Is Muskoka The Hamptons Of The North? And What's Wrong With That?

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WELLESLEY - FLORENCE ISLANDS IN LAKE ROSSEAU - OUR PROFILE OF HEAVEN ON EARTH

THE CHANGING OF THE LAKELAND NEIGHBORHOODS - IS IT REALLY "THE HAMPTONS" OF ONTARIO?

THERE'S NO STOPPING IT, THAT'S FOR SURE!

     To begin with, and as I've stated many times in the past, Suzanne and I, as long time residents of this beautiful place on earth, enjoy our place in this district, whether we have our bare feet in the cool waters of a local lake, or happen to be watching fireflies darting above the tall grasses of The Bog. We can be just as contented and satisfied with our recreations, whether it involves watching a storm front push over the lakeland, or standing out in the lamplight of a winter night, watching the snow flurries dashing through the light, before hitting us in the face. We have lived the life of lake dwellers, and enjoyed it passionately. We have lived on the main street of Bracebridge, and in the rural clime, where it was a twenty minute drive into the urban place where we worked. This is not a selfish, whining tome, about what we lost as a result of the enrichment of the lakeside neighborhood. We had our day. Pity our boys have only minor memories. It's unlikely they will ever be so wealthy, to afford a cottage on a major Muskoka lake. Yet, it's not imperative in order to enjoy the resources of our region. That part is free.
     I don't know where it came from, why, or who made the comment, but Suzanne was quite animated when she reported to me, the other day, that a real estate spokesperson, from some media outlet, or other, suggested Muskoka was quickly becoming "The Hamptons" of the north. This kind of assertion doesn't sit well with her, because she grew-up in a cottage / lakeland environment, in the hamlet of Windermere, on the shore of Lake Rosseau, and she has watched as the old days have been eroded away like a sandcastle on a windblown beach.
     First of all, historically speaking, (because it's all we know), it was bound to happen, just like the loose references to "Muskoka lifestyle," used frequently now, by the vested interest, to pump-up their projects they wish to sell, targeting the most affluent of potential clients.
    When someone mentions that kind of overview to me, when our eyes lock, as the inevitably do, I'm sure they can see, besides the juggling clowns (in the deep recesses of my mind), the reflection of anger, and the coming battalion of reprimand. Their opinion of "Muskoka lifestyle," and "living the good life" is a lot different than mine. Their concept, and what they are forwarding, doesn't include the fact, many Muskokans are living well below the poverty line, and yes, we do need the food banks to feed those who find themselves in unfortunate circumstances. The numbers of constituents being assisted should humble us all. I want to take these people, who so arrogantly mouth-off about the proliferation of this luxurious lifestyle, on a no-place-too-humble property tour, to see for themselves, some of the basic places of refuge, that won't be photographed, (I guarantee this) for a coffee-table book on the Muskoka lifestyle they are promoting; or to be included in a brochure, profiling with lovely pictures of lovely places, reasons why you should buy a recreational property here, a paradise by any other name.
    To me, and a few other loyalist, long-time Muskokans, who take offence at these sorts of things, there is no greater insult to our permanent inhabitation, than when we are generalized and thus minimized, as being the workforce that maintains this so called Muskoka lifestyle for others. As if this is why we were put on earth. Most of us being conveniently situated to provide hospitality and services to those of privilege. To those who want to generalize, as happenstance, to suit a narrow focused agenda, what our district is all about, (as a means of capital gain), I dismiss them immediately, on my own terms, as being ignorant and a different stroke of irrelevant, to what is the current actuality I live every day, as a permanent resident. As I wrote about, at great length the other day, for gosh sakes, how about asking a local historian for the skinny on the true Muskoka lifestyle? That is, if an honest appraisal is desired at all. Truth is, reality has its ugly side, and those who wish to sell-Muskoka futures, seem to prefer stepping over it, or crossing the street, rather than face what appears visually or socially unpleasant. And it doesn't fit-in with the glossy image, promoters want to profile, for the gains they hope to achieve of the grandiose. Plain old, plain old, won't jazz up their presentations. Lifestyles of the rich and famous is what they're looking to exploit, and there's lots of it visible along the lakeshores, that were once occupied by heritage homes and century farmsteads; and yes simple cottages, without much at all in the way of extravagance, other than painted two seater outhouses.
