFILLING LIFE, NOT JUST THE PURSUIT OF MONEY AT THE RISK OF EVERYTHING ELSE, I FOUND INHERENTLY IMPORTANT IN LIFE. I LOST A GIRLFRIEND AT THE SAME TIME, BECAUSE I REFUSED TO LIVE IN THE CITY. I HAD REGRETS AT THE TIME, BUT NOT BECAUSE I'D MADE THE DECISION TO REMAIN IN MUSKOKA. I FELT ALONE, THAT'S FOR SURE, CONSIDERING OUR FRIENDS SIDED WITH HER, LEAVING ME TO MY TYPEWRITER AND THE SKIS……AND THIS NON-JUDGMENTAL PLACE DEEP IN THE MUSKOKA FOREST.

THE FACT THAT MY WIFE TODAY, WILL HAVE TO COME AND FIND ME, WHEN I STAY TOO LONG OVER AT THE BOG, IS JUST A CARRY-OVER FROM THE WAY I'VE BEEN SINCE THOSE DAYS, RETREATING INTO THE SEMI-WILDS, TO ENJOY THE GENTLE SOLITUDE OF THE ENVIRONMENT. WHEN I'D STRAP THE SKIS ON, AND TAKE THOSE FIRST FEW SLIDES ON THE ICED-OVER TRAILS, IN THE WARM SUNGLOW OUT IN THE OPEN FIELD, IT WAS A TRULY LIBERATING EXPERIENCE…..QUITE INTOXICATING IN FACT. I'D SKI FOR ABOUT FORTY MINUTES, THROUGH ALL KINDS OF INTERESTING FROZEN TERRAIN……DOWN OVERGROWN FARM LANES, OUT INTO THE EXPANSE OF FORMER PASTURELAND, ADJACENT TO HUGE ROCK CLIFFS COVERED IN HANGING ICE, ALONG HEAVILY FORESTED PATHS, TAKING ENCHANTED SHORTCUTS THROUGH THE PINE FORESTS. WHEN I'D POP OUT OF THE THICK EMBRACE OF EVERGREEN, AND ARRIVE AT THE BASE OF THE LANE, HEADING UP TO THE OLD HOUSE ON THE HILL, IT WAS VERY MUCH THE SENSORY PERCEPTION, I HAD JUST THEN, STEPPED THROUGH SOME PORTAL BETWEEN THE PAST AND PRESENT. IT WAS A HAUNTINGLY STRANGE MOMENT, WHEN I'D TAKE MY SKIS OFF AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LANE, AND INITIATE THOSE FIRST STEPS UP THE HILLSIDE. OTHERS HAD BEEN HERE BEFORE ME, AND THERE WAS A WELL-WORN PATH IN THE HARDENED SNOW. IF I HAD WONDERED ABOUT THE REASONS I'D TAKEN HISTORY AS A MAJOR, IN UNIVERSITY STUDIES, IT WAS TO PUT ME ON A LEVEL WITH WHAT I SAW AND FELT EXPLORING THIS HILLSIDE. JUST SEEING THE RAMSHACKLE CONDITION, OF AN OTHERWISE BEAUTIFUL FARMHOUSE, EVOKED FEELINGS OF SADNESS. INSPIRED QUESTIONS THAT HAD NO DEFINABLE ANSWERS. THERE WAS NO NEED FOR EXPLANATION. IT WAS A SENSORY EXPERIENCE. I OBTAINED MY OWN ANSWERS BY IMMERSION ALONE. THERE, POSITIONED ABOVE THE FARMLAND IT DEFINED, THE HOUSE HAD SIMPLY, ROUTINELY ANCHORED A LIFESTYLE. IT HAD SHELTERED A FAMILY FOR A CENTURY, PERCHED LIKE A BEACON, HIGH ON A HILL, OVERLOOKING A HUGE AND IMPRESSIVE VALLEY, BORDERED BY A ROCK BLUFF ON THE SOUTH SIDE. IT MUST HAVE BEEN A BREATH-TAKING VIEW, WHEN THE WREATHING OF EVERGREENS HADN'T BEEN QUITE AS IMPOSING, AND OVERGROWN, AS THEY APPEARED ON MY WALKS. WHY HAD IT BEEN ABANDONED?

I THINK WHAT HAS ALWAYS ENTRANCED ME, ABOUT VISITING PLACES LIKE THIS, AS ONE MIGHT EXPERIENCE IN THE WALK UP TO AN ALLEGEDLY HAUNTED ENGLISH CASTLE, WAS THAT IT SERVED AS SUCH AN ENDLESS SOURCE OF INSPIRATION…..DESPITE ITS MELANCHOLY AT FIRST GLANCE. EVERY TIME I CREEPED UP THAT ICY HILLSIDE, BELIEVE ME, I EXPECTED SOME APPARITION TO EITHER PASS BY ME, OR THROUGH ME, ON ITS TYPICAL SPIRITUAL WALK-ABOUT; OR FIND SOME GHOSTLY FACE, LOOKING OUT FROM THE LAST REMAINING PANE OF GLASS, IN AN UPSTAIRS WINDOW. AS SOMEONE WHO HAS HAD MANY SPIRITUAL ENCOUNTERS OVER A LIFETIME, THIS WAS A WILDLY HAUNTED PLACE, YET IT WAS THE SAME SENSATION, ANYONE WOULD HAVE FELT, IN MY FOOTSTEPS. OF BEING ALONE, WITH THE SAD REMAINS OF A FAMILY HOME, THAT ONCE HAD A FLICKERING FIRELIGHT COMING FROM THE KITCHEN STOVE, AND A ORANGE FLAME IN AN OIL LAMP, PLACED AS A GUIDE, IN THE FRONT WINDOW AT DUSK.

