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| This is a 15 lb bronze sculpture of a bird that appears to be deceased. The sculptor unknown obviously was trying to make a statement but I haven't figured it out just yet. Found in Orillia. |
AH, NOW THAT'S MORE LIKE IT - A SUNNY DRIVE, ON A WARM PRE-SPRING DAY, AND FILLING THE ADVENTURE VOID
ENJOYING THE SCENERY FROM HERE TO THERE - AND IF YOU MISSED IT, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG
Sunday was one of those pre-spring days, that jazz-us back to life, and restores that zeal for antique hunting. Suzanne and I have been questing for the holy grail (and anything else that grabs us) since we began dating, which seems now, as being back in the days of Zeus. Good times.
There is an allure of the open road, that was best described in the opening pages, of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," regarding the invigoration of the senses, inspired by cycling through the hinterland of America. The feeling of being vigorously alive, and liberated to all the possibilities of the whole wide world; that nature has opened all its resources to you, the traveller, aiming down the road, to an undetermined destination, letting the heart dictate where you stop, and where you might linger to celebrate a particularly amazing view. A sunrise over a still iced-over lake. The raging waterfall generated by the melt water washing beneath the canopy of old, crystalized snow, down the hillside into the creeks upstream that feed the watershed.
Suzanne and I truly enjoy the allure of the open, winding road, and we never plan out our destination, beyond the expectation, that we will visit some of our favorite haunts; yet depending on traffic, and the warmth of the day, it's likely we will travel many miles further along; knowing there are other antique shops and malls just outside the region we usually antique-hunt.
With our wee dog, Muffin, sitting like a child in the back seat, we wound our way along the back roads of South Muskoka, and on to Huronia, where we found a great awakening landscape, opening in the incredible March sunlight, that made the horizon seem even more distant and elusive. We stopped a few times to pick up some treats for our touring, and for a little break for Muffin, to sniff the bit of open ground at roadside. I have wanted to say, a couple of times today, that it was worth enduring the hard winter months this year, to arrive at this point now, where spring is obviously beckoning. Oh joy. But honestly, I'm not there yet, as far as forgiving the winter, but a couple of more days like this, and I probably will surrender that winter was just a minor inconvenience.
The photograph above shows the most interesting find of the day. A very heavy, small stature bronze sculpture, of a bird in distress, or at least that's how I interpret it at face value. It isn't signed. It is most definitely a well executed art piece, that may have been a sculptor's prototype for a much larger piece. This was found on a crowded shelf, amongst a lot of junk, in an Orillia second hand shop. The massive weight gave it away. Not a reproduction piece. It's slightly macabre, because I think the bird is deceased. That's art for you! In the eye of the beholder. I like it!
Homestead Pleasures in Muskoka
If you have never before had the time honored pleasure, of sitting in that soot-ingrained patina, of a creaking old pine chair, at hearthside, and been comforted by the gentle cadence, and smooth traveling of rockers over a wooden floor, heard the snapping of dry cedar, and inhaled good and long, the tantalizing vapors of a simmering country stew, then you have missed a wondrous part of social-cultural, and yes, culinary history.
Within that iron workhorse of the farmstead kitchen, the roar and crackling of fire, warming the house on cold spring nights, was what in essence and practicality, kept humanity going on this rugged frontier of Upper Canada; known for its abundant rock and dense forests, short seasons, and wicked winters. The profound sense of isolation, in those pioneer years, seemed at times over-powering. A gathering of weary souls, next to that wonderful iron stove, may have for awhile, soothed away the angst of frontier life with embracing warmth, and the permeating aroma of a simmering soup.
It was that fire the farmers, the loggers, the travelers, the young and old came home to, out of the storm, to be caressed by its waves of heat, tantalized to near intoxication by the amalgamating scents of cooking meat and gravy, newly harvested carrots and potatoes; modest in portion but appointed with all the good graces of a proficient homestead cook, short of supplies yet with a firm hand and home crafted ladle. The homestead cook made do with what was available and conserved from the past harvest. It was creative cookery at its root. It was filling and sustaining to a strained body, forced to labor on another day, another year, another decade for the sustenance provided by yet another modest harvest. The old cookstove evokes so many recollections of the simple pleasures of the gathering place; the kitchen, where a day’s chores were rewarded, adventures regaled, stories told and retold, kin and friends held steadfast by food, hot drink and warmth of hearth.
If you’ve had the pleasure of sitting in such a room in the company of an old cookstove, a fire within, then you will find this series of columns on cookery heritage of some interest. With nostalgic reflections of old kitchen values and traditions, including the curious provenance of the old handwritten recipes that your grandmother, or mother kept folded for safe keeping in the cupboard above the cluttered counter. The old and gnarled piece of paper, with the beautiful handwriting, that after all these years, still carries the aroma of the spices she gently dispensed into the yellow mixing bowl, with the rest of the spring cake in creation.