     As for Muskoka turning into "The Hamptons north"? When we get past being mad, and historically offended, and all that other emotional stuff, we antiquarians have to deal with almost hourly these days, we both have to agree, after a soothing cup of tea, that it's hard to deny, the transition has become staggering; if one was to look at the new era monster cottages, crowding the lakeshores on the Muskoka Lakes. As objectionable as we find comments like this, as a couple of seasoned Muskoka historians, we resign ourselves to the fact, the old days are ones for the scrapbook and retrospectives like this; while cottage prices escalate to records levels, year after year, with no ceiling to limit, what might be reached in the next quarter century. We might say, but then we'd be lying, that "we didn't see this coming." Of course we did. Up close and personal, in fact, as family cottage occupants ourselves.
    Canadian department store magnate, Timothy Eaton, told his host Thomas Aitken, a man who would help break trail for a widening tourist economy, that he should expand his dwelling place, on the peak of land overlooking Lake Rosseau, at Windermere, so that he could take in more lodgers like himself; and make some extra cash, as a new-to-the-frontier tourist house. Certainly to help offset farming shortfalls, most pioneers were discovering, while trying to plant something that would actually grow to a successful, profitable harvest. Livestock fared better than crops for the most part, and that could be said for most parts of the district.
    Eaton had secured a room with the Aitken family, while he was in the largely isolated district during a fishing expedition with fellow sportsmen, shortly after the homestead period had begun in Muskoka (circa 1860's-70's). Aitken was curious about the possibilities, and followed Eaton's advice, and the end result, was the development of Windermere House, constructed in stages, known today as one of the most historic still-operating resorts in Muskoka. (It was destroyed by fire in contemporary times, but rebuilt) Seeing as no homesteader became wealthy, the direct result of farming the thin soil, rock laden, forested terrain, pioneers had to seek-out alternatives, to pad their family economies. Many were forced initially, to work in the logging camps, during the winter cut, and many of them, were either killed on the job, or seriously injured, in one of the most demanding industries on earth. The injured workers were then unsuitable for the difficult tasks of homesteading, and many dreams were dashed this way, as families had to move on to more hospitable terrain. As for the tale of Mr. Eaton and Mr. Aitken, well, it's historic record, that tourism and local living (local economy) could then, and still, work together pretty well. It was known for many decades as a "Sportsman's Paradise," but not a haven for the rich and famous, as it has become known in the past quarter century. Someone commented to me the other day, that Muskoka was for "hockey players and movie stars." I buttoned my lips. It was a friend who said this, and I just wanted, at that moment, to keep the peace. Yes, it was out of character, and yes, I can keep the peace when it is most prudent.
     As there was poverty from the beginning of Muskoka's inhabitation, in the late 1860's onward, and there were those of incredible wealth basking at hotels and lodges in close proximity, this is the part of Muskoka lifestyle that has been the social / economic bookends up to, and including the present. There is a pretty fair sized middle class, and not all citizens of wealth have cottages in which to dwell. Muskoka has made some residents both successful and rich at their enterprises, and arguably, it has also made many quite poor, particularly due to the rigors of the seasonal economy. While the fabulously rich arrived and set up lakeland neighborhoods early in Muskoka's vacation-land heritage, (Millionaire's Row, on Lake Muskoka for example), it can be said with considerable accuracy, that it did not characterize all the cottagers on the three main lakes, of Rosseau, Joseph and Muskoka. It is recent history, that has been most profound in this regard, as those simple, uninsulated, seasonal cottages, have been replaced in large numbers each year. Even those most basic cottages, that still exist, sell for what we would rank as a "king," or "queen's ransom," when compared to prices garnered for the same lakeshore shelters a quarter century ago. For quite a few years now, having a cottage on one of these lakes, including Lake of Bays, was a parallel to having considerable economic advantage. Today, it is quickly becoming the preferred "get-away" domain for the rich and famous, but to the exponent of ten. So, even though it grates on me, and especially Suzanne, that our Muskoka is being referred to as strikingly similar to "The Hamptons," we must respectfully surrender that it may be closer to the truth than ever.

The Old Cottage Suzanne Adored, Was Actually a Family Home

     In the late summer of 1989, after selling our little house, on Golden Beach Road, in Bracebridge, near the former resort, Bangor Lodge, on Lake Muskoka, we convinced Suzanne's father, Norm Stripp, to let us live in the cottage for a couple of months, as we looked for another residence, which turned out eventually, to be a tidy little wood-sided bungalow in Gravenhurst. For two months and a little bit, the four Curries, which included our young sons, Robert and Andrew, got to live in the paradise of cottage nostalgia. It was incredible.