I THINK ABOUT ALL THE LIVES THAT HOUSE, ON THE HILL, PROTECTED FOR MANY YEARS, AGAINST STORM AND COLD, WIND AND RAIN. ALL THE CELEBRATIONS, MILESTONES, FAMILY HISTORY MADE WITHIN THESE STILL UPRIGHT WALLS OF THE MAIN HOUSE. I DEFINITELY KNEW I HAD PICKED THE RIGHT COURSE OF STUDY AT UNIVERSITY. I UNDERSTOOD THIS PLACE BECAUSE OF IT…..APPRECIATED ITS DECLINE, AS A MATTER OF FAILED ECONOMY, AND THE INHERENT RISKS OF FARMING IN A HARSH ENVIRONMENT, WITH THE THIN ARABLE SOIL, ON ROCK, MUSKOKA IS FAMOUS FOR. I UNDERSTOOD ITS SUCCESSES HERE, AND COULD ALMOST SEE IT AGAIN, PAINTED AND NEATLY LANDSCAPED AT THE TOP OF THE HILL, WITH LILACS PLANTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE WINDING LANE. I COULD SEE THE SNAKING OF THE RAIL FENCES, AND HEAR THE CLOMP OF HOOVES, AS THE HORSES PULL THE FARM WAGON THROUGH MEADOW CART-WAY. I COULD EVEN HEAR THE VOICES OF THE FAMILY FROM AROUND THE HOUSES, WHEN IN FACT, THERE WAS A MOST UNUSUAL, PREVAILING SILENCE…..AS IF AT THAT MOMENT OF MY VISIT, EVERYTHING HAD COME TO A STOP….THE BIRDS AND SQUIRRELS THAT HAD BEEN CHATTERING ONLY SECONDS BEFORE, HAD CALMED INTO A UNHERALDED SOLITUDE. AS IF THE HOUSE WAS SPEAKING TO ME, BY MOOD ALONE, THERE WAS NO DENYING THAT THERE WAS A PREVAILING SADNESS HERE. THERE WAS THE OBVIOUS DESTRUCTION TO A BEAUTIFUL OLD FARM HOUSE. IT PREVAILED UPON VOYEURS TO WITNESS THIS OBVIOUS LOSS OF DISTINCTION, FOR ITS FORMER PLACE IN HISTORY. BUT IT WAS THE SPIRIT THAT MOVED ABOUT THIS PROPERTY, THAT INSPIRED A SORT OF ETHEREAL ATMOSPHERE OF RESOLVE, THAT PROVIDED ME WITH SO MUCH ENTHUSIASM, TO THEN WRITE ABOUT MY SOJOURNS WITHIN ITS PROVOCATIVE, GENTLE EMBRACE.

LAST EVENING, IN GRAVENHURST, I TOOK THE LONG WAY HOME, AFTER PICKING UP OUR BOYS FROM WORK. JUST TO DRIVE AROUND TOWN, ADMIRING THE BRILLIANT MOONSCAPE, ESPECIALLY AS IT PRESENTED OVER THE HOLLOW OF GULL LAKE. IT REMINDED ME OF THE COLD WINTER EVENINGS, WHEN I'D FIND MYSELF STILL AT THIS OLD FARMSTEAD, JUST BEGINNING MY RETURN SKI BACK HOME. I ADORED THESE MOONLIT CROSS COUNTRY SKI ADVENTURES. FUNNY THING ABOUT THIS HALF-FALLEN HOUSE, ALMOST INVISIBLE AMONGST THE OVERGROWN TREES…..THAT IT ALWAYS SEEMED MUCH LESS HAUNTED, ON THESE SAME WINTER NIGHTS, ILLUMINATED BY THE FULL MOON OF FEBRUARY……WHEN THE VOYEUR MIGHT EXPECT THE OPPOSITE. IT WAS PERCEPTION. MY PERCEPTION AS A NEW HISTORIAN, WITH A DESIRE TO WRITE ABOUT MY ADVENTURES IN THE MUSKOKA LAKELAND. AND ALTHOUGH IT'S BEEN MANY YEARS SINCE I LAST VISITED THIS LONG FORGOTTEN FARMSTEAD, I CAN CONJURE IT UP, IN IMAGINATION, ANY TIME I WISH. JUST AS THIS MORNING, SITTING HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, LISTENING TO THE SQUIRRELS BOUNCING OFF THE OVERHANGING BOUGHS, ONTO THE ROOF, ABOVE MY WINDOW, THE CAT PURRING ON MY LEG, AND THE DOG BITING AT A ROGUE FLEA ON ITS BEHIND. I SUPPOSE I WAS HAUNTED BY THAT PLACE, IN A MOST ACCEPTABLE WAY. IT IS WHAT I WISHED TO HAPPEN. THOSE MEMORIES AND SENSATIONS OF NEARLY THIRTY FIVE YEARS AGO, SERVE ME AS WELL TODAY, AS WHEN I RETURNED HOME, EXHAUSTED, WITH A FROST BITTEN NOSE…..AND A WILD DESIRE TO SIT AT MY TYPEWRITER, TO REPRESENT THE HISTORY OF A MUSKOKA FARMSTEAD.

IN THE EARLY 1980'S, I CO-PRODUCED A BOOK OF SHORT STORIES AND POEMS, WITH ONE OF MUSKOKA'S WELL KNOWN PHOTOGRAPHERS, TIM DuVERNET, ENTITLED, "MEMORIES AND IMAGES," AND HAD OUR CELEBRATED BOOK LAUNCH AT UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO'S HART HOUSE. FOR BOTH OF US THEN, IT WAS A LEARNING EXPERIENCE, AND BOTH OF US HAVE GONE ON INDIVIDUALLY, TO PRODUCE MANY OTHER PUBLISHED EDITORIAL AND PHOTOGRAPHIC WORKS. FOR ME, THIS SMALL, UNASSUMING LITTLE BOOK, WAS DEDICATED TO THE OLD HOUSE ON THE HILL……AS IT WAS FULL OF REFERENCES TO THE MANY HOURS I SPENT STUDYING ITS SOCIAL, CULTURAL HERITAGE. BUT IT WAS AFTER ALL, JUST AN OLD HOUSE, LONG PAST ITS PERIOD OF USEFULNESS. SEEDING INTO THE LANDSCAPE FROM WHICH IT WAS INSPIRED. ONE DAY THERE WILL NOT BE A SINGLE TRACE OF THAT FARMHOUSE OF ONCE. NOT EVEN A BRICK WILL REMAIN, TO REMIND THE TRAVELLER IT EXISTED AT ALL. IT WILL HOWEVER, ALWAYS SURVIVE FOR ME, IN THAT PLAY OF MIND AND REMINISCENCE, AND BE INCLUDED AS A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION, IN MOST OF WHAT I WRITE, LEADING I SUPPOSE, TO MY OWN DESTINY OF IRRELEVANCE, AND PLANTING INTO THE GROUND…..AS A WRITER / HISTORIAN ONCE UPON A TIME.

I SHALL BE HAPPY TO HAUNT YOUR RECOLLECTIONS, OF A WRITER YOU USED TO KNOW.

Collecting A Wide Range Of Heritage Items, Some Times We Can't Believe Our Good Fortune

NOTE: FROM THE ARCHIVES. I WILL HAVE A FULL REPORT OF OUR THREE DAY HUNDRED MILE ANTIQUE HUNT ON MONDAY WITH SOME PICTURES. SO FAR SO GOOD BUT STILL NO HOLY GRAIL. I'M A LAST INNING KIND OF PLAYER SO DON'T COUNT ME OUT YET.