In 1974 I began collecting old bottles. It’s what I could afford at the time. My investment was what you might call "sweat equity." I did all the work, and there were a few tangible rewards at the end of the dig. I dug-out old glass and pottery remnants from the depths of long grown-over dumpsites, throughout the Muskoka region. I had an insatiable appetite for discovery, and there was a real adrenalin rush when a torpedo soda bottle or an intact cobalt-blue vessel poked through the debris of the ages. It was hard work and you could cut yourself badly if you weren’t careful in these debris fields. I liked to work alone and it was amazing how a day would fly by when it seemed only a few hours spent on-site.
While still studying history at University, in Toronto, and on a baloney and mustard diet, the starvation budget students know well, I found that in heart I was willing to sacrifice food money to invest in history. I went on to collect oil lamps and although I couldn’t afford a bullseye lamp or a nice vintage blue or green lamp base, there was no shame on this student’s budget, to acquire a nicely conserved farm lamp, at auction, that was made for utility not decoration. I’m still this way today, when I chase down antiques and collectibles that were critical homestead pieces, versus items that were pretty much for decorative purposes moreso than critical practical function. I still have about fifty old lamps in operation, and this spring I’ve been heating our kitchen, livingroom and two bedrooms upstairs, with only five lamps, employed for six or so hours a day. In fairness it hasn’t been too cold yet but I could ramp it up to six lamps if needed. This is slightly off topic of course, which I’m famous for!
I’ve collected chairs, quilts, photographs, books, old paper, cameras, old glass, hockey cards, nostalgia and just about anything else that reminds me of times past. As an antique dealer, who occasionally puts profit ahead of acquisition, my collecting and selling has always been influenced by supply, demand, and the competition in my bailiwick; which at present is more aggressive than I can remember, since opening my first antique venture in Bracebridge back in 1977, shortly after graduating from York University. I took that degree in Canadian history and applied it to antiques and collectibles, when truthfully, sensibly and for profit, I should have used it as a ledge to reach for a teaching degree.
I gave up job security for a career in adventure and speculation. My business and life partner Suzanne is a teacher, so I live vicariously through her classroom situations. Alas, for my own constitution and impatience, I think I made a good career choice. I would far sooner be out on the hustings, hunting through flea markets and antique shops, than lecturing disinterested students on something they don’t care about. I was a terrible student, and I hated to be confined. It was the making of a career hunter-gatherer!
As a result of fierce competition out on the antique trail, I’ve had to change disciplines many times in order to meet the needs of both business and budget. I’ve simply had to divert my attention away from quilts and furniture, oil lamps, vintage glass, and books due to price increases, and general shortages of supply. In part of course, caused by too many dealers and collectors fishing from a small pond. There were many, many more auctions when I began my business than there are today. I have always found auctions to be more fruitful than the cross-region antique sweep. I could fill a van with auction finds but come home with only a few found items even after a several hundred mile buying trip.
From the perspective of a book dealer, who frequently purchased upwards of twenty or more full boxes at estate auctions, it was typical to quadruple my investment when all was said and done. Not only could I find a dozen big money books but there were other treasures within. It was common to be able to find historic documents, photographs and war-time letters that I could sell over and above the books themselves. This was the buyer’s bonus. I used to find lots of paper collectibles and nostalgia tucked neatly into the texts, put there for safekeeping over the many decades they belonged to the family. (I have returned many documents to family that should not have been included in these job-lot acquisitions, and I have donated other important found articles to museums). Suzanne reminds me that we’ve often made more money selling the found pieces, old movie and sports programs, hockey and baseball cards, war letters, postcards, and stamps than from the books themselves. In the case of old cookbooks we found jammed into the boxes, it wasn’t uncommon to come upon a selection of gnarled handwritten recipes.
Sometimes we’d find up to a hundred jammed between the pages of the larger cookbooks. There really wasn’t much of a market for them but I decided to set them aside until we could figure out what to do with the small collection. Our pile of these cookery relics started to get pretty impressive and interesting, and curiously the more we found, the more attention we paid to cookery heritage itself, almost as if we had discovered something quite by accident. There was something more significant about these simple handwritten recipes, so we began researching the intricacies and subtleties of the pioneer kitchen. A general eagerness to seek them out at sales initiated an unanticipated momentum that has led to this current research project. Many collectors can attest to this manifestation of interest that can happen quite by accident, changing an otherwise steadfast collecting mission in favor of another....which could be a complete opposite from anything you’ve pursued previously. As my wife and I were both fond of kitchen collectibles to begin with, and knew how to market paper nostalgia, it wasn’t a far stretch to then realign ourselves to old recipes. As a collector you’re always in a wee bit of a quandary, as to why it took so long to adopt a collecting interest that seemed so naturally suited.
Every year we add several hundred more finds to the pile and most recently we decided it was time to invite others into our handwritten recipe adventures. So here it is. What began as old paper with sundry fingerprints, leftover icing, chocolate, scented of spice and sugars, tumbling out of old books into our laps, has become one of the most interesting collecting ventures we’ve ever enjoyed. It is a fascinating study of ethnicity, religion, cultural and social traditions, regionalism, nationalism and everything in between. While many take little notice of these handwritten treasures, once you understand the provenance attached, and appreciate the heart, soul, and necessities of the specific writer (cook), they clearly become important links in culinary history. You can tell a lot about home cooks by the company of recipes they keep.
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