     The Stripp family cottage, across from Wellesley Island, on Lake Rosseau (and close to Florence Island), at this time in its existence, was failing due to the fact Norman didn't have thousands of dollars to invest-back into upgrades, as he was financially tapped-out trying to keep up with the annual tax bills. As the values of lakefront properties were beginning the upward surge, well underway by the mid 1980's, taxes were escalating at a troubling pace. Troubling especially to the folks who had some of those modest cottages, that had been handed down through the generations, who didn't have the means to afford the tax increases. The argument to be made, and I'm sure real estate personnel will insist I include this point, many thousands of these cottagers, also made a whopping amount of money, when they finally sold off these traditional cottages, mostly for land value. It's true. And in the case of our own family holding, on Lake Rosseau, Suzanne's father did make a considerable return from his original investment, buying the property from his mother. That should make an owner happy? Right? Well, Norm would have very much liked to keep the cottage in the family. He loved working in his boathouse, as ramshackle as it was at the end. It was where he kept his two boats, the "SS", that he built with his father, and a beautiful Hunter mahogany, that was once the Muskoka Lakes Association launch, used to start aquatic events for the summer Regatta. It even had a mount for a small cannon, which was originally mounted on the roof, which would let off a loud blast, to mark the beginning of the sailboat races. The cottage was built by his father, Sam, on the shore of Lake Rosseau, in the early years of the 1900's, to serve as a family home. It became a cottage in earnest, following the change-over of ownership. But Norman never really saw it this way. It was where his family had lived for decades. He was one of three brothers, and had one sister. In order to help with the purchase price, and to assist the family coffers, Suzanne's parents immediately began renting it out through the summer months, including a guest cottage on the hillside. When they operated the Windermere Marina, and had an apartment above, they also rented out their Windermere House, across from The Baldwins Resort, and Hilltop Cottages, operated by Johnny and Alice Bunn. Basically, to make a year round economy in a matter of two or three months, the Stripp family had to rent all available residential space, to those who wanted a summer vacation on the Muskoka Lakes. The Stripps got to use the cottage when the tourists had gone home, and that was after Labour Day. They would soon also be able to move back home from the marina. Their house, by the way, was used by the summer-doctor, to tend those who were feeling poorly while on vacation. It was a summer-thing, and not year round, so the locals only benefitted two months of the rolling year.
     The problem for Norman, after Harriet passed away, shortly before our son Andrew was born, was that income and expenses were not balanced, such that there was the kind of surplus which would have allowed for tens of thousands of dollars to be re-invested in the cottage property. Norm knew there was no hope of saving the original cottage or guest cabin, because the trend around the lakes, was for these relics of lakeshore living to be torn down, and large and luxurious cottages to be put in their place. Even if he had put enormous amounts into upgrades, the end result was likely to be the same. The land was the selling point of the old Stripp family homestead. And the tax burden was suffocating him, as there was quite a good chunk of lake frontage, which seriously impacts tax assessment.      Norm was just one of hundreds if not thousands of longtime, elderly, fixed-income Muskokans, who had family holdings, dating back a century or more, finding it impossible to keep up with tax increases, and still have money for quality of life assurances. It has been a brutal transition for some, who didn't want to give up their properties for any amount, but when it came down to taxes, simply had no choice but to sell off their heirloom cottages, once used as family homes. Money isn't everything? Except to Ebeneezer Scrooge. And you know what happened to him! To suggest these folks were greedy because they took the highest offers, is absurd, because most of them, would have loved to have had the chance, to pass the legacy properties down to family members. But in essence, the tax consequence would have been just as daunting, and forced inevitable cottage sales a few years after inheritance.
     In the fall of 1989, the four of us lived comfortably, in that ramshackle, but historic old two story cottage, looking down on the narrow band of Lake Rosseau, as if currented-silently between the mainland and Wellesley Island. We sat in the small, bright sunroom, overlooking the waterway, because it was, at the core, why we loved the place so much. The tall whispering pines, shimmering water, rocks, moss covered pathways, and let's not forget the panorama, up and down the channel. The sunroom had a baseboard heater and could be sealed off from the rest of the cottage, on the chilly evenings. It was a cold autumn that year, and we didn't have a ready supply of firewood for the less than efficient rock fireplace in the livingroom. So gathering together in the sunroom, was cozy for us, and our dog Alf and cat, Fester.