A DAY TO TRAVEL, SEEK AND FIND

ALAS, I AM A SLAVE OF MY PROFESSION - THE WRITER - NOT THE ANTIQUE COLLECTOR

I'VE GOT A BIG WELT WHERE I KEEP PINCHING MYSELF. IT'S MARCH, NOT JANUARY. THIS WAS A PERFECT SPRING-LIKE DAY, AS FAR AS SUN GOES, TO HIT THE OPEN ROAD. OF COURSE, I WOULD BE DOING SO, ON MY OWN, AS THE BOYS HAVE TO OPEN THE SHOP, AND SUZANNE'S AT WORK. YOU SEE THAT'S ONE OF THE PROBLEMS ASSOCIATED WITH THE HOME-ALONE OFFICE, WHICH I'VE BEEN WORKING FROM SINCE ANDREW WAS IN HIS THIRD MONTH. I OPTED TO STAY HOME AS A MR. MOM, WHILE SUZANNE RETURNED TO TEACHING. I STAYED ON WHEN ROB WAS BORN, A COUPLE OF YEARS LATER, AND IT'S WORKED PRETTY WELL UP TO AND INCLUDING THE PRESENT.

OF COURSE, IT'S A LITTLE GENTLER AND QUIETER HERE NOW, WITH THE BOYS ALL GROWN-UP AND ALL. I DON'T HAVE TO BREAK UP FIGHTS OVER TOYS, OR INTERCEPT A TOSSED PEANUT BUTTER AND JAM SANDWICH, THAT ONE OF THE LITTLE DARLINGS MAY HAVE TOSSED AT THE OTHER. SO OUTSIDE OF LOOKING AFTER THE FAMILY PETS, AND WORKING ON FURNITURE RESTORATIONS, ON SOME NEWLY ACQUIRED ANTIQUE PIECES, THIS KEYBOARD IS THE BIGGEST REASON FOR ANY PRE-OCCUPATION AT ALL. IN FACT, I NOW HAVE ENOUGH EDITORIAL PROJECTS LINED-UP, TO HONESTLY SAY……"I COULDN'T GO ANTIQUE HUNTING TODAY DEAR, BECAUSE I HAD TOO MUCH WORK TO DO." IT'S ALWAYS BEEN THE OTHER WAY AROUND.

SEEING AS I'M VERY ORGANIZED, AND A PROLIFIC WRITER, MOST DAYS I CAN DO ALL THE WRITING JAGS NECESSARY, AND BE FREE BY LUNCH…..WITH TIME FOR A LITTLE TOODLE TO A SECOND HAND OR ANTIQUE SHOP. I GOT MYSELF INTO TWO NEWS SERIES OF FEATURE COLUMNS FOR SEVERAL PUBLICATIONS, TO RUN OVER THE YEAR. I NEED THE SUMMER MONTHS TO HIT THE ROAD IN QUEST OF ANTIQUES, SO IT MEANS I HAVE TO GET EVERYTHING DONE WELL IN ADVANCE. I HATE WRITING IN THE HEAT, AND I DON'T LIKE MISSING SUMMER DAYS WHEN SUZANNE HAS TIME TO ROAM. SO IT'S TYPICALLY THE CASE, THAT WITH STORMS HOWLING OUTSIDE, AND SNOW DRIFTING AGAINST THE DOORWAY, I DON'T FEEL SHORT-CHANGED AT ALL, TO SIT HERE IN MY OFFICE, WORKING AWAY AT THESE WRITING PROJECTS. I DON'T FEEL I'M MISSING ANYTHING BY BEING INDOORS. EXCEPT FROST-BITE. TODAY IT IS JUST THE OPPOSITE, AND I MAY WIND-UP HEADING DOWN THE ROAD LATER THIS AFTERNOON, JUST FOR A SHORT DART, IN AND OUT OF THE RE-STORE, ONE OF MY FAVORITE LOCAL HAUNTS. I'LL LET YOU KNOW IF I CAN BREAK THE CHAIN OF OBLIGATION, TO FOLLOW THE ALLURE OF THE OPEN ROAD.

DAVE BROWN AND I SHARED A LOT IN COMMON - LIKE THE HONEYMOONS WE TOOK WITH SPOUSES

DAVE BROWN AND HIS WIFE HAD THEIR HONEYMOON ON THE BATTLEFIELD AT GETTYSBURG. I KNOW THAT ONE OF YOU JUST BLURTED OUT, "GEEZ, THAT WAS ROMANTIC!" SUZANNE AND I HAD OUR HONEYMOON AT COLONIAL WILLIAMSBURG, WHERE I SPENT MY QUALITY TIME HOLED-UP IN THE OLD PRINT SHOP. YEA, I KNOW BEFORE YOU THINK IT. I'M NOT A ROMANTIC. SUZANNE ACTUALLY HAD TO STRONG-ARM ME OUT OF THE BUILDING, WHILE MUTTERING SOMETHING ABOUT MAKING A TERRIBLE MISTAKE, AND THAT SHE SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO HER MOTHER.

DAVE AND I WERE BOTH HISTORIANS. OUR SPECIALITY WAS CANADIAN HISTORY BUT WE BOTH DABBLED IN AMERICAN HISTORY; AND MOST DEFINITELY REGIONAL HISTORIES THROUGHOUT NORTH AMERICA. AS FAR AS BOOKS GO, THAT IS! WE BOTH MARRIED GALS WHO UNDERESTIMATED JUST HOW CRAZY IT COULD GET, BEING MARRIED TO HISTORY HOARDERS. DAVE'S WIFE TOLD HIM MANY TIMES, DURING THEIR SHORT MARRIAGE, THAT HIS BOOK COLLECTING WAS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL. SHE COULD LIVE WITH THE WEE BEASTIES HE BROUGHT HOME, LIKE SWAMP REPTILES IN THE BATH-TUB, PART OF HIS OUTDOOR EDUCATION WORK, BUT THERE HAD TO BE A LIMIT ON THE BOOKS STACKED ALL OVER THE PLACE. AND FROM WHAT I'VE HEARD FROM NUMEROUS SOURCES, SHE GAVE HIM A CLEAR CHOICE, BETWEEN CARRYING-ON WITH THEIR MARRIAGE, OR CONTINUING WITH HIS BIBLIOMANIA. DAVE BECAME A SINGLE MAN, WITH A HELL OF A LOT OF BOOKS.

MR. CURRIE, ON THE OTHER HAND, WAS WARNED ABOUT BOOKS, OTHER THAN ACTUAL COOKBOOKS, GETTING INTO RESTRICTED AREAS. THEY COULD NOT BE SHELVED IN THE KITCHEN, BATHROOM, OR HER BEDROOM. SO I FILLED EVERYTHING ELSE, AND HER BEDROOM. I DID MAKE MAJOR AMENDS THIS PAST SUMMER, BY REMOVING THE TWO THOUSAND TITLES FROM HER BEDSIDE, LEAVING ONLY A COUPLE OF HUNDRED ADJACENT TO MY CLOSET. IN FACT, COMING TO MY SENSES, OVER THE PAST THREE YEARS, I'VE GOT RID OF THOUSANDS OF BOOKS THAT WEREN'T OF ANY GREAT USE, ACKNOWLEDGING AT THE SAME TIME, I'D GOT A LITTLE TOO PASSIONATE ABOUT COLLECTING STUFF. I WASN'T GOING TO LOSE MY WIFE OVER SEVERAL THOUSAND BOOKS, LIKE DAVE DID. COMPROMISE WASN'T SO HARD. I ACCUSED HER THE OTHER DAY OF BEING A WOOL HOARDER, BECAUSE OF THE LARGE INVENTORY OF MATERIAL IN RESERVE, FOR HER THOUSAND AND ONE KNITTING PROJECTS. SHE WAS NOT AMUSED. "AFTER HAVING TO LIVE WITH YOUR EXCESSES FOR THE FIRST HALF OF OUR MARRIAGE, TELL YOU WHAT……SUCK IT UP BUDDY, THE WOOL STAYS," SHE CALMLY REMINDED OF HER STAKE IN THE MATRIMONIAL HOME……INCH BY INCH APPARENTLY.

Dave Brown liked his independence. An only child, the son of a well respected Hamilton physician, Dave liked being able to disappear when not teaching, and explore places he'd never been. But with the exception of the United States, he stayed pretty much in Ontario, where he found enough adventure to feel fulfilled. He loved to camp on his own in some very wild places, and when I asked him about the intrusion of bears, and wolves, he said there had never been anything to worry about. I always suspected Dave was part wolf anyway, and when his anger rose to the surface, let me tell you……it was best to stand back. He wasn't a loud objector, but with Dave you always kind of wondered if he might give you a crushing bear hug or something. He told me once, that he had been attacked by what he referred to as a wild dog, encountered at an isolated farmstead in Southern Ontario. He was able to get out of its way by climbing a nearby ladder. The dog wouldn't let him get down. "I was up there about two hours, trying to make friends with the animal, but he would have nothing to do with it," Dave told me. "It was getting late, and as it was in October, the darkness was closing in. I couldn't sleep on the ladder, and I knew this creature was going to bite me if I tried to make a run for the car." "I took my hammer, and thought well, I've got one shot, so I better be able to knock him out, because there's nothing else but car keys to fend him off," said Dave. "I really didn't want to hurt the dog but it was him or me. I got as close as I could, without getting in his mouth, and threw the hammer. It hit him right on the head. He looked kind of stunned, got glassy eyed, and just fell over. Gone. I killed him with one throw. I felt bad because I like dogs. Just not this one." I never knew if Dave was kidding me about this, but as conservation-minded as he lived, truth was, he'd have likely hurt himself badly, eventually falling off that ladder. I'm pretty sure I would have, with genuine reluctance, followed the same course of action. Just now, Bosko looked at me, with eyes of concern. It's like she knew what I'd just written. This dog may be smarter than I thought.

THE ESTATE BOOK SALE

Dave had many connections in the book world. Truth be known, Dave had known connections to the underworld. As a result of his moonlighting work with large construction firms, that gave him permission to scavenge old architectural (heritage) pieces, from demolition sites, Dave knew that some of the associations he kept, put him under police surveillance. It got to be a joke around school, that Dave could make people he disliked disappear. I remember the night he said this to Suzanne and I, while toasting our friendship, with a glass of wine. For a couple of moments, Suzanne and I looked at each other, and pondered silently whether the guy on the sofa was a sort of teacher-Soprano mobster. "Don't worry Ted and Suzanne, I like you guys." Most of this story is true. He did have friends in unusually high places, and the cops were watching him. He said it was often the case, especially after an underworld incident, when police would show up with cameras, watching who was coming, going and hanging around these sites. Knowing Dave, even mobsters couldn't deter him from the salvage job, to save architectural heritage. Dave never had a bad word to say about his mates either.

One night, sitting out on the deck, looking over the gardens with hummingbirds flitting about, and bees still buzzing around the spring lilacs, he told us about his recent experience, at an estate book sale, on the eastern seaboard of the United States. I presume it was in New York State, though I don't remember him mentioning the community itself. Just the circumstances of the sale. Dave had a lot of American colleagues, and whether it was Chicago or New York, he knew the old book sellers. Whenever he could, he took off south, because it's where he apparently got the best deals on the books he most desired. On this occasion, a book dealer friend took him to an estate book sale, run by a charitable group that often hosted these type of dispersals, to benefit a cause. The book seller and Dave went to preview the books being placed for sale, on the day before the event was to open. It was also the time when you had to get a number, as a patron of the sale. That's how regimented and well attended the events were. I don't know how they managed this, but they were able to get four or five reserve tickets, which would cover five individuals to get into the sale…..in sequence. The organizers, you see, would only let so many buyers in at one time. Other dealers were doing the same thing, and a few were getting as many as ten reservations. I'm not sure if they actually cost something, but possibly they did. So here's what happened on the morning of the sale.

When Dave and his book dealer friend arrived, there were quite a few people already lined up for the opening. They gave their numbers to the organizer, and slotted into place. Dave could see, as far as the numbers went, that there was a shortfall of bodies. It worked this way. If only ten or twenty people were admitted to the sale to start with, there may be only four or five buyers making up the first 20 numbers. This meant that despite the few number actually prepared to shop for old books, organizers went by the ticket numbers, and not the bodies present. What they believed mistakenly, was those absent would soon show up, once the door opened, and for the half hour allotted, these would be the only folks allowed in. But there were no bodies attached to the numbers. The dealers, to minimize the competition, applied and received extra numbers, to push competitors further back. So when Dave got in, during the first round, there were only a few actual buyers mucking about inside. Despite protests, it was on a number basis, bodies or not.

Dave didn't find many books he wanted, but was satisfied with a few natural histories from the early 1800's. He saw an interesting pile of books in a corner, and decided to have a look-see. As he was going through the first five or six books on the top of the pile, he saw the feet of another shopper, push toe-first in toward the book stack. "What are you doing with my books buddy," asked the gentleman attached to the feet below. "I'm just looking at them," answered Dave. "Is that a problem?" When he looked up to see who was addressing him, the chap was patting the side of his jacket, while glaring. "I'm sorry. I didn't know they were your books," Dave replied, backing slowly away from the corner stash. The man nodded his acceptance of Dave's ignorance, and soon began asking about what Dave had found at the sale. It didn't take too long, as was Dave's inherent talent, to win the guy over completely, and before the half hour was up, they had agreed to have lunch before he had to return to Canada. Dave told me, the reason the chap was hitting his coat, was to indicate that there was a side-arm underneath, should Dave have had plans to remove any books off the pile. He said that the dealer had just recently suffered a big loss of books, at a similar sale, when another buyer scoffed his entire pile of books he intended to purchase. So the weapon was going to be used as a persuader, you see, to encourage the next interloper to back off. Is it a true story? Seeing as Dave passed away more than a decade ago, I really can't prove it beyond reasonable doubt, just like the assertion he had once killed an angry dog, or that he could make people disappear. But as his biographer, I tried to cross reference as much as I could. I had to trust Dave's word on this one.