    We enjoyed that old family homestead from every vantage point, for those few months, because we knew its future was very much in doubt. There had been real estate agents pestering Norman for years, to sell off the property, and enjoy spending all the money raised from its sale. Norm wasn't like that, in any way, because he had everything he wanted, with his Windermere house and boat workshop, and the boathouse at the cottage. What he had wanted most of all, was a long retirement existence with his wife Harriet, but God had other plans. We always thought he was lonely, yet with his own passions that he kept close to him, he found an unspecified peace of mind, using both places as his sanctuaries, depending on the mood of the hour, and of course, the prevailing season. At the cottage he felt in good company, with the memory of family times. In the boathouse, it was his heaven on earth. Nothing could bring back his wife, but this was Harriet's favorite respite as well. Norman would work in the boathouse, and Harriet would sit up on the verandah, maybe on the porch swing, and enjoy writing in her journal, of which she was quite proficient; knitting or reading a book. The old cottage was respectful, in its own essence of family heritage, that it could still be of comfort and safe harbor, despite its declining condition. No, Norm didn't want to sell the cottage for any price, but because of back taxes, to the township, had no choice, especially at a time of his own failing health. He no sooner got the money from the sale, than he was stricken with a previously undetected cancer, and congestive heart failure. He had kept the home / cottage literally to the end of his life. It just wasn't the happy ending we all hoped for, when he then, had the financial means to travel the world at his leisure.     Suzanne always felt that selling the cottage broke his heart, and I'm inclined to agree. As I worked side by side my father-in-law, to clean-out the cottage, it was obvious he was not-at-all pleased with the enterprise. He spoke only when spoken to, and even then, he refused to engage in any meaningful conversation. No retrospectives whatsoever. If I was to caption this chapter of his biography, it would read something like, "A Most Regretible Situation." He was also reluctant to throw anything out, from the boathouse, insisting that we haul it to his workshop at home, where he would sort it, so that no useful or heritage pieces of marine engines, or vintage boat hardware, were accidentally thrown into the refuse pile. As it turned out, we had to sort this once again, when he passed away a short while later.
     Suzanne, the boys and I, lived-it-up in those weeks of autumn, when we were afforded the opportunity to reside there, before moving into our new residence. And I can remember on that last day, trying to figure out how we could stay until the end of November. If it had been one of those warm autumn seasons, we might have done this, because it was intimate knowledge to both of us, that we would never live there again. I wrote like a mad-man all the time we were there, and even did "voicers" for my CHAY FM heritage spot, in the upstairs bedroom overlooking the channel. I wrote the script downstairs, and recorded them in the room above. It was a fabulous opportunity for all of us, and I only wish the boys could have been a tad older, and understood a little more, why it was so important to capture these precious-to-us memories, of the old stomping ground. I remember in that final hour, of occupancy, spending it trying to capture the dog, and our cat Fester, not wanting to travel in the car that day. Alf found a bit of an opening under a landing of the hillside steps, which required careful extraction, and Fester hid in between some slabs in the wood pile beside the back porch. It wasn't really the case they loved the cottage so much, that they refused to get in the vehicle; because both hated motor trips of any kind. But it did make us both pause, that our own exit from the cottage, in terms of emotion, was pretty much a parallel. We didn't want to drive through the upper gate, and the wreathing of dry raspberry canes, because it would mean our family history would then be framed only by the image seen in the rear view mirror. Although we still visited the property for quite a few years after, it was hard to look at the dear old place, falling into such disrepair. Taxes were mounting, and the inevitable sale was coming.
     Municipal politicians saw this as an exciting new-normal, and a trend in lakefront real estate that would bring lots of money into government coffers; that these homesteads and long-held family estates were being sold-off due to high taxes, in a majority of cases, seemed of little relevance to anything the townships held near and dear. I heard a local mayor commenting once, to someone of the same mindset, about this situation as being a good thing for the local economy. And that these oldtime property owners, should sell while the going was good. Honestly, I wanted to offer a counter-point, but considering that I had been listening into a private conversation, I just let it slide. I don't know if any of these property owners ever had their estates taken due to unpaid taxes, but I know Norm came pretty close, judging by the letters we found from the township, stuffed into the drawers of his dresser in the bedroom. What councillors were feeling pretty good about, was making others feel pretty miserable, including ours.
     It all makes us a little more sensitive to these "Muskoka lifestyle" promotions, and comparisons to "The Hamptons North," these days, because it negates the truth of how it all transpired in the first place. While some municipal talking heads will rest their case on the welfare of lakeside community renewal, a few of us oldtimers, who remember the simpler and modest days of our nostalgic past, know the correct version of local history, as relates to the days before "The Hamptons" lifestyle, became the new Muskoka way of life. Do they have food banks in The Hamptons? Just asking. If the answer is yes, then we do have something more in common, than palatial retreats and luxurious lifestyles.
     Historians carry the burden of this knowledge, and the frustration of not being given a public forum to represent it, other than the books and blogs we write and publish, in the losing attempt to at least tell the truth about how it all began. It began, by the way, with the most dire consequence of poverty. So there you go. Nuff said!