The reality is, that many rare books can fetch a king's ransom, that's for sure. The gentleman may well have lost ten or fifteen thousand dollars worth of books, to the competitor who claimed his book stash. The right books, on the right subjects, with potentially the most desirable autographs, can certainly help you buy a new car, a new house, and a really nice vacation. But these books are from special collections, wealthy estates, and are not by any means common finds on the thrift shop shelf. On occasion you can pick up a decent autograph, and a twenty dollar-plus out-of-print book, at a second hand venue. Just not often. Which explains why these estate book sales were so competitive that they required small arms protection. If there was a first edition "Alice in Wonderland," well, that would be worth a substantial wrestle, to come out on top. I haven't once felt the necessity to wrestle a single soul, for the treasures offered by the local second hand shops. Good finds are not the same as "money" finds, in situations like Dave experienced, south of the border.

There was only one occasion of this happening, when Suzanne, picked a hundred dollar book from the mountains of library cast-offs, during a fundraising sale here in Gravenhurst. She did it right in front of Dave and I. Well sir, Dave was not impressed by the rookie's big win. I tried to speak to her, eye to eye, something that would have sounded, if spoken, like "for God's sakes Suzanne, the man can make people disappear. Give him the damn book." Dave was moody this way, and told me he was going to head back to the city sooner than anticipated. He wished us good afternoon, took off to Birch Hollow to pick up his gear, and then headed home to Hamilton. Later that night, he phone Suzanne to offer an apology for his hasty retreat. Dave was the kind of bloke who didn't like to lose, at what ever project he was occupied. But he was the kind of tutor I needed, in the profession, because frankly, I was too much of a pacifist for my own good. Dave inspired me to be a bit more of a hustler, a little more of a trail blazer, and a lot more adventurous as an antique hunter, no matter what the circumstance.

How tough and determined was Dave Brown. Only days before his death, and knowing full well the reaper was close by, he left the hospital on a pass, to have dinner with a teacher friend. He insisted on going to a restaurant that happened to be close to one of this favorite book shops. He went in, and nodded to his chum, "you never know when you're going to find a good book." He did. He found one. Alas, he never finished reading it. But he benefitted a lot of book lovers in the end, who very much recognized, in earnest, the qualifications of this curmudgeon book hound.

Ada Florence Kinton Saw The Beauty Of Nature Even In The Cold Of March; Folk Lore In Muskoka Needs To Be More Fully Documented

A WRITER’S LAMENT

I can remember the din of traffic all day and all night, in central London, and I’ve known the historic peace of a quiet nook in Robin Hood’s (Nottingham’s) Sherwood Forest. I have written in the city, on buses, trains and airplanes. I’ve written in a seaside cabin in Florida, and wrote a journal about our honeymoon in Colonial Williamsburg, in Virginia. I’ve written in a miniaturized manor house, known as “Seven Person’s Cottage,” on the shore of Lake Joseph, a cottage on Lake Muskoka, an old family homestead on Lake Rosseau, at residences ranging from a Toronto apartment, two Bracebridge apartments, and three bungalows including our present abode we call Birch Hollow. I’ve worked in busy newsrooms, and written rough drafts of crime stories while sitting in the midst of court proceedings. I’ve worked with the circumstances I find myself in......whether wild and woolly with noise, or as silent as the morning dew settling on my scraggly front lawn.

At Birch Hollow, however, I must confess to having lost some capability of working with distraction. There was a time in my life that I couldn’t write, without the din or the skirl of bagpipes coming from a partying neighbor’s home. Here it is so quiet most of the time, I have admittedly lost some of my earlier capabilities. When I write here now, the only intrusion is the one that works for me.....the chatter of birds and all natural sounds. I can no longer work with a radio on, and no matter if it’s Mozart or Pink Floyd, I started to find that the music would adversely influence, what I was trying to write. So I had to settle down here in my office with lesser distraction, now mired in my elder years.....and although I still get wildly interested in writing when there’s a storm brewing, or wind singing through the evergreens, I find these days, a purring cat on my lap one of few welcome intrusions.

I hate phone calls that halt me in the middle of a column, and when the earth movers start rumbling away, and the lawnmowers, chainsaws and leaf blowers churn up the solitude, well, I just find something else to do. I don’t ask the world or the neighborhood to conform to my work schedule, or pay any attention to this writer in residence. I will find my time to work, with the sounds of nature, sooner or later in any given day.

Here is another installment of the Ada Kinton biography, being prepared for submission to both the National Art Gallery and Art Gallery of Ontario archives, dedicated to the Gravenhurst Food Bank, operated by the Salvation Army........and yes, I did it during a most precious calm here in urban Gravenhurst. Not a chainsaw buzz within two blocks.

IN THE WORDS OF THE ARTIST - ADA FLORENCE KINTON IN MUSKOKA

By Ted Currie

A chickadee, just this moment, hit the window pane above my desk. I ran out onto the verandah, to see if it had survived the substantial bump. I cradled it in my hands for a few moments, and just when I thought it had succumbed, the wee creature opened its eyes, began to moves its wings, as if to push free of my hand, and when I put it down on a chair cushion, it soon sat upright and stared right at me. I wondered if we had met in some previous life. It was that kind of look. As suddenly as our paths had crossed, the chickadee hopped up onto the verandah railing, fluttered about for a few moments, and took off for parts unknown. I was delighted. I thought it was an appropriate way to commence this months column, on a pioneer artist in our region of Ontario.

In the early months of 1883, Ada Florence Kinton began to explore the narrow lanes and winding country paths, in and around the pioneer settlement of Huntsville, Ontario, in the northern part of the District of Muskoka. Artist, writer, and eventual mission worker, with the Salvation Army, the young Miss Kinton had come to stay with her brothers, Ed and Mackie, both Huntsville businessmen. After the death of her father, and the earlier demise of her mother, family felt it best if their sister left city life in England, for the health and healing benefits of the Canadian wilds. It took awhile before Ada Kinton found much in the way of benefits in the rugged, hardship-laden, pioneer lifestyle.

What makes her work so significant for regional and art historians, is that she made copious and highly detailed notes about what she was painting. Even without seeing her paint-boards, the written descriptions allow us the full pleasure of her creative insight. Ada never thought her journal would be published one day. Her sister, Sara Randleson, crafted the handwritten notes into book-form, in 1907, entitled “Just One Blue Bonnett,” a reference particularly to Ada’s eventual work with the Salvation Army. The artist / missionary had died several years earlier, after moving back to Huntsville to convalesce. We have to go back to a colder season to re-join her journal. The date is March 9th, 1883, Huntsville, Ontario.

“Went into Miss Godolphin’s shanty, an odd, nice little wooden house, having a certain indescribable English air. Took tea, afternoon tea, English fashion. It reminded one so delightfully of home ways. It seemed quite a change to have tiny cups of pink china that felt like egg-shell in comparison, handed to you to sip slowly, and slices of thin bread so delicate and small that they might have been petals of a flower, and baked dough biscuits just a little larger and thicker than a dollar, cut in half and buttered, and passed round on one big plate, to hold between the thumb and finger, and nibble delicately, and dear old Granma Dolphi, at the tea tray with a little brown teapot, asking if you ‘took sugar.’ It seemed so sweet and homey to me, but to Mrs. Kinton (here sister-in-law), the scraps of food seemed aggravation with her Canadian ideas of plenty.”

“March 10th. Snowing heavily. Foddie (a Kinton child) flung her head at mine and broke my glasses a little. Felt worse than a toothache. A settler’s little girl tramped in to get some goose-oil for the baby, sick with bronchitis. Goose-oil is considered very efficacious in such cases. Afternoon, went for a walk to meet Ed, returning from Burk’s Falls. Didn’t meet him and had to return on foot with the children. Boyo (another child) refused to walk and had to be carried. He looked quite picturesque, lying on his back in the snow, in his little crimson wool coat and cap, and scarlet socks, with arms and legs spread so far and wide over the land, with his eyes screwed tight and his cheeks about as red and brilliant as holly berries, causing the forest to ring again with his screams and cries.” It’s quite easy to visualize the scene, as described by Miss Kinton, as she painted with carefully chosen words. It might have compelled her to later sketch the wee lad in his bright winter contrast.

She writes, “There had been quite a heavy fall of snow and it was still coming down steadily, but the air was soft and mild, and the track well covered with nice elastic, sandy dry snow; so walking there was pretty easy. But coming back, the falling snow was just as downy and soft, and light, and warm-looking, as if it were the big blanket Ed speaks of, spread over the old earth to keep it warm - all feathery - or like an ermine mantle, and just lightly spread over every branch and shrub tree. The silence almost appalls one, and if you stand and listen, no sound but the almost silent beat of the tiny myriad flakes, as they fall with their noiseless thud on the trees around you, in a sort of faint musical tinkling, and yet not harsh enough to be a tinkle even.

“You may also hear a gentle tapping perhaps; and if you look, right steadily above, somewhere between earth and sky, among the exquisite Gothic arches, formed by the branches and slender trunks in the forest cathedral, you may hear a woodpecker tapping at the bark for ‘brekbust,’ as Foddie and Boyo say. Or you may hear the jingle of some coming sleigh bells - but that’s all on a day like this. We got home very wet and tired but thankful and hungry. Ed came in soon after, having been immersed in a vast buffalo robe in the cutter.”

The author-painter wrote the following description, on the eleventh of March. “Strong wind, snow drifting and swirling about violently. Slight fall of snow, said to be heavy and strong outside, beyond Toronto. Sat on the lounge in the buffalo robe by the stove all the afternoon, knitting my first sock. Mrs. Kinton and I gossiped steadily, and the babes ate taffy-sugar melted and poured onto a plate of snow. The new houses here look rather nice, about the colour of thick rich cream, little oblong blocks with slanting roofs with a window or two and a door. In the sunshine they get as golden as buttercups, and the pure snow gleams on the roofs. The sunrise and sunset bring out some very pretty colouring (hot buttered biscuit) among the shadows, purple violets, blues and pearly grey, or every tint and hue, but tender and vague in tone.

“The children are so pleased to see their father. He stoops down on the carpet, and they hover around him, fluttering their wings, and twittering like young birds. He brought some big fungi home (from his trip to Burk’s Falls), and the most enchanting was a wee mossy bird’s nest, with about a foot of birch bark attached - white birch.” “The inclement weather became known as ‘Wiggin’s Storm,” she noted in her journal on March 11th, 1883.

I raised my head, from the task at hand, the final edit before sending this tome off to the publisher, and I couldn’t help but notice my wee friend, the chickadee, had returned to the railing. The tiny bird was back at the feeder with a chum, and all appears safe and sound once more. I believe Ada would have found something inspiring about this brief liaison. I can so clearly visualize her cradling the injured creature, and sense her joy, watching it re-awaken, and fly off into the shadows of the leaning old hardwoods, here at Birch Hollow.

WHY NOT TALK ABOUT GHOSTS? UFO'S AND THINGS THAT WENT BUMP IN THE NIGHT?

THE VERY REAL FEAR OF RIDICULE

EVERY FEW MONTHS, A STUDENT WILL COME UP TO MY PARTNER, SUZANNE, AND ASK HER IF SHE IS THE MRS. CURRIE IN THE GHOST BOOK. SHE HAS A STANDARD RESPONSE, BECAUSE THE QUESTIONS ARE ALMOST ALWAYS THE SAME. "DO YOU MEAN THE STORY OF 'HERBIE,' IN THE GHOST BOOK, BY BARBARA SMITH?" "WHY YES," THEY REPLY, LOOKING AT HER BECAUSE, WELL, THERE'S SOMEONE THEY CAN ACTUALLY TALK TO, WHO CAN HONESTLY CLAIM, "TO HAVE SEEN A GHOST." SO ARDENT ABOUT THIS, THAT SHE AGREED TO HAVE HER STORY PUBLISHED IN A MAJOR COAST TO COAST GHOST ANTHOLOGY. I'M IN THERE TOO, BUT THEN I'M ALSO INCLUDED IN ANOTHER BOOK ON THE PARANORMAL, BY WELL KNOWN GHOST SLEUTH, ROBERT JOHN COLOMBO. SO IT'S PRETTY NORMAL CONVERSATION AROUND HERE, TO TALK ABOUT GHOSTS. THERE'S JUST ONE THING MORE UNUSUAL THAN SEEING GHOSTS, AND THAT'S ADMITTING YOU'RE NOT FRIGHTENED OF THEM. WE'RE AS CURIOUS AS THEY ARE…..AND I CAN SPEAK FOR THEM (THE APPARITIONS); BUT WE DON'T MIND THEIR INTRUSIONS, UNLESS IT COSTS US SLEEP. THE GHOST OF HERBIE, WHICH YOU CAN READ ON THIS BLOGSITE, BY GOING BACK A COUPLE OF MONTHS, WAS THE WAYWARD, EARTHBOUND SPIRIT OF A LOST LAD, OF ABOUT TEN YEARS OF AGE, WHO USED TO VISIT SON ANDREW IN THE WEE HOURS OF THE NIGHT…..HIS FACE APPEARING AT THE WINDOW OF HIS BEDROOM. WHEN HE'D AWAKE, HE COULD LOOK UP AND SEE THE CHILD'S FACE, ILLUMINATED THROUGH THE GLASS. HE MADE ME GO OUTSIDE, ON THESE OCCASIONS, TO FIND HIM. ANDREW BELIEVED IT WAS PETER PAN, AND HE DIDN'T WANT TO GO TO NEVERLAND. SUZANNE EVENTUALLY SAW THIS GHOST TWICE IN THE HOUSE. I HAD ONE EXPERIENCE WITH HERBIE.

IN THE EARLY 1980'S, I UPSET THE NEWSPAPER EXECUTIVES, AT MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, IN BRACEBRIDGE, (WHICH HAPPENED EVERY THIRD DAY DURING MY TENURE), WHEN I ANNOUNCED A GREAT UPCOMING FEATURE FOR THE PAPER, ON GHOSTS AND HOBGOBLINS I'D MET IN A MAINSTREET HOUSE. THIS WAS A STORY ABOUT THE MCGIBBON HOUSE IN BRACEBRIDGE, THAT HAD FORMERLY BELONGED TO WELL LOVED MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT, AND TOWN DOCTOR, PETER MCGIBBON. EVERYONE WHO LIVED THERE, FROM ABOUT 1977 TO ABOUT 1984, UNDERSTOOD THE RAMBLINGS AND BUMPS IN THE NIGHT, FROM SOME RESIDENT PHENOMENON. IF YOU GO BACK A FEW BLOGS, YOU WILL FIND THE ONE THAT DETAILS MY FIRST WRITER'S LOFT, OVERLOOKING BRACEBRIDGE'S MEMORIAL PARK. I LOVED THE HOUSE, AND ALTHOUGH A TAD UNSETTLING THE FIRST FEW TIMES, THE ALLEGED HAUNTINGS WEREN'T FRIGHTENING, BUT THEY WERE FREQUENT. SO WHEN I DECIDED, AS EDITOR, TO RUN THE FEATURE, WITH THE HELP OF OUTSTANDING PHOTOGRAPHER, HAROLD WRIGHT, MANAGEMENT TRIED A NUMBER OF ARGUMENTS TO TONE IT DOWN…..OR BETTER STILL, SAVE IT FOR THE SUMMER PAPER….THE MUSKOKA SUN. WELL, I WON, AND WE MADE SOME BRACEBRIDGE HISTORY. I HAVE WORKED ON HUNDREDS OF SIMILAR FEATURES, BUT THIS ONE GOT THE BIGGEST RESPONSE OF THEM ALL. IT WAS APPARENT, MY ADMISSION THAT I BELIEVED IN GHOSTS, WAS ENOUGH TO ENCOURAGE OTHERS, WHO HAD EXPERIENCED SIMILAR APPARITIONS IN THEIR HOMES, COTTAGES ETC., TO SHARE THEIR STORIES. THE PROBLEM OF COURSE, IS THAT WHILE WE GOT EXCELLENT RESPONSES, NO ONE WANTED TO ATTACH THEIR NAMES.

I MUST HAVE HAD TWENTY OUTSTANDING GHOST STORIES. I COULDN'T USE ONE OF THEM, BECAUSE I NEEDED THEIR CONSENT, AND IT WAS STILL THAT TIME IN COMMUNITY HISTORY, THAT FOLKS WORRIED TO A FRENZY WHAT OTHERS WOULD THINK OF THEIR CONFESSIONS. I HAD CONVERSATIONS WITH TWO YOUNG LADIES I KNEW, ABOUT GHOSTS AND THEIR KIND, AND THEY WANTED TO HEAR ABOUT ALL MY ENCOUNTERS. I KNEW THE WAY THEY WERE LOOKING AT ME, THAT THEY HAD ALSO SEEN SIMILAR APPARITIONS…..BUT HAD BUILT-UP SUCH A DEFENSE, ABOUT THE ENCOUNTERS THAT I COULDN'T RELAX EITHER ONE OF THEM…..OR ASSURE THEM ADEQUATELY THAT THEIR STORIES WERE SAFE WITH ME. IT'S A PROBLEM OF BEING A WRITER, THAT MOST PEOPLE THINK THAT UNLESS THEY SAY "OFF THE RECORD," EVERY FIVE MINUTES OF CONVERSATION, I WILL BE QUOTING THEM IN MY NEW GHOST BOOK…….THAT BY THE WAY, I'M NOT WRITING. I CAN TELL, WHEN I'M TALKING TO SOMEONE ABOUT GHOSTS, IF THEY'VE ALSO HAD AN EXPERIENCE. IT SHOWS, NO MATTER HOW HARD THEY TRY TO DEFLECT THE FOCUS AWAY FROM THEMSELVES. THEY STILL BELIEVE, THEY WILL BE RIDICULED IN THE COMMUNITY, FOR HAVING BELIEFS IN THE PARANORMAL…..WHICH IS STILL TRUE TO A MINOR EXTENT TODAY….DESPITE THE FACT WRITERS LIKE BARBARA SMITH AND JOHN COLOMBO HAVE MADE IT FAR MORE ACCEPTABLE TO ADMIT TO HAVING SEEN GHOSTS. WHICH I THINK IS A GOOD THING.

John Colombo had even suggested that I put a book together of Muskoka ghost stories, and he helped launch my first full-season series, of local ghost stories, one summer in The Muskoka Sun, in the late 1990's, which was also an enormous success. It's not every fledgling ghost hunter who is endorsed by one of the best known paranormal researchers in Canada. But the problem was a big one. They, my story sources, would spend hours setting up the story, and explaining every detail, and then say, "But you can't use any of this in print." I got to the point that I asked the question before going to the interview, and if they said "no way," to me using the story in print, then I dropped the interview. Some required quite a bit of time and driving to meet with, and at the time I was working free-lance, and simply couldn't justify the expense. So several years ago, I started to compile my own accounts of paranormal encounters, on the Muskoka and Algonquin Ghost blogsite…..containing our family's inventory of strange meetings with those wandering spirits trapped on earth.

The main reason I adore these stories, is the fact we have lost so many cultural beliefs and traditions, and no one has given much attention, to the loss of this important aspect of Muskoka and regional Canadian history. Not just about ghosts, and their mortal / immortal coming together. But the fact, from the beginning of our region's settlement, dating back to the late 1850's, family historians, and historians generally, didn't spend much time recording the cultural attachments that came with European settlers, to the wilderness of the Muskoka woodlands. It wasn't just religious beliefs that came across the ocean with the homesteaders, seeking their free grant land. They brought with them the beliefs and superstitions of the old country, and the rich, ancient traditions from countries like Ireland, Scotland, England, Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Sweden, and Germany. If they had even a smidgeon of belief in the paranormal when they left the cities of Europe, I'm willing to bet that when they arrived in these haunted woods, they were more than wary of what may have been hiding out in the pine shadows, and over the rock cliffs, and through the misty bogs. Was it fair to say our region may have looked frightening to those early pioneers? Could they have imagined new world leprechauns, and banshees, trolls and ogres, ghosts, witches, sundry other hobgoblins and run-of-the-mill ghosts? In the isolation these folks found themselves, I think it's very likely they were particularly watchful for those fanciful creatures that haunted the countrysides in their homelands…..which lived under bridges, and others that carried pots of gold, or frightening old hags that would turn the innocents into wart-covered toads. What about the fairies and Queen Mab, and the fairy circles the children looked for in the mornings, matted down in the enchanted woods, where the midnight revel had been held.

This is very much a part of our culture as Muskokans, but very few historians dating back to the 1860's, bothered to deal with these superstitions, and belief in the paranormal……by simply writing them down for future posterity. Thus we have to rely on the heritage of these settlers, to understand how they looked upon strange occurrences in a new land. And because of the isolation, some fears were exacerbated most definitely, such that even the winds of an approaching storm sounded like banshees howling for blood…..trolls stomping up to homestead windows for a wee peak. A lot of superstition centered around death, and rituals / traditions practiced, depending on the religious and cultural thinking, of the time. Remember the omen of a "bird in the house"? I can so clearly recall a sparrow getting in through our apartment window, once, in the 1970's, and my mother Merle freaking-out because it was a sign that someone in the family was going to die. Merle was a mix of English, and German ancestry, and in her family, her mother Blanche was a keeper of the traditions……the old and dear tales of what to be guarded about in everyday life……..and my mother lived by those traditions, and superstitions for her entire life. She would never, ever walk beneath a ladder, and she hated black cats. If she dumped a salt shaker….or even if I did, I had to toss some sprinkles over my opposite shoulder, to get rid of the curse that apparently went side by side being clumsy. She didn't linger on any 13th day, that happened to be a Friday, and she eagerly scooped the froth off her stirred tea, saying it was "money," if you sipped it first, from a spoon. I broke a mirror once and I thought she was going to hold an exorcism for me. I was informed, "Teddy, you're going to have seven years of bad luck." I think she may have been right on that one, because every girl I went with during those years, gave me the proverbial heave-ho, just when I thought things were going great. Merle was scared of tea leaves, and would never go to a reading, because she feared what revelations they might prevail upon her. She apologized to God for thinking bad of people, but she wouldn't attend church. She thought I should go, but she wouldn't. Yup, she was a contradictory person, who had more bugaboos than I could list in ten blogs. She had a new one, to hit me with, whenever I wanted to do something she felt was risque. I always remember her saying to me, that when I had bad thoughts for a prolonged period, I was wishing that same event on myself. As the years went my, I seldom used my mother as a confidant. And for good reason.

Getting back to gathering stories about ghosts, UFO's, and almost anything else in the paranormal domain; I have received a wealth of information about occurrences here, in the District of Muskoka, but once again, they become an information base for me, but not an omnibus of stories to share with you. John Colombo included some stories about UFO's showing up in the Huntsville area of Muskoka, in a small book he wrote back in the early nineties if memory serves. There have been quite a few sightings here, and from some very credible people. Now it is worth noting, that Muskoka, according to several historians, and other published accounts I have read, have numerous meteor deposits. It is said, of course, that the imprint of Skeleton Lake was made by a meteor strike, and that there was one that hit near the Brackenrig Road, and another that may have landed in Portage Bay, of Lake Rosseau. I was told by a well versed local, of the Portage Bay area, that there is a place where a compass will gyrate wildly, giving improper readings, until the location is bypassed. I can't say that this is true, but it is what I have heard over the years, from a number of sources. I remember a well known writer telling me once, that Muskoka was a spiritually powerful place on earth, and I think part of that came from the meteors that hit here once upon a time. I have met and talked with those who have seen UFO's in Muskoka, and places like Vankoughnet have had a few interesting sightings, although you won't find much in print to support this claim. When, in the 1970's, a UFO was seen in vicinity of Three Mile Lake, in the Raymond area, I believe, it made the city dailies. There were witnesses that night, miles away, who later corroborated everything that the primary witness had observed, yet because they feared being ridiculed, the chap who came forward with the claim, was hounded without mercy, and made to look like a fool for being honest, and forthcoming. For years after this, many folks would talk in hushed tones, admitting they had been outside their homes on the same night, and had experienced something quite out of this world……yet they left this poor chap to take the brunt of the ridicule. What was an important story, with many avenues to investigate, was turned into a circus…..because that's the way the news accounts were written…..with a bias from the get-go. There weren't many scholarly, scientific types, around for these interviews with the witness, and eventually, he just avoided discussing the matter. No one blamed him either. I believed him the first time I heard the story, which was through the grapevine, before I read the first newspaper account. We were a small town with a long, long grapevine with big ears.

I have so many neat stories about ghost hitch-hikers, on the roadsides where accident fatalities had occurred. There are dozens of stories, from motorists, who stopped to give these apparitions a ride, only to find them missing, when they reversed their cars. One other claimed to have given a ride to a ghost, who never once conversed during a ten mile ride between Bracebridge and Gravenhurst, and disappeared out the door, at the end of the journey, without opening it first. There's the story of a Victorian-attired young woman, being seen in the moonlight of a summer night, in the Township of Muskoka Lakes, trying to step over the fence of a small community graveyard. The witnesses, of which there were two, believed she had been, like them, that night, taking a shortcut through the cemetery, but having got her gown caught on the wire of the half-fallen fence. When they went to help her, untangle the fabric, she turned to them and suddenly vanished. There was another specter that would sit on the staircase of an old house in Bracebridge, and cry in the night. She was seen sitting on one of the stairs, about halfway up, always in distress. They could hear the crying and when they'd investigate, she would stare at them for a moment, then vaporize. There was another malevolent little beggar, possibly the ghost of a child, that used to continually open and close doors in a tiny little house in my Bracebridge neighborhood. It was a constant, and although it wasn't seen as a vapor, it would open a door only seconds after the householder would close it……almost as if a game between the living and the dearly departed.

I think it is far more acceptable to admit seeing these paranormal quantities and qualities today, because so many folks have broken trail, admitting their experiences without the same fear many lived with thirty years ago. The stigma has diminished, and I can tell you honestly, we enjoy talking about interesting ghosts we've met through the years. I've presented this theme at Museum lectures, and I've been overwhelmed by the response of the audiences……certainly not indicating their total belief in ghosts, but being interested in hearing different accounts, especially the tales that have been with us, in this region, since the 1850's onward. As an example of this, you can go back a few weeks, in mid-March, when I wrote about the Sheas encounter with Irishman, Pat Lovely, in the pioneer hamlet of Ufford (near Windermere), who it was said, saved a young boy from bleeding to death, by using his mind-only, and from considerable distance. There were many witnesses that day, who swore Pat Lovely had a mysterious power. There are some wonderful stories yet to harvest, but the going is tough. Few thought it important to write them down for posterity. I wish they